Chapter 1 – Footprints in the Sand
"Tom, you're stuck to my chair again."
"I'm just building the tower." The ten-year-old didn't move away. Three Lego bricks balanced on the edge of the chair, threatening to topple.
"The tower's about to fall," said Lina.
"Not if you don't move." Tom grinned and placed another brick on top.
The kitchen door squeaked. Sabine entered in her clinic sweatshirt, hair in a knot, thermal mug in hand. "Morning, you two. Markus, where's the house key with the red cord?"
"In the bowl." Markus flipped through the newspaper without looking up. "Or in my jacket. Or in nowhere-land."
"Great." Sabine placed the mug next to the toaster, rummaged through the bowl, found two keys, neither with a red cord. "Lina?"
"Haven't seen it." Lina brushed crumbs from the table, putting her lunch into her backpack.
"Four spoonfuls of yogurt, contract stands," said Sabine without looking. "Three don't count."
"I'll eat during break."
"She never eats during break," Tom muttered and let the tower fall. The bricks clattered on the tiles.
Markus folded the newspaper. "What's today? PE?"
"German, Biology, Math, History."
"Math." He clicked his tongue. "Just have to get through it. Like everything else."
Sabine glanced at Lina. "Everything okay?"
"Yes."
"Really?"
"Yes."
Sabine took the cord from the hook by the kitchen door. "Here's the thing. I'll be back at six if the ward doesn't explode. Tom, homework after training. Markus, you're picking him up?"
Markus raised two fingers. "Aye."
Sabine squeezed Lina's shoulder. "If anything happens, call me."
"Mh."
"That's not a word, Lina."
"I'll call."
Sabine smiled tiredly, kissed Tom on the head, Markus on the forehead, and left.
The hum of the refrigerator remained. The rattling of Tom's Lego. Markus put the newspaper away. "If they start bothering you again," he said, "you know – Vanessa and that other one – then..."
"It's fine."
"No, listen." He tapped his finger on the table. "Ignore them. Don't feed them. They want a reaction."
"I don't react at all."
"Then we're good. If you rise above it, it'll go away."
Lina nodded. "Yes."
Tom pulled on her jacket. "Can you come today? To practice? I'll definitely score a goal."
"I have homework."
"But you could still—"
"Tom, leave her alone." Markus stood up, patted Lina on the shoulder – too firmly. "And you: stand tall. Not so..." He made a vague gesture. "They can smell it."
"Who?"
"You know, them."
"Okay."
Lina put on her jacket, grabbed her backpack, tied her shoes. Tom followed her into the hallway. "If they bother you, tell me, okay? I have big fists." He clenched them and tried to look serious. It looked more like a hamster.
"Big fists, huh?" She poked his forehead. "Use them for scoring."
"Promise."
Outside, the sky was gray and low, the air smelled like rain. Lina pulled her hood's drawstrings tight, took one deep breath and left.
---
The hallway by the lockers sounded the same as always: metal doors, footsteps, voices in waves. Class Group 9b blinked on her display before she even had the key in the lock. 19 new messages.
She knew she shouldn't open it. Her fingers did it anyway.
"Have you seen the new picture?"
"She's standing alone again, like a streetlight without light."
"Lina = Lonely."
A photo. From yesterday. Blurry, but clearly her at the fence behind the sports field, hood up, hands in pockets. Above it in neon pink: #ForeverAloneChallenge.
Below: Laughing emojis, flames, a pig.
The air in the hallway thinned. She stared at the image as if it were someone else. Her thumb remained on the glass, as if her hands had forgotten how to let go.
A new message popped up. From Mia: "Lina, smile for us! 😂"
The locker door next to her slammed. Jana – no, Vanessa. She smiled sharply. "Oh, there she is. Good morning show, isn't it?"
Lina pushed the phone into her locker without looking at her.
"Don't be so shy. You're today's star." Vanessa pulled a lipstick from her bag, calmly reapplied it. "You know what's trending? Self-irony. You should practice that."
"Leave her," said Mona, but it didn't sound like a retreat. "She can't do that. Not her skill."
"Phones away!" called Mr. Vogel from the end of the hallway. No one reacted.
Lina closed her locker. "Please go away."
"Ooh." Vanessa tilted her head. "The princess speaks."
"Phones away!" Mr. Vogel came closer, his gaze lingering a moment too long on Vanessa, then moved on. "Off to class."
"See you soon, ghost," Mona whispered and deliberately let the locker door fall so it brushed Lina's shoulder.
Lina waited until the footsteps grew quieter. Then she took her German textbook, pressed it to her chest, and walked away.
---
"Dialog analysis," said Mr. Vogel and wrote the words in capital letters on the board. "What makes good dialog?"
"Honesty," someone said.
"Conflict."
"Subtext," Vanessa threw in, as if she'd invented the word.
"Very good," said Mr. Vogel. "Write down what that means to you."
Lina stared at the blank page. Honesty is when you say what is, even if it's not welcome.
She crossed out the line again. Behind her, someone whispered: "She's writing a poem about rain."
"Or about her reflection."
Lina placed her hand on the desk to stop it from trembling.
"Berger?" Mr. Vogel stood beside her. "Everything alright?"
"Yes."
"Then write."
She wrote. But not about honesty. Instead, about noise you can't turn off.
When the class ended, Vanessa tossed a candy heart onto her desk. Kiss me.
Lina threw it in the trash.
---
The cafeteria was loud, smelling of fries and dirty trays. Lina sat at the edge, bit into her sandwich.
"She's eating!" Vanessa stopped. "Miracles happen."
"I'm sitting down," she said and plopped down next to Lina. "How does it feel to be on the edge?"
"You can sit somewhere else."
"I could." She picked up a corner of Lina's bread, held it up. "May I?"
"No."
"Oh. Boundaries. Great."
"Cut it out," said Mr. Brecht, the PE teacher, carrying a tray. "Move along."
Vanessa smiled sweetly. "Of course." She left – but her gaze lingered on Lina a moment longer.
Lina wrapped up her sandwich and threw it away. Her stomach wasn't hungry, just empty in a different way.
---
Afternoon, at home. Markus at the kitchen table with screws and a flashlight. "How was it?"
"Okay."
"Anyone give you trouble?"
"No."
"There you go."
Tom clattered in, ball under his arm. "Are you coming?"
"Not today."
"Please! I'll do the Ronaldo move."
"I have things to do."
"She has math," said Markus. "Leave her be."
"But it's my final game!"
"I'll come another time," said Lina.
"You never come," Tom muttered and was gone.
Markus sighed. "He doesn't mean it."
"I know."
Her phone vibrated. Mirella: I have lemon cake. A piece is for you.
"I'm going out for a bit," said Lina.
"To the beach?" Markus looked up. "Take your hat."
She took it because it was easier than arguing.
---
Beyond the last hedge, it smelled of salt. The beach was empty. Only the sea was still talking.
Lina walked to the rock where she always sat. She took off her hat, letting the wind into her hair.
Then she heard the footsteps. Quiet, steady.
A boy, slightly older, slim but with posture – controlled, not posed. The hoodie black, hood down, ankles pale from old wrappings. His hands rested loosely on his knees, scars on the backs, as if they'd been cut from training.
He looked at her, briefly, not examining, just there. Then at the water. The wind laid the same tone on both their skin.
She wanted to say something. Didn't.
He stood up, looked at her once more. A glance that didn't demand and didn't flee. Just I know you're there.
Then he left.
---
"You're pale," said Mirella as she opened the door. The scent of lemon and sugar pushed everything else away. "Were you cold?"
"A little."
"Come in. I'll make tea."
"Just for a minute."
"Nothing is just for a minute when there's cake."
They ate in silence. The cake was soft and warm. For a moment, Lina felt like things could be fixed.
"You were at the sea," Mirella said softly.
"Yes."
"Did it help?"
"A little."
"Then that's enough for today."
---
Later, in her room, Lina put the box with the cake on the windowsill. Outside, it wasn't raining anymore. She took her notebook and wrote:
Today someone saw me.
She put the pen aside, closed her eyes.
In the silence, she heard something – not wind, not drops, but footsteps in the courtyard.
A shadow moved under the streetlight, stopped, right in front of her window.
Not for long. Just one breath.
Then it moved on.
Lina yanked the curtain aside – nothing. Just asphalt and rain.
But on the glass, where breath had fogged it, was a fingerprint.
One that wasn't hers.
And outside, somewhere in the darkness, someone laughed quietly.