Chapter 1: The Blueprint of a Main Character
The silence of 5:45 AM has a very specific sound. It's not actually silent; it's a low, humming vibration of expectation. It's the sound of a world that hasn't been ruined by the sun yet.
I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling fan spinning lazily above me. My alarm wasn't set to go off for another fifteen minutes, but my brain had been wide awake since four. It was doing that thing where it replays every "movie version" of high school I'd ever seen slow-motion hallway walks, lockers that smelled like expensive perfume instead of old gym socks, and a version of me that actually knew how to talk to boys without tripping over my own feet.
"Today," I whispered to the empty room. My voice sounded small, raspy with sleep. "Today is day one."
I rolled over and reached for my phone. The screen was a blinding white rectangle in the dark.
38 Unread Messages.
I felt a rush of adrenaline. Most of them were from the group chat. I tapped it open, the blue light reflecting off my pupils.
[The Trio: Survivors of 8th Grade]
Chloe (5:12 AM): JANE. ARE YOU AWAKE? I HAVE A CRISIS.
Chloe (5:13 AM): The waterproof mascara? Not waterproof. I just cried because my coffee was too hot and now I look like a raccoon. A very stressed, ugly raccoon.
Leo (5:30 AM): Chloe, it's 5 AM. Why are you drinking coffee? And Jane is definitely still asleep. She's probably dreaming about color-coding her highlighters.
Chloe (5:31 AM): Shush, Leo. Some of us care about our aesthetic. Jane! Wake up! We need to coordinate the 'walking into the building' vibe.
I smiled, my thumbs hovering over the glass. My heart did a little flutter.
Me: I'm awake. And Leo, for your information, the highlighters are already color-coded. Pastel only. Fluorescent is so middle school.
Chloe: THANK GOD. Okay, are we doing the 'we've been best friends forever' walk or the 'we are mysterious and cool' walk?
Leo: Can we just do the 'we aren't late for homeroom' walk? I heard my homeroom teacher is a stickler for the bell. Mr. Henderson. Sounds like he eats freshmen for breakfast.
Me: We'll be fine, Leo. I've checked the map of the school four times. I know exactly where Room 212 is.
I put the phone down, but I didn't stop smiling. This was the safety net. Chloe, who was loud and dramatic and wore her heart on her sleeve, and Leo, who lived next door and had seen me at my absolute worst flu-faced and wearing a dinosaur onesie. As long as I had them, Westview High couldn't be that scary.
Right?
I finally stood up, my feet hitting the cold hardwood floor. I walked over to my mirror. This was the ritual.
For three years, I had been "Plain Jane." The girl who sat in the middle row. The girl who turned in her homework early. The girl who never got invited to the parties that happened in the woods on Friday nights. But high school was a reset button. It was a chance to be the girl I'd been writing about in my private journals for years.
I picked up my hairbrush, staring at my reflection.
"You aren't invisible anymore," I told the girl in the mirror.
I started the process. The "New Jane" took time. It took the vanilla-scented heat protectant spray that made the room smell like a bakery. It took the careful application of tinted lip gloss that promised to be 'your lips but better.' It took the denim jacket.
I reached for it, the fabric stiff and smelling like the mall. I'd worked all summer at the local library to save up for this specific jacket. It was oversized, just the right amount of distressed, and it felt like a suit of armor. When I slipped it on over my floral dress, I felt a shift. It was like I was stepping into a character.
I looked at my desk. My backpack was already packed meticulously. My planner was tucked into the front pocket. I reached out and touched the smooth cover.
Jane's High School Survival Guide, I'd written on the first page in my best calligraphy.
Rule Number One: Observe everything.
Rule Number Two: Don't let them see you sweat.
Rule Number Three: Find your people.
I didn't know yet that there should have been a Rule Number Four: Don't trust the screen.
My phone buzzed again. A private message from Leo.
Leo: You nervous? For real?
I bit my lip. I could lie to Chloe. I could tell her I was "totally chill" and "so ready." But Leo knew the way my left eye twitched when I was spiraling.
Me: My stomach is currently a washing machine full of butterflies. Is it weird that I'm excited but I also kind of want to throw up?
Leo: Totally normal. I'm currently staring at my sneakers wondering if they're 'too white.' Like, do I look like I'm trying too hard?
Me: You're Leo. You could wear a trash bag and people would think it's a 'choice.'
Leo: Thanks, Janie. See you at the bus stop?
Me: See you at the bus stop.
Janie. He was the only one who called me that. It was a name from our childhood, from when we used to build forts in his backyard and pretend the world ended at the edge of his fence.
I took a deep breath, grabbing my backpack. The weight of it felt good solid. I took one last look at my room. The posters of indie bands, the string of polaroids on my wall, the messy pile of books on my nightstand. This was my sanctuary. But today, I had to leave it.
I walked down the stairs, the house quiet and smelling like my dad's coffee. He was already in the kitchen, his back to me.
"First day," he said without turning around. He had that 'dad intuition.'
"First day," I agreed, walking over to grab an apple.
He turned, a camera already in his hand. "Don't even start, Jane. I need the photo. Your mom will kill me if I don't get the 'Freshman Departure' shot."
"Dad, please. Not the porch. What if the neighbors see?"
"The neighbors are all doing the same thing. Look at the Miller's house. Mrs. Miller has been out there since sunrise."
I groaned, but I followed him outside. The air was crisp, that late-August chill that promised autumn was just around the corner. I stood on the porch, clutching my backpack straps, and gave a small, hesitant smile.
Click.
"You look great, Janie," my dad said, his voice softening. "Just... be yourself, okay? Don't get caught up in the noise."
"I know, Dad. I've got this."
But as I walked down the driveway toward the bus stop, the "noise" was already starting. I could hear it in the distance the low rumble of the yellow bus, the voices of other kids down the street, and the constant, rhythmic ping of my phone in my pocket.
The Fishbowl was waiting. And I was diving in headfirst