FIXING WOUNDS

START ALL OVER

The bell rang and Ivy’s stomach dropped.

New session. New class. New faces.

Ivy hated new. New meant starting over. New meant proving herself all over again. New meant being invisible until someone decided she was worth seeing.

She walked into Classroom 7C and scanned the room. Thirty new students. Most of them strangers. But a few… a few were from her old school. The same kids who watched her fall apart two years ago. The same kids who whispered _“Isn’t that the quiet girl? The one whose mom hates her?”_

Ivy kept her head down. _I’m not talking to anyone this time,_ she promised herself. _Just Zara. That’s it. Just Zara._

Zara was her anchor. Her safe place. The only person who didn’t make her feel like she was drowning.

That plan lasted two days.

On Monday morning, the notice went up on the board: *Class Reshuffling.*

Ivy was moved to Section B. Zara was moved to Section A.

Ivy stared at the paper like it had personally betrayed her.

In Section B, she was placed next to Tina — a girl with glossy hair and a laugh that was too loud. Tina had been best friends with Mira since kindergarten. And Mira? Mira was now sitting next to Zara in Section A.

The new group clicked instantly. Tina and Mira pulled Zara into their circle like she’d always been there. Lunch became Zara + Mira + Tina. Study groups became Zara + Mira + Tina. Even the jokes in class became Zara + Mira + Tina.

And Ivy? Ivy sat alone. Again.

She watched them from across the hallway, laughing over something on Mira’s phone. Zara threw her head back and laughed too. That laugh used to be for Ivy.

Ivy felt it again — that cold, empty feeling in her chest. Like she was back in her old living room, invisible while her family moved around her like she wasn’t there.

---

Then came Frida.

Frida had transferred from Ivy’s old school too. Same neighborhood. Same background. She found Ivy sitting alone at the back during break and slid into the seat beside her without asking.

“You’re Ivy Johnson, right?” Frida said. “I remember you. You used to sit by the window in 9th grade.”

Ivy blinked. Someone remembered her. Not as a ghost. As a person.

They talked. And talked. And talked.

Frida was easy. No judgment. No questions. Just company. For the first time since the reshuffle, Ivy didn’t feel empty.

But Zara noticed.

One afternoon after school, Zara pulled Ivy aside.

“I’m not comfortable with you and Frida,” Zara said, arms crossed. “You’re leaving me out.”

Ivy froze. “You left me out first, Zara. With Mira. You’ve been having fun without me for weeks.”

“That’s different,” Zara snapped. “I’m just trying to keep busy. You’re actually replacing me.”

The words hit Ivy like a slap. _Replacing me._ As if she could replace anyone. As if she had that kind of power.

“Ivy, I think you’re exaggerating,” Ivy said, her voice shaking. “And you’re doing the same thing to me.”

That was it.

Zara turned and walked away.

Just like that, their friendship — the only good thing Ivy had in this school — was cut off. No explanation. No goodbye. Just silence.

Ivy went home that night and cried until her eyes hurt.

At home, it was worse. Her mom was waiting.

“Why are you home so late? You think you’re too good for chores now?”

The words were sharp. The hand was sharper.

Ivy took the hits. She always did. She cried in the bathroom, water running so her mom wouldn’t hear. She whispered, _“I wish I was dead.”_

But God didn’t let her. The God who created her didn’t let her go. Not that night. Not ever.

---

The holidays came like a mercy.

Ivy stayed in her room most of the time. No Zara. No Frida. Just her thoughts and the sound of her mom yelling downstairs.

One evening, out of boredom, she messaged a classmate. She thought it was someone she’d worked with on a project — someone she could ask to collect a handout from.

She typed casually. Jokingly. Like she wasn’t broken.

The reply came back fast.

_“I think you messaged the wrong person. This is Dylan Oga.”_

Dylan Oga.

Ivy didn’t know him well. He sat in the front row, right by the wall. Always alone. Always quiet. Never raised his hand. Never joined group chats. A complete introvert.

She almost deleted the message.

But Dylan replied again. _“Do you need the handout? I have an extra copy.”_

Ivy stared at the screen. No one had ever offered her help without an expectation before.

She replied. Then she replied again. Then again.

Two weeks later, they were talking every day.

Dylan didn’t ask about her family. He didn’t ask why she was sad. He just listened. He sent her music when she was down. He sent her memes when she was bored. He sat with her under the tree during break without saying a word, and somehow that silence felt better than any conversation she’d had with Zara.

Ivy, who had promised herself she’d never get attached to anyone again, got attached.

Badly.

One afternoon, Dylan looked at her and said, “We should be best friends, Ivy.”

Ivy didn’t answer right away.

Because the last time she said “best friends,” it ended with her alone in a dark room.

But this time… this time felt different.