I’m starting to miss my mom, starting to wish I’d made my bed more often and listened to her when she asked me to do the dishes or the laundry. I’d give anything to feel one of her hugs again. I’m starting to feel like an orphan at this place.
We’re allowed a video call once a week, in the only place at Whispering Woods Academy that has cell reception — the teachers’ village.
The evening before school starts, we’re actually invited to the teachers’ village. It’s a distance from the school, nestled in a valley and shielded from the wind and rain.
Mrs Lunga greets us at the entrance, leading us under a wildflower arch and past tiny houses marked with our teachers’ initials. The air grows warmer, and soon we hear the soft bubbling of water. The peacefulness of the place makes me forget why I was so angry.
We arrive at a stunning hot spring, surrounded by natural rocks and greenery, with exotic flowers sprouting from cracks. Mrs Lunga pulls out a blanket, shakes it, and floats it on the water. To our amazement, she steps onto it and sits, completely dry.
Following her lead, we spread our own blankets across the water. I step on first, then help Imani. There’s a thrill in the air, a sense of the impossible unfolding beneath our feet. I grip her hand tighter, a smile of disbelief on both our faces.
“Imani, look,” I whisper. “It’s working!”
This magic is holding, and we’re balancing on nothing but thin layers of fabric floating atop the water. It’s like walking through a dream.
Once we’re settled, the headmaster stands on a rock in the centre of the lake, surrounded by steam, looking like a wizard. He snaps his fingers, and lanterns float down, casting a warm glow over us.
“Thank you for joining us tonight,” Headmaster Henry says. “We hope you enjoy the meals we’ve prepared.”
Picnic baskets appear on our blankets, and I pull out a chocolate bar, breaking it in half to share with Imani. As we eat, Miss West, the archery teacher, steps forward. Dressed in ocean blue, she pulls back her bow and shoots an arrow into the sky.
The star shatters on contact, sending thousands of glittering shards plummeting to earth. They drift on the water around us — fireflies from a forgotten dream — lighting up everyone’s smiling faces.
***
“I hate how they do that, you know?” Imani tells me on the walk back to our dormitories after the picnic. “They love to throw these little parties or get-togethers, as if a student didn’t nearly just die during their test.”
“Hm,” I agree. “It is unsettling. What do you think your test will be?”
Imani, who’s usually so talkative I can only tolerate her in small doses, grows quiet. For the rest of the walk, she says nothing — not even goodnight when we go our separate ways. I don’t think she wants anyone to know why she’s here. It’s probably something stupid, like theft. Her test will be easy.
Tell us: When was a time you felt truly at peace, even if it was just for a moment? What made it feel so special, and how did it impact you afterward?