I wake to find my phone filled with new messages. I scroll through them, clicking on none of them apart from Chantelle's.

hey, i'm so sorry for your loss xx

so we're changing the stunt in honour of josh

just print out this picture of josh how many times you like, we're going to stick them all over the school

and on bits from the recycling we're going to wrote rip josh etc

and wear black with your leavers hoodie & shirt x

here if you wanna talk babes xx

Chantelle Moritz calling me babes makes me laugh. Our interactions aren't always friendly. But her changing the prank she's been planning since August is a sweet gesture. The original one was designed to drive the teachers insane — fill the canteen with balloons. And I don't mean a couple. Chantelle and her gang have been collecting packets of the things since August, she's been updating us all on the stock on the Year 11 group chat.

Everyone's stories are filled with Josh. I flick through them mindlessly, almost detached from the whole thing. Almost. But I'm going to have to post on my story too, make my grief public property for everyone I have added on Snapchat and my followers on Instagram.

In the end, I post the same thing to both just slightly different. A photo of me and Josh from the good days, the caption reading now you're in the stars with a star emoji and a dove beside it. I even add the song from which the lyric is from on Instagram and within minutes, my messages are filled with crying emojis and telling me how very much they miss him already.

I put my phone down without replying to any of them and straighten my hair, hands shaking. Halfway through, I message Ravi.

feeling ok? well as ok as you can be in this situation?

i'm coming into school if that's what you mean.

but other than that completely shitty

same

I don't think I even own anything black. Navy might have to do if not. I rummage through my wardrobe, hair still hot, putting on my black jeans and managing to find an old black T-shirt that's slightly too small, displaying a strip of skin above my waist. But I'm sure me breaking dress code will me the least of the teachers' worries today. I put my shoes on and slip on my school shirt covered in coloured ink from last Friday and stare in the mirror.

It's not me who stares back at me from the mirror. It's a girl in a tight black shirt with an unbuttoned school shirt over it. A girl with shadows under her bloodshot eyes and tears in those eyes too. She looks... broken. Sad. Done. Like someone tore her heart out that had already been fractured and broke it apart some more.

I turn away from the mirror and leave my room, grabbing my phone and rucksack.

"Eve, are you okay?" Alfie stares up at me, eyes wide behind his glasses from the kitchen table. He's sat with a bowl of Weetabix and the box is sat on the counter behind him.

The very thought of eating makes me feel sick all over again.

"I'm okay," I lie, forcing a smile and pressing a quick kiss to his hair. "I have to go though. I'll pick you up and get you an ice cream after school, okay?"

"It's sad that Josh died," he says, ignoring my promise about the ice cream. "He'd just got new trainers."

I turn away, eyes swimming with tears.