She looked so beautiful in her pale-blue cheerleading outfit—tall, and the contrast of the pale blue against her dark skin looked amazing. She reminded me of Miss South Africa, Shudufhadzo Musida, with her shaved head, her high-arched brows, and skin that seemed golden in the light. She was one of those girls you hear stories about—some talent scout sees them buying bread in their pajamas at a shop, and then they have an international modeling contract because they’re that stunning. I looked over at Amber, she was very much the Queen Bee. The one who seemed to control everyone around her. Even the Ts were listening to her. She was talking and smiling and gesticulating happily, but I wasn’t buying any of her supposed sweetness. I could see that Amber was hiding something dangerous under that baby-blue cheerleader’s outfit. Behind those big, bright smiles was a sinister side. Like the color cadmium red. Beautiful, vibrant, beloved by artists like Matisse, Cézanne, and Bacon. But utterly toxic. Something so beautiful, so seemingly full of life . . . so deadly. I couldn’t help but wonder if anyone else saw it, or if it was just me? I turned away from Amber and looked around.

Nina-M was filming something, probably for her beauty blog—she was putting an SPF cream on her face and talking about it. I overheard her say something about the importance of wearing sunscreen. TikTok-famous Vuyo was making someone film him while he stuck straws up his nose and then tried to shoot them out at targets.

My phone buzzed in my pocket and I pulled it out. Another message from my dad.

DAD: Just checking in. Hope school is going well. Call me when you can, I have something I need to talk to you about. Love you

I bit my lip. Tears prickled in my eyes and I quickly wiped them away. I didn’t know if I was more angry or sad when it came to him. I turned Notifications off and put my phone away just as a massive cheer rose up and everyone turned to the left. I did the same, and then there he was. Walking toward the pool followed by his team. I sat up straight, my breath hitching in my throat and something familiar flapping in my stomach. I held my breath, watching him, and then I think I forgot how to breathe altogether. It happened in slow motion—well, that’s how it seemed, anyway. He reached up and started pulling his T-shirt off and then in one swift movement, he tossed it onto a chair and turned.