As the final bell rings, we shiver by the bike stands, waiting for Zach and Jessie. Naddie, lucky enough to have an early end on Wednesdays, is already home, undoubtedly rushing through her homework before we catch up and interrupt. Richie is leaning against the wall, immersed in his sketchbook. Max is smoking, the despair on his face distorting his features further every second.

‘I can’t believe I failed Maths,’ he mumbles for at least the third time, searching for solace with another puff. I think he’s stuck on a loop.

‘The other marks will be better, I’m sure,’ I say. ‘Plus the more important exams are in summer, so we’ll study properly then.’

‘I can’t believe I failed Maths,’ goes the record again.

Sighing, I turn my attention to the graffiti-covered wall though every line is ingrained in my mind.

Last year, the headmaster invited the best art students to paint murals in a feeble attempt to boost morale. Richie was chosen for this spot, but later, the staff rejected his ideas. The bricks ended up covered in a mindless mess of motivational quotes.

In protest – and spurned on by a dare – we sneaked in at night and splattered white paint all over the wall. Now it’s a chaotic clash of colours, and we’re no longer subjected to ideas like “be yourself”.

Tip-toeing from behind, Zach pounces into a hug with Max, whose anguish has rendered him immune to such attacks. Frowning at the lack of reaction, Zach pokes Max in his dimple.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘I can’t believe I failed Maths.’ There’s a smirk hidden at the end of the sentence this time, letting us know the crisis has been averted.

Zach hears it too. ‘Same old story then,’ he grins. ‘I come bearing good news to cheer you up. My dear sister is not coming home with us.’

‘You’re the only one who considers that news good.’

‘Why?’ I ask.

‘She got detention for arguing about a multiple choice question in English,’ Zach shrugs, then shivers. ‘Shall we go? It’s freezing.’

‘Wait,’ Richie calls out, his pencil speeding across the page despite his painfully red hands.

We grumble but stay put.

‘That reminds me,’ Zach says, jumping around to warm himself up. ‘There’s a new exhibition at the gallery, shall we check it out on Saturday?’

‘I was supposed to meet my uncle... but I can always skip that,’ Max says, tossing the butt of his cigarette in the bin. We’re the last students to linger near the building, the bitter wind scattering everyone away faster than usual. I can’t wait until lazy summer days – though by then, I’ll be done with school for good.

‘Count me in, I haven’t been to town in ages,’ I say.

Richie shuts his sketchbook, and we head out on the slippery pavement.

‘You should have seen Sica after coming home from town yesterday,’ Zach groans. ‘It was like that guy lit a firework inside of her. Seriously, even by her standards, she wouldn’t shut up.’

‘How adorable, our sweet little Jessica has a crush,’ Max teases, knowing it will prompt Zach into a rant.

It does. As we walk down the familiar road, our footsteps echo in jokes and joy. Words flow effortlessly, like a well-rehearsed scene, recasting the empty street into our personal stage.