Dion - Chapter 13

The streets below buzzed with chaos, kids in dollar-store vampire capes and glow-in-the-dark skeleton hoodies darting across lawns, parents trailing behind with phones out and half-smiles plastered on their faces. Some kid screamed about losing a plastic pitchfork. Someone else tripped over their own Jedi robe.

All the houses in the cul-de-sac were lit up like fairy bread; orange lights, plastic cobwebs, and the occasional Bluetooth speaker blasting spooky soundtracks like a B-grade horror film.

It was Halloween in Lakegate. Which meant chaos, sugar highs, and, frankly, a whole lot of shit I didn't care for.

Before you judge me, I'm not against dressing up or stuffing your face with chocolate. But Halloween always felt... off here. Maybe because it's American as hell and we're not. We're Aussie.

Halloween's this weird borrowed tradition that never quite fits. Like wearing a jacket two sizes too big just 'cause everyone else is doing it.

So instead of doing what literally everyone else was doing; costumes, parties, awkward group photos in front of spiderweb-covered fences

I dipped.

Wandered up the hill. My hill.

It was quiet here. My kind of peace.

I sat down in the tall grass, hoodie wrapped around me, the sun finally bleeding into the horizon in that slow, aching kind of way that made everything look soft and golden. The last pink clouds hovered over the rooftops of Lakegate, and all those chaotic little streets were lit with porchlights and flickering fake candles.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out the little tin, the lighter, and the cone piece I'd packed earlier. Click.

Flame.

Smoke.

I inhaled slow. Let it sit in my lungs until my chest felt warm and heavy, then exhaled with a soft groan, watching the smoke curl into the dusky sky.

The weed hit mellow tonight. Not too strong, not too fuzzy, just enough to slow the spinning. My muscles softened. My heartbeat stopped trying to race against something invisible.

The noise from the street below faded into the background, like someone had turned the volume down just enough for me to breathe.

I lay back on the grass, arms behind my head, the taste still lingering on my tongue. One earbud in. Same playlist I always turned to when the world felt a bit too much and I needed to come back to myself.

From here, I could see all of Lakegate. The flicker of movement from house to house, kids yelling about chocolate or plastic fangs or who stole whose Mars bar. Parents standing around trying to look engaged.

Teenagers lurking in the dark corners of the street, either vaping or planning mischief. It was the same every year.

And me?

I was up here, flying a little higher than I should be, and honestly? I liked it that way.

Now don't get me wrong, I'm not trying to sound all edgy or above it. I'm fifteen. I know I'm not supposed to be smoking weed. I know it messes with your brain when it's still cooking. I know.

But sometimes, when your thoughts won't shut up and your chest feels like it's full of static and the people you love are fighting or tired or just not noticing how hard you're pretending... weed quiets the noise.

Just for a while.

Just long enough for me to breathe without thinking about what happens when the buzz fades.

So yeah, I don't love Halloween. But I like this. The quiet. The sunset. The calm that comes when the world is far away and I can just be.

Not "funny Dion."

Not "life of the party Dion."

Just... me.

I stared up at the sky, stars blinking slowly to life above me, the whole suburb humming below like a different planet. I closed my eyes, let the breeze run through my curls, and hummed along with the music, not even realizing it at first.

The melody felt familiar. Not like a song I'd heard, but something deeper. Older. Like it had been buried inside me long before I was even born.

Weird.

I sat with that for a while, the smoke curling up and away into the night sky, until someone's voice broke the silence.

"Hey there, Dion!"

I sighed through my nose and leaned back on my elbows, the sky overhead slowly shifting from dusky lavender to that inky blue that only shows up after the sun's fully clocked out. I didn't even need to look to know who it was. I knew that voice, too smug to be anyone else.

Still, I put on the same easy smile I always wear, the one that says nothing bothers me even when something does.

"Hey there, dude," I said, glancing over. "What's up?"

Zach dropped onto the grass next to me with the kind of dramatic flop only someone like him could pull off. Hair tousled, hoodie half-zipped, that same chaotic spark in his eyes. Classic Zach.

"Eh, just bored," he said, stretching his legs out and cracking his knuckles. "Saw you chilling up here. Thought I'd say hi, breathe in the view... and get some wise advice from my fellow pothead."

He smirked, eyes gleaming as he nodded at the gear in my lap. I chuckled and handed over the makeshift tin pipe, a sad little Frankenstein of parts scavenged from older ones. It worked. Mostly.

"What happened to your bong, man?" Zach asked, raising an eyebrow as he inspected the pipe like he was expecting it to explode.

I shrugged, like it didn't bug me even though it definitely did. "Dad found it. Yeeted it into the wheelie bin like it was cursed. Said if I wanted to ruin my lungs, I'd have to get creative."

Zach whistled. "Brutal."

"Yep," I said. "So, what deep, existential wisdom are you after tonight?"

Instead of answering, he sparked the lighter and lit up the cone. The flame hissed as the herbs caught, and he inhaled way too fast, because of course he did.

Two seconds later, Zach was choking. Not just a casual cough: this was full-on death rattle mode. He doubled over, wheezing, face red, hand flailing as if the smoke had personally offended him.

I just sat there, watching patiently like a parent waiting out a toddler's tantrum.

"You alright there, champ?" I asked, eyebrow raised.

"Holy shit," he croaked between coughs, passing the pipe back to me like it was a live grenade. "That hits harder than I expected."

"Yeah, well," I said, taking it gently from his hand. "She's a rough ride. Homemade stuff's got attitude."

Zach coughed again, wiping his watering eyes. "Feels like my lungs just got suplexed."

I laughed and took a slow drag myself, letting the smoke settle in before exhaling with a soft hum. The air was cool, crisp, the kind that made everything feel a little clearer, even when you were high.

"So," I said, after a moment of silence. "You said you needed advice. What's the sitch?"

Zach rubbed the back of his neck and looked out over the town, his playful energy fading just a bit. The lights below twinkled like grounded stars. You could still hear the faint laughter of kids on the streets, the occasional squeal of excitement, the last gasps of Halloween.

He exhaled, not smoke this time, just tension. "It's Lena."

Of course it was.

I didn't say anything. Just nodded, pipe resting between my fingers, waiting for him to continue.

He sat there for a second, chewing on his words. "I keep trying to talk to her, man. Like, really talk. And she just... shuts me down. Won't listen. Won't even look at me half the time."

I gave a small hum, not surprised but still sympathetic. "She's stubborn."

"I know she is," he said. "But I didn't think she'd stay mad this long. I thought... I dunno. Thought by now maybe she'd miss me too."

The wind tugged at his hoodie as he hunched forward.

I passed the pipe back. "You hurt her, man. That stuff doesn't go away just 'cause you feel sorry."

"I know," he muttered, staring at the grass. "I just... don't know how to fix it."

"You don't fix it," I said, stretching out and laying back again. "You wait. You show up, be honest. Take the hits if they come. And maybe, if she thinks you've changed, she'll give you another shot."

Zach didn't reply for a while. He just sat there, pipe in hand, the smoke curling up around him like fog around a streetlamp.

"...You're kinda smart when you're stoned," he finally said.

"I'm always smart," I replied with a grin. "Just harder to notice when I'm not vibing."

He laughed, soft but real.

The night settled deeper around us. The stars above flickered quietly. For now, the hill was ours, just two tired boys hiding from the world, passing smoke and secrets under the Halloween sky.

~~~

The end of the school year snuck up on us faster than anyone expected. One minute we were buried under assignments, half-asleep in class, and stuck in those painfully long assemblies where we had to pretend to care about the graduating Year 12s from 2022.

(Honestly, how many speeches do you need to say "Good luck and don't forget your hats"? Like, come on.)

And then?

BOOM

School was over for the year. Just like that.

Summer holidays rolled in like a wave, and Christmas passed in a blur of fake smiles, backyard cricket, and getting sunburnt after saying, "Nah, I'll be fine without sunscreen." Classic Christmas chaos.

But all of that was just a warm-up for the real event, the one thing we'd all actually been counting down to.

New Year's Eve.

The Party.

We'd been planning it for weeks. Everyone had their roles, Max and Phoebe scouted the location again, I sorted the playlist, Zach somehow managed to wrangle cheap drinks through his dodgy cousin, and the rest just showed up for the chaos.

That night, I was walking with Zach, both of us carrying boxes full of alcohol—cheap beer, random vodka mixes, and something neon blue that definitely wasn't safe for human consumption. The boxes were heavy, but we didn't care. The mood was too good.

"I give it an hour before Adrian spews in a bush," Zach said, grinning as we reached the rusted gate.

I laughed, shifting the box in my arms. "Bro, thirty minutes tops. Especially if Phoebe brought that punch she made last time. That thing was basically paint thinner."

We stepped onto the overgrown property, the old abandoned house looming in front of us like a half-forgotten memory. It was falling apart in a cool, haunted aesthetic kind of way. The perfect backdrop for a New Year's party that wasn't technically allowed, but hey, teenage logic.

Then I saw them.

Phoebe with her arm around Aaron. Tia fixing one of the fairy light strings with Demi giving advice she didn't ask for. And standing just a bit off to the side, 

Lena.

Oh, fuck.

She was looking straight at us. At him.

At Zach.

Her expression tightened, and without a word, she turned on her heel and stormed inside the house, her braid swinging behind her like punctuation. Zach tensed beside me, and I heard the quiet gulp he tried to hide.

"Welp," I muttered, under my breath. "Here we go again."

The tension in the air was so sharp you could've sliced a watermelon with it. And trust me, someone will be slicing a watermelon at this party, probably Thea, claiming it's the "only real fruit worth bringing."

Still, I did what I always do.

I threw on my best grin, shoved the awkwardness down with the rest of the emotional baggage I carry like a beach bag, and stepped forward into the glow of the fairy lights and low music.

"Heyyy party people!" I called out, my voice big and bright like nothing had just happened. "We brought the drinkssss!"

Zach followed behind me, quieter now, eyes still flicking toward the door Lena had disappeared through.

We carried the boxes into the main setup area, someone had really gone all out. The space was decked out with colorful cushions, thrifted bean bags, and a little speaker rig blasting early 2000s bangers.

The fairy lights strung across the broken beams of the old barn gave it a weirdly magical vibe, like we'd accidentally wandered into some teen drama's final episode party scene.

Phoebe waved from near the drink table, clearly trying to keep the peace, while Aaron just nodded silently like he always does when drama starts bubbling under the surface. Demi and Tia were already dancing, their laughter spilling out like they didn't have a care in the world.

But me?

I could feel the storm building already.

The night was young.

The music was loud.

And Zach's past (and present) had just walked into the same house.

This New Year's Eve was going to be very interesting.