Laden with suitcases, backpacks and sleeping bags we line up outside the hotel. The teachers tick us off one by one as we unload our belongings into the belly of the coach and climb aboard. Taking our seats, the chatter expands until it fills everything. She is four people in front of me, I watch her as she walks down the corridor and sits down. I wait my turn, as I must, and follow the others into the coach. I run my hand against the fabric of each chair as I make my way down the bus, my eyes instinctively searching for her. She is sitting by herself, sifting for something in her bag. The procession moves too slowly, inching forward. Someone will sit next to her.
Finally I reach her. I am standing parallel to her seat. I hesitate for a second, she looks up.
“Do you mind if I sit here?” I ask.
“Sure,” she replies, “no problem.”
I sit down, too aware that she is next to me. Too aware of the heat of her body. Too aware that my shoe is slightly brushing against hers. I try my hardest not to look at her face.
“Well, it’s the start of the summer holidays now I suppose,” I say. What a stupid way to start a conversation.
“I know! I can’t believe that it’s the end of term, it seems to have flown by. I suppose this trip gobbled up the last week of school - it’ll be good to have a nice long break.”
“What do you think of the city then? Pretty beautiful, eh?”
“Yeah, I loved the boat trip down the river, especially when we passed the cathedral.”
“My favourite bit was the museum, but I also really enjoyed the boat trip too, the weather for it was perfect.” The coach lurches forward and begins to pull out onto the street.
“Um…” I start, squirming inside with embarrassment, “Zoe, I

Finally I reach her. I am standing parallel to her seat. I hesitate for a second, but then move on quickly. Several rows away I choose an empty pair of seats and sit down by the window to regain my composure. The coach lurches forward and begins to pull out onto the street. I stare out through the glass as the roads pass by, at first lined by elegant, ornate townhouses – and then gradually transforming into the high-rise concrete hell of the suburbs. And now the city is gone. And now the coach is racing through the countryside and now I’m thinking about how the journey must end and how I will never see her again. And now time keeps on running away.
I did not expect it to physically hurt, but it does. It is a kind of tearing ache, everywhere through my body. I feel empty and heavy, slumped into the gap between the side of my seat and the window frame. I want it to rain as I look out at the fields rushing by in a motionless blur, a perpetual freeze frame. I feel desperately disappointed that my phone is out of battery so I can’t listen to sad music.

The bus is pulling up at a service station. We have ten minutes to buy ourselves some lunch. The bus empties until only me and a few others remain, either fast asleep or consumed by games on their iPods. I sit there, thinking.
I stand up, pick up my rucksack and walk towards her row. Sitting down in the seat next to hers, I hang my rucksack on the back of the seat in front and move the bag of the boy who had been sitting there to my old seat. I wait.
He walks in, munching on a McDonalds happy meal.
“Hey, what you doing in my seat?” he laughs. I know him, he’s a nice enough guy, thinks he’s a hit with all the girls. Such a flirt.
“Just admiring the view,” I reply casually.
“Want to speak to Zoe?” he grins.
“None of your business.”
“Well screw you, because I want my seat back thank you very much!”
“No, I’m here now, find yourself another seat.” He thinks for a second, considering his options.
“Fine! Good luck with the girl mate,” he sniggers as he walks away.
She comes back soon after.
“Hello, what are you doing here?” she inquires as she sits down beside me.
“Just fancied a change of scenery.”
“Oh ok. Looking forward to leaving?”
“I suppose so, it’s going to be a massive change – it’ll be exciting, but there are still a lot things I know I’ll miss. It’s so far away.”
The seconds tick by, “Zoe, I

“Well screw you, because I want my seat back thank you very much!”
Reluctantly, I oblige.
I return to my place, bag slung over my shoulder. Falling back into the seat, my misery is now complete. Every second is painful. I hate this. I hate myself. The question still beats at me relentlessly, does she even like me? So cliché. So stereotypically teenagerish. Probably not.
I stare at the road markings disappearing underneath the coach. The long dashes speed past, morphing into long, never-ending lines of white paint. Never ending, just like this journey.

The coach comes to a halt. Before it has even stopped half the bus is already on their feet, pulling together their belongings. I must get out first. The aisle is already jammed full of people, I wait impatiently. They lazily zip up their jumpers, drop their phones on the floor and gingerly reach down to pick them up, barge past each other, phone their parents, share jokes. I force my way into the crowd and move excruciatingly slowly towards the door. Down each step, littered with rubbish, jumping down onto the gravel. I look around, and through the throngs of people I don’t see her. I try to move around to spot her. Parents are standing around, meeting their children. The sky is darkening and the air is bitingly cold.
And then I see her, standing with her parents.
Ignoring the pile of suitcases being emptied onto the ground I run towards her. Breathless, I reach them. She looks embarrassed in front of her Mum and Dad, and they look surprised, but I don’t care. This is my last chance.
I look her in her eyes, until there is nothing else but them. I tell her, “Zoe, I

And then I see her, standing with her parents.
It’s too late, I watch them as they turn away and head home. I stand there, feeling surprisingly numb. A hollow pang of sorrow drills into me somewhere far away.
I turn to get my suitcase and collect my belongings.
I look round one more time as I walk across the car park and see her, waving at me. I wave back, and smile.
Then the moment is over. Time resumes.
I get into my Mum’s car, the door slams shut behind me.
“How was the trip?” she asks.
I mumble an empty response and stare out the window, hoping against hope for one last glimpse of her as we drive out of school.
I don’t see her.
I never did see her again.

If you’re listening somewhere out there, there is something I want you to know.
Something I want to share while it is still true.
Zoe, I