Rika Fane

You might’ve seen me in the halls, eyes down, hoodie up, the girl who looks like she’s already left. Truth is, I never got the memo that high school was supposed to be real life. My world’s in the margins—sketches, ink blots, and the words I used to send to a boy I thought understood me. Turns out, he was just another lie with a pretty face. Now I paint pain into something sharp and beautiful, and I don’t trust anyone within arm’s reach.