Student sample for assessment
Written by a Year 9 student in Bentleigh, Victoria, Australia.
My best friend Zara asks me to lie to my mum about where I'm going on Saturday night. It's not a big lie. She's going to a party her older sister is hosting, and she wants me to tell my mum we're studying at her place. She doesn't ask this like it's some huge favour. She just says it casually while we're eating lunch: "Hey, can you tell your mum we're at mine studying? My sister's having people over and it'll be epic." Epic. Like it's obvious I'll say yes. I don't say no immediately. That's the thing. If I've learned anything about myself, it's that I'm someone who thinks about what people want before I think about what I actually think. So when Zara says it, I feel the weight of the question before I feel anything else. I feel what she's assuming: that of course I'll do this. We've been best friends since Year 5. This is the kind of thing friends do. But my mum and I had a conversation about lying last month. Not because I'd lied to her, but because she'd found out someone at school had lied to their parents about something serious. She asked me: "How do you know when a lie is okay?" And I remember saying: "You don't. That's why you just don't do it." She'd smiled at me then like she was proud. I'm not angry at Zara. That's what's confusing. She's not being unreasonable. She's just asking me to be a different kind of friend—the kind who shows up, who's in it with them, who doesn't make things complicated. And I want to be that person. I want to go to the party. I want to be the friend Zara thinks I am. I tell her yes. We plan it out. My mum will drop me at Zara's at six. I'll text her when we're leaving the party. It's simple. But on Saturday morning, I wake up and I feel different. Not regretful exactly. Just aware that something has shifted. That I've made a choice to be someone—someone who lies to their mum, someone who pretends to be studying. I think about texting Zara and backing out. I almost do. But then I think about what that would mean: letting her down, being that person who doesn't show up, who makes things complicated. So I go. My mum drops me at Zara's. When she hugs me goodbye, she says: "Have fun studying." And I hug her back and don't say anything. That's the moment I feel it most—not the lie itself, but the distance the lie creates. She doesn't know what I'm actually doing. There's something between us now. Something that wasn't there before. I'm at the party and it's good. Zara's happy. I'm with people and it's fun. But I'm also aware—constantly, underneath everything—of the lie. Of my mum at home thinking I'm somewhere else. Of the choice I made to be this person. By the time Zara drives me back to her place and I text my mum to pick me up, I still don't know if I made the right choice. I just know I made a choice, and I'm going to live with it.