---

The first day back at school after the adoption felt both ordinary and extraordinary. The morning routine played out the same way it always did—Mom dropped us off in front of the familiar brick building, Sam and Lily chattering excitedly about their classes as they hopped out of the car. The crisp morning air carried the scent of damp pavement and the distant aroma of the cafeteria's breakfast offerings. Kids streamed toward the entrance, bundled in jackets, their laughter and shouts creating a lively hum.

But inside me, everything felt different.

I wasn't just Emily anymore. I was Emily Blake.

The name felt new but right, like a fresh coat of paint on a house that had always been mine. It wasn't just a name, though—it was a tether, something firm in a world that had always felt unsteady beneath my feet. As I stepped onto the sidewalk, a lightness settled in my chest, as if I'd shed an invisible weight I hadn't realized I was carrying.

I practically floated up the school steps, a grin tugging at the corners of my lips. The bustling hallway, with its echo of slamming lockers and the overlapping voices of students swapping weekend stories, didn't feel overwhelming for once. Instead, it felt alive. Familiar. Mine.

"Emily Blake," I whispered under my breath, testing it out again, savoring how it sounded in the space around me.

The thought sent a spark of excitement through me, bubbling up so strongly that I couldn't help but beam as I made my way to my locker. A few classmates passed by with nods and waves, and for the first time in a long time, I didn't feel like just another kid blending into the crowd. I felt seen.

"Hey, Emily!" a voice called.

I turned to see Sarah, one of the girls from my class, jogging up beside me. "I heard the news—your adoption! That's so awesome!"

My heart swelled at the warmth in her voice. "Thanks," I said, unable to keep the excitement from creeping into my own.

"So, does that mean you have, like, siblings now?" she asked, glancing toward Sam and Lily, who were already disappearing into the crowd.

"Yeah," I said, feeling the word settle deep in my bones. "Yeah, it does."

It felt good to say it out loud. It felt even better to believe it.

Emily!

Jasmine's voice rang out from down the hallway, cutting through the morning chaos like a burst of sunshine. I barely had time to turn before she was weaving through the crowd, her dark curls bouncing as she hurried toward me, her bright smile making everything around her seem warmer. Behind her, Mia trailed at a slower pace, her arms stacked high with books, balancing them carefully like they might topple at any moment.

"Hey!" I called, my own grin breaking free before I could stop it.

Jasmine wasted no time pulling me into a quick but tight hug, squeezing my shoulders before stepping back, her eyes shining with excitement. "Okay, spill—how was it? The adoption, I mean. You're officially a Blake now, right?"

"Yeah," I said, the word still feeling brand new, still filling me up in a way I wasn't sure I could explain. "It was amazing. They even made lasagna and chocolate cake to celebrate."

Jasmine clasped her hands together like she'd just heard the best news in the world. "Lasagna and chocolate cake? Emily, that's how you know you've made it. That's, like, the ultimate welcome-home meal."

"Sounds perfect," Mia added, shifting her books to one side so she could adjust the strap of her bag. Her voice was quieter than Jasmine's, but no less genuine. "Congrats, Emily."

Something about hearing them say it—really say it—made it feel even more real. It wasn't just something happening inside of me anymore. Other people saw it. Other people knew.

I let out a breath, one I hadn't realized I was holding, and smiled. "Thanks."

The three of us fell into step together, slipping into the steady current of students moving toward their lockers. The usual morning rush of clanging metal doors, hurried footsteps, and overlapping voices faded into the background as we talked about the break. Jasmine animatedly described her family's road trip to Florida, complete with an unfortunate incident where her little brother got carsick in the middle of a gas station parking lot. Mia, ever the bookworm, had spent most of the break curled up with a new fantasy series, her excitement barely contained as she recounted the plot.

And me? I told them about home. About how Sam and Lily had bickered over who got the last piece of cake. About how Mom had smiled at me across the dinner table like I'd always been hers.

As the bell rang, signaling the start of the day, I took one last glance around the hallway, taking in the lockers, the posters curling at the edges, the kids rushing to their classrooms. Everything looked the same as it always had.

And yet, everything had changed.

By the time lunch rolled around, I was starving. The cafeteria was as loud as ever, filled with the usual chaotic symphony of trays clattering, sneakers squeaking against the tile, and dozens of overlapping conversations. The air smelled like reheated pizza and something vaguely resembling mashed potatoes. I grabbed my tray and followed Jasmine and Mia to our usual table, weaving through the crowded space.

As we sat down, my gaze landed on something different.

Lexi was behind the lunch counter, wearing an apron and plastic gloves, her expression unreadable as she scooped mashed potatoes onto students' trays.

Lunch duty.

It was part of her punishment for the bathroom fight weeks ago. I hadn't thought about it much since then, but now, seeing her there, I felt something odd—like the balance of power was shifting, but I wasn't sure in which direction.

Jasmine nudged me, following my gaze. "Told you. She's been doing this all week."

"Has she said anything?" I asked, keeping my voice low.

Mia shook her head. "Not much, just 'next' and 'what do you want.' But she hasn't given anyone attitude, so... maybe she's learning her lesson."

I glanced at Lexi again. She wasn't miserable, but she wasn't her usual smug self either. Instead, she looked... neutral. Like she was just going through the motions—no smirks, no side comments, nothing. I wasn't sure what to make of it.

I was still processing that when a familiar voice cut through the cafeteria noise like a blade.

"Well, look who it is—our favorite little identity crisis."

My stomach clenched before I even turned.

Trevor.

He strolled past our table, his tray in one hand, his other shoved in his hoodie pocket, his smirk curling at the edges like he was waiting for a reaction. His voice carried, making sure people around us heard.

"You enjoying your free lunch, Emily?" he said, drawing out my name with mock sweetness. "Oh wait, is it Ethan today? Or something else? How's that work, anyway?"

Jasmine immediately sat up straighter. "Trevor, shut up."

Mia wasn't far behind, shooting him a glare. "Seriously, just leave her alone."

Trevor ignored them completely. His eyes locked on me, like a predator circling prey.

"So, what do your foster parents call you? Do they have to check a calendar to see who you're pretending to be today?" He chuckled to himself. "Bet that's fun. Probably took you in for the tax break. I mean, they have to be desperate, right?"

The words stung, sharp and deep, even though I told myself they shouldn't. The way he said it—like I was some kind of burden, like I was just some weird charity case—made my throat tighten.

Jasmine stood up so fast her chair scraped against the floor. "You better—"

Trevor barely looked at her. "What, Jasmine? You gonna fight me? Yeah, right. You two always playing bodyguards for Emily? Why do you even bother?"

Mia looked like she wanted to throw something at him. "Because she's our friend, you jerk!"

Trevor scoffed. "Friend? Man, you guys really must be desperate, too."

A few nearby students had stopped talking, watching the scene unfold, some whispering to each other. I could feel my face burning, my hands clenched into fists in my lap. I wanted to say something, to shut him up, to prove he wasn't getting to me—but I couldn't. My throat was too tight, my thoughts spiraling too fast.

Then, out of nowhere—

BANG.

A tray slammed onto the counter, hard enough to rattle the silverware. The sound cut through the cafeteria like a crack of thunder.

Lexi.

She stood behind the counter, her blue eyes locked onto Trevor with an expression so sharp it could cut glass. Her gloved hands were balled into fists, her apron streaked with mashed potatoes and gravy.

"Seriously, Trevor?" Her voice rang out, loud and clear. "You're still doing this?"

Trevor turned to her, momentarily caught off guard. "What's it to you?"

Lexi crossed her arms, her stance solid, unflinching. "It's pathetic. You've been running your mouth for months, and for what? What do you even get out of this?"

Trevor narrowed his eyes. "Oh, please. Don't tell me you actually care about—"

Lexi cut him off. "You sound like a total loser, dude. Like, actually. Emily's not a foster kid anymore. She got adopted. And guess what? Her family doesn't need a calendar to figure out who she is. They just accept her."

A ripple of whispers spread across the nearby tables. I felt my breath hitch, my heart pounding.

Trevor's smirk faltered—just slightly, but it was there. He looked around, like he was realizing people were watching. Listening.

Lexi tilted her head. "You know what's really funny? You act like Emily's the weird one, but you're the one obsessed with what she does. Like, seriously, Trevor. Find a new hobby."

A few students snickered. Jasmine crossed her arms, smirking. Mia exhaled a quiet oh, wow.

Trevor's face darkened. For a second, it looked like he wanted to say more, but then he noticed the way people were staring, waiting to see how he'd respond. Lexi wasn't flinching. Neither were Jasmine and Mia.

Trevor huffed, grabbing his tray with a jerky movement. "Whatever," he muttered, stalking off toward the back of the cafeteria.

Slowly, the noise resumed. Conversations picked back up, and students turned back to their own meals. But I just sat there, staring at my tray, my pulse still pounding.

Lexi had just stood up for me.

I turned to look at her, half expecting some sarcastic remark, but she was already back to serving food, acting like nothing had happened.

Jasmine finally sat back down, exhaling sharply. "Okay. That was... unexpected."

Mia smirked slightly, shaking her head. "Guess Lexi's finally had enough of Trevor's nonsense."

I didn't say anything right away. Instead, I just let my breath even out, the tightness in my chest easing.

Lexi had once been part of the bullying. And now, she was the one standing between me and Trevor.

Maybe people really could change. Well, Mia did.

Now I didn't feel like I was fighting this battle alone.

The rest of the school day passed quickly after that, but something about it felt different. Lighter. Maybe it was because I had Lexi's unexpected support during lunch. Maybe it was just the fact that I wasn't constantly looking over my shoulder for Trevor to ambush me.

Either way, for the first time in a long time...

I could breathe in school.

Mom was already waiting in the car when I walked out of the building. The cold air stung my cheeks, biting through my jacket as I hurried across the parking lot. My backpack felt heavier than usual—not because of books, but because of everything rattling around in my head.

I climbed inside the car, pulling the door shut behind me. The familiar scent of Mom's lavender-scented air freshener mixed with the lingering warmth from the heater.

"How was your day?" she asked, adjusting the heat dial. The vents whirred to life, blasting warmth onto my frozen hands.

I hesitated, rubbing my palms together. The memory of Lexi slamming her tray down, shutting Trevor up in front of everyone, replayed in my mind. It still didn't feel real.

"It was... good," I said slowly. "Kind of surprising, actually."

She glanced at me as she eased the car out of the parking lot. "Surprising how?"

I stared out the window, watching students scatter across the sidewalks, their breath forming little clouds in the crisp afternoon air.

"Lexi stood up for me today. Against Trevor."

Mom's eyebrows lifted slightly. "Lexi? The same Lexi who used to give you trouble?"

I nodded. "Yeah. She called Trevor pathetic and shut him down in front of everyone." I shook my head, still processing it. "I don't know. It just felt weird."

Mom turned onto the main road, her hands steady on the wheel. "Weird how?"

I let out a slow breath, watching it fade into the air. "Like... I don't know if I can trust it. Or if she's just trying to make herself look better."

The thought had been gnawing at me ever since lunch. Lexi had humiliated me before—laughed along with Trevor, made snide comments. Was this just another game? A way to clear her name now that she was on cafeteria duty and stuck serving food to the same kids she used to torment?

Mom didn't answer right away. She was like that—she never rushed to fill silence. Instead, she turned down a quieter road lined with bare trees, their branches stretching up like spindly fingers toward the sky. The golden light of the setting sun flickered through them, casting shifting shadows across the dashboard.

Finally, she said, "Sometimes people surprise us. They mess up, but they also grow. Maybe Lexi is trying to do better."

I bit my lip, fidgeting with a loose thread on my sleeve.

"Maybe," I mumbled.

But I wasn't sure I believed it.

Because I knew what it was like to want to believe someone had changed, only for them to prove they hadn't. I'd learned that lesson before.

Mom must have sensed my uncertainty because she didn't push it. She didn't tell me to trust Lexi or say I had to forgive her. She just let the conversation settle, like a book left open on a table, waiting to be picked up later.

I appreciated that.

As soon as we pulled into the driveway, the house's porch light flickered on, casting a warm glow over the snow-dusted steps. Before I even had time to unbuckle my seatbelt, the front door burst open.

"Emily! You're back! Guess what?"

Lily's voice rang through the chilly evening air as she bounded into the hallway, her cheeks flushed pink from the warmth inside. She practically vibrated with excitement, a piece of cardboard clutched in her mittened hands.

I laughed, shaking off my coat and stomping the snow from my boots. "What?"

She held up the sign proudly, her grin stretching ear to ear. "I made a new sign for the snow castle!"

The cardboard was covered in bright, messy markers, Emily's Kingdom scrawled across the front in big, colorful letters. The edges were a little crinkled, and there was a faint smudge where she must've leaned her hand against the ink before it dried, but to me, it was perfect.

I grinned. "That's amazing."

"Sam helped me spell it right," she added, her eyes shining with pride. "I almost wrote 'K-I-N-G-D-U-M,' but he fixed it."

I couldn't help but laugh. "Good thing you had a royal advisor."

"Wanna go outside and put it up?" she asked, bouncing on her toes like she could barely contain her energy.

I hesitated, glancing at Mom. She was setting her purse down on the counter, already shrugging off her coat.

"Can I?" I asked.

Mom smiled. "Go ahead. Just don't stay out too long—it's getting colder."

Lily didn't wait for another word. She grabbed my hand and practically dragged me toward the door. The cold hit me instantly, sharp and crisp, but Lily didn't seem to notice. She was already charging through the yard, the fresh snow crunching under her boots.

The snow castle stood in the middle of the yard, its walls slightly lopsided but still standing strong. The afternoon sun had hardened parts of it into smooth, icy patches, while other areas were soft and powdery. The towers, carefully molded from upside-down buckets, gave the whole thing an official, almost regal look.

Lily stopped in front of it, holding up the sign triumphantly. "Where should we put it?"

I stepped closer, brushing my gloved fingers over the uneven snow wall. "Right here," I decided, pointing to the front where it could be seen from the porch.

Lily grinned. "Perfect."

She pressed the bottom edge of the cardboard into the snow, packing extra handfuls around it to hold it in place. The sign wobbled a little but stayed put.

"There," she said proudly, stepping back to admire her work. "Now everyone knows it's your kingdom."

I wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into a side hug. "Our kingdom."

Lily giggled, leaning into me. "Yeah. Our kingdom."

The cold bit at my cheeks, but I didn't care. The glow from the porch light made the snow sparkle, and for a moment, everything felt warm, even in the freezing air.

Mom called from the doorway, her voice carrying through the night. "Alright, you two! Get inside before you turn into icicles!"

Lily huffed dramatically but didn't argue. "Fine," she said, trudging back toward the house. "But the royal castle better still be standing tomorrow."

I laughed, glancing back at the sign one last time before following her inside.

Emily's Kingdom.

For the first time, it really felt like one.

The snow had been packed hard from all the playing we'd done over the last few days, the surface uneven with footprints, handprints, and the marks of fallen snow angels. The castle still stood tall—a little lopsided in places, some of the towers slightly worn down from the wind, but still holding strong against the winter cold.

Lily crouched in front of the entrance, carefully wedging the sign into the packed snow. Her mittens were dusted white, and her breath came in little puffs of steam as she pressed the cardboard in place.

She stepped back, tilting her head to check if it was straight, then nodded in satisfaction. "There!" she declared. "Now everyone knows this is your castle."

I stared at the sign—Emily's Kingdom—the letters bold and colorful against the stark whiteness of the snow. Something warm curled in my chest, spreading through me like the heat from a fireplace after coming in from the cold.

"My castle, huh?" I murmured, running a gloved hand along the icy walls.

Lily nodded firmly, bouncing slightly on her toes. "Yep! Because you're really part of the family now. And that means you get your own kingdom."

Her voice was so sure, so matter-of-fact, like it was the most obvious truth in the world.

The words settled deep inside me, like snowflakes falling and melting into my skin.

A family. A home.

A kingdom—even if it was just a silly snow fort in the middle of our yard.

I blinked against the cold, swallowing against the sudden tightness in my throat.

"Thanks, Lily," I said softly, the words carrying more weight than she probably realized.

She beamed up at me. "Come on! We gotta make sure the walls don't fall down!"

Before I could answer, she was already scooping up fresh snow, reinforcing the base of one of the towers. Her energy was contagious, and for once, I didn't feel like standing back and watching.

I belonged here.

With my family. In my kingdom.

---

Friday morning arrived, bringing with it a sense of normalcy—yet everything still felt new. It had only been a few days since my adoption, but the weight of that moment still sat with me. I wasn't just Emily anymore. I was Emily Blake. And somehow, that made waking up a little easier.

The soft morning light filtered through my curtains, casting a golden glow over my room. I stretched, feeling the warmth of my blanket lingering on my skin before tossing it aside and rolling out of bed. The house was already stirring—muffled voices drifted from Sam and Lily's room, and the faint clatter of dishes accompanied the rich aroma of fresh coffee and toast rising from downstairs.

A smile tugged at my lips. A family. A home.

I pulled on my clothes and brushed through my hair, glancing in the mirror. My reflection stared back—same brown eyes, same messy waves—but somehow, I looked different. Maybe it was just the feeling of belonging that changed things. Maybe it was knowing that, for the first time in a long time, I didn't have to wake up worrying about what would happen next.

I made my way downstairs, my socks making soft thuds against the wooden steps. As I rounded the corner into the kitchen, the warmth of the room wrapped around me. Mom stood by the counter, pouring herself a cup of coffee, her auburn hair still slightly damp from a morning shower. She turned as I walked in, her smile as comforting as the scent of cinnamon in the air.

"Morning, sweetheart. You feeling okay?" she asked, her voice gentle but searching.

I nodded, sliding into my usual seat at the table. "Yeah. Just... still getting used to everything, I guess."

Her knowing look made my throat tighten, but she just reached out and ruffled my hair in that easy, affectionate way I was still learning to expect. "It's a big change, but it's a good one."

The words settled deep inside me, like an anchor holding me steady. I wanted to tell her that I believed it, that I felt it—but all I could do was smile and hope she understood.

Sam and Lily were already at the table—Sam with his ever-present book propped open beside his plate, occasionally glancing up to take a bite of his breakfast. Lily, on the other hand, was practically inhaling her French toast, syrup glistening on her fingers as she tore through each bite.

"You're eating like you haven't been fed in days," I teased, picking up my fork.

Lily grinned at me through a mouthful of toast, her cheeks puffed out. "It's good!" she mumbled around her food.

Mom chuckled as she set my plate in front of me. "You'd think I never feed these kids."

I took a bite, the warm cinnamon and butter melting on my tongue. She was right—it was good. A simple moment, an ordinary breakfast, but it was more than that. It was a memory being made, a new rhythm settling in, a reminder that I wasn't just passing through anymore. I was part of this. Part of them.

The car ride to school was peaceful, the soft hum of the engine blending with Lily's cheerful singing. Despite Christmas having come and gone, she was still happily humming "Jingle Bell Rock" under her breath, tapping her fingers against the car door in rhythm.

Sam groaned, tossing his head back against the seat. "Lily, seriously? Christmas is over."

"But it's still winter," she shot back, undeterred. "That means I can still sing Christmas songs."

"Yeah, for like three more months," Sam grumbled, reaching for the radio controls. "Can you at least pick something else? Please?"

Lily crossed her arms, puffing out her cheeks. "Fine. But I get to choose the next song."

Mom chuckled from the front seat as she adjusted the rear view mirror. "Let's not turn this into a battle over the aux cord, okay? I'd like a peaceful drive."

I looked over at mom, I was confused. "What's an aux cord?" I thought.

Lily huffed dramatically, scrolling through her playlist on her phone. "Fine. How about this?" She tapped the screen, and "Abracadabra" by Lady Gaga filled the car. The song was nearly two decades old—released about three years before I was even born.

Sam sighed. "Better than Christmas music, I guess."

I sat quietly in the back, listening to their playful argument with a small smile. The familiarity of their banter was comforting, a reminder that despite everything going on, some things hadn't changed. My fingers traced the edge of my backpack as I gazed out the window, watching the world blur past. The morning light cast long shadows across the pavement, the frost on the grass shimmering in the sun.

"You okay back there, Em?" Mom asked, glancing at me through the mirror.

I blinked and nodded quickly. "Yeah. Just tired."

Mom gave me a knowing look but didn't press further. "Alright. Just remember, if you need anything, you can text me."

The school soon came into view, the parking lot already filling up with students. As Mom pulled up to the drop-off lane, she turned to look at me again. "Remember, Em, just take it one step at a time. And if anything happens, text me, alright?"

I nodded, gripping my backpack straps. "Okay."

Lily grinned. "And if anyone gives you trouble, just say the word, and I'll—"

Sam groaned. "You're, like, the last person she needs defending her."

Lily gasped. "I am very intimidating, thank you very much."

Mom shook her head with a chuckle. "Alright, enough bickering. Everyone, have a good day."

I gave her a small smile before unbuckling my seat belt and stepping out of the car. The cold air nipped at my face as I adjusted my backpack. With one last glance at Mom, I shut the door and took a deep breath, bracing myself for the day ahead.

Walking through the school doors felt... normal. But today, normal felt good.

The scent of freshly polished floors and distant cafeteria food mixed in the air, the usual hum of conversation and laughter echoing down the hallway. Lockers clanged open and shut as students hurried to their first classes, backpacks slung over shoulders, sneakers squeaking against the tile floor.

Jasmine and Mia found me at my locker, as usual, but today, their faces were practically glowing with excitement. Jasmine, always the more animated of the two, bounced on her heels, her dark curls bobbing around her shoulders.

The three of us started walking toward our first class, slipping effortlessly into conversation. The morning rush moved around us in a blur of chatter and motion, but for once, I wasn't focused on dodging stares or preparing myself for whatever Trevor might have to say. I wasn't carrying the weight of the past on my shoulders.

"So," Jasmine nudged me with her elbow, a sly smile creeping onto her face. "So lets have a movie night this weekend?"

"Absolutely," Mia agreed, adjusting her glasses. "Your pick, Emily."

I pretended to think for a moment, then grinned. "How about something totally ridiculous? Like one of those horror movies where the characters make every bad decision possible?"

Jasmine groaned. "Ugh, you mean the ones where they run up the stairs instead of out the front door?"

"Exactly," I laughed. "They never learn."

Mia smirked. "You just like watching us yell at the screen."

"Maybe." I shrugged, still grinning.

Jasmine rolled her eyes dramatically. "Fine, but if I lose my voice from screaming at these idiots, I'm blaming you."

I smirked. "Fair enough. But you have to admit, it's fun watching them trip over literally nothing while the killer just casually walks after them."

Mia chuckled, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. "It's like they have a built-in self-destruct mode. 'Oh no, a perfectly good car with keys in the ignition? Better run into the creepy basement instead!'"

Jasmine groaned again, shaking her head. "And the way they always split up! Like, come on, do they not watch horror movies in their own universe?"

I pointed at her. "Exactly! It's a tradition at this point. If they actually made good choices, the movie would be over in fifteen minutes."

Mia tapped her chin thoughtfully. "So, are we going for classic dumb horror or extra cheesy low-budget horror?"

Jasmine perked up. "Ooh, what about one of those old-school slasher flicks? The ones with the super fake blood and the over-the-top screaming?"

I snapped my fingers. "Yes! Something from the 80s where the dialogue is terrible, the effects are questionable, and the killer has some weird gimmick."

Mia's face lit up. "Like the one where the guy uses an ice cream scoop as a weapon?"

Jasmine gagged. "Ew, I forgot about that one!"

I laughed. "Perfect. Let's make popcorn, get some blankets, and prepare to suffer through two hours of people making the worst decisions possible."

Jasmine sighed but smiled. "I swear, I have no idea why I let you pick the movie."

"Because it's fun," I said, slinging my backpack over my shoulder as we started heading to class.

Mia grinned. "And because you secretly love yelling at the screen just as much as we do."

Jasmine didn't argue, just rolled her eyes again with a small smirk. That was basically confirmation.

"How about that classic movie from the 80's 'Night of the Comet'?" I asked.

Mia's eyes lit up with recognition. "Oh! Night of the Comet! That's a good one!"

Jasmine gave her a skeptical look. "Wait, isn't that the one where almost everyone turns to dust, except for, like, two valley girls with machine guns?"

I grinned. "Exactly. Post-apocalyptic, kinda horror, kinda comedy, and super 80s."

Mia smirked. "So, basically, it's perfect for us."

Jasmine groaned but was clearly amused. "Ugh, fine. But if it's too ridiculous, I reserve the right to make sarcastic commentary the entire time."

I shot her a thumbs-up. "That's literally half the fun."

Mia nodded. "Alright, we're set. My place or yours?"

"Mine," I said without hesitation. "My parents will be out, so we can turn up the volume and reenact the most ridiculous lines without judgment."

Jasmine snorted. "Yeah, because that's what we're worried about being judged for."

I playfully elbowed her. "Hey, it's a valid concern!"

Mia giggled. "Okay, so it's settled. Friday night, ridiculous 80s horror, and enough popcorn to last through an apocalypse."

Jasmine sighed dramatically but couldn't hide her smile. "Guess I better start preparing myself now."

I smirked. "Don't worry. If the world ends in a comet disaster, at least we'll know how to survive."

Mia adjusted her glasses with a smirk. "Step one: find a shopping mall."

We all burst into laughter as we headed off to class, already looking forward to what promised to be an absolutely ridiculous—and totally fun—movie night.

By the time we reached our classroom, the usual morning chaos had settled, and students were slipping into their seats. I slid into mine, the cool surface of the desk grounding me. For the first time in a long time, I felt ready to take on the day—not just survive it, but actually be present for it.

As the bell rang and class began, I couldn't help but let my mind wander back to how different things felt now. The fear, the uncertainty, the weight of my past... it wasn't gone, but it wasn't controlling me anymore.

I was Emily Blake.

And that was enough.

By the time lunch rolled around, my stomach was already twisting in hunger. The cafeteria was its usual loud, chaotic mess—shouts bouncing off the walls, trays clattering against tables, the scent of reheated pizza and something vaguely resembling mashed potatoes hanging in the air. But I didn't mind. It was normal. And right now, normal was something I desperately needed.

I grabbed my tray, trying not to grimace at the slightly congealed cheese on the pizza, and followed Jasmine and Mia to our usual table near the far window. The spot had become ours over time, a little corner away from the worst of the cafeteria madness. As we walked, my eyes flickered toward the lunch counter, where Lexi was still stuck behind the metal trays, serving food as part of her punishment.

Yesterday, she'd done something I hadn't expected—she had defended me. Stood up to Trevor. It had thrown me off, and even though the moment had passed, it still lingered in my mind. I hadn't had the chance to talk to her about it, and I wasn't even sure what I'd say if I did.

Instead, as I reached the end of the line, I caught her eye. For a second, I hesitated, then gave her a small nod. To my surprise, she nodded back. No smirk, no sarcastic comment. Just a simple acknowledgment. It was... weird.

"Enjoy your free lunch," Jasmine muttered under her breath, mimicking Trevor's sneer from yesterday in a mocking tone.

I rolled my eyes, shifting my tray in my hands. "Please don't remind me."

"Speaking of," Mia said, tilting her head slightly toward the far side of the cafeteria.

I followed her gaze, and my stomach did a little flip—but not because of the food. Trevor was there, but something was off. He wasn't at his usual spot, where he was always surrounded by a group of guys who laughed at every joke, no matter how cruel. Instead, he was sitting alone.

For a moment, he looked up, and our eyes locked. His expression twisted into something I couldn't quite read—anger? Guilt? Something else entirely? Before I could even begin to decipher it, he quickly turned away, shoving a fork into his food with a little too much force.

I furrowed my brows. "Weird."

Jasmine snorted. "Guess even his friends are getting sick of him."

"Good," Mia said simply, taking a seat and biting into her apple like she didn't have a care in the world.

I wasn't about to argue. But something about the way Trevor sat there, shoulders tense, jaw clenched, didn't sit right with me. He looked... smaller somehow. Deflated. Like all the bravado and arrogance had been stripped away, leaving behind someone who didn't quite know where they stood.

I shook the thought away and focused on my lunch. It didn't matter. Whatever was going on with him wasn't my problem. Not anymore.

Still, I couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted.

The rest of the school day flew by. Classes were uneventful, and gym—thankfully—wasn't a nightmare. Trevor kept his distance, and for once, I didn't feel like a target. It was strange, going through a whole day without constantly checking over my shoulder or bracing for a cruel remark. Maybe it wouldn't last, but for now, I'd take the peace where I could find it.

As the final bell rang, I gathered my things from my locker, carefully placing my books into my bag, when a voice stopped me.

"Emily."

I turned to see Lexi standing a few feet away, still in her lunch duty apron, looking uncertain. The bright blue fabric stood out against her dark jeans and the faded hoodie she always wore.

I hesitated. "Yeah?"

She shifted, like she wasn't sure how to say what she wanted. Her fingers twitched slightly, then curled into the pockets of her jeans. "Just... about yesterday. I meant what I said to Trevor."

I studied her, trying to figure out what she wanted from me. Her voice was steady, but there was something vulnerable about the way she held herself, like she was waiting for me to confirm or deny something important.

"Okay," I said cautiously.

Lexi exhaled, her shoulders dropping just a little, like she'd been holding her breath. "I just... I know I wasn't exactly nice to you before. I get why you wouldn't trust me. But I just wanted you to know, I'm not that person anymore."

For the first time, I actually believed her.

It wasn't just the words. It was the way she said them, the way she looked at me—not with pity or guilt, but with a kind of quiet sincerity that made me think she meant it. Lexi had always been part of the crowd that made my life miserable, but maybe she really was trying to change. Maybe standing up to Trevor wasn't just a one-time thing.

I gave her a small nod. "I appreciate that."

Lexi's shoulders relaxed slightly, and she gave me a quick nod in return before turning to leave. I watched her walk away, processing everything that had happened in the last two days. A week ago, I never would have thought Lexi would be on my side. But maybe things were starting to change.

~o~O~o~

When I stepped outside, the cool afternoon air brushed against my face, crisp and fresh compared to the stuffy hallways. The parking lot was a flurry of activity—students weaving between cars, laughter and chatter filling the air, buses rumbling in the distance. My eyes scanned the lot until I spotted Mom's car near the curb.

She was already watching for me, her expression warm as I slid into the passenger seat. As soon as I buckled my seat belt, she glanced at me with a knowing smile. "So? How was today?"

I thought about it for a moment, letting the question settle. There were still so many things hanging over me—but today? Today had been okay. More than okay.

"Good," I finally said. "Really good."

Her smile widened as she pulled out of the parking lot. "I'm glad to hear that."

So was I.

We drove in a comfortable silence for a little while, the familiar hum of the engine and the soft sound of the radio filling the space between us. I stared out the window, watching as the school disappeared in the rear view mirror, replaced by quiet neighborhoods and leaf-covered sidewalks. The sun was starting to dip lower in the sky, casting everything in a golden glow.

Mom reached over and gave my knee a light squeeze. "You seem different today. Lighter."

I shrugged, but she wasn't wrong. "It's just... I don't know. Things feel a little less awful right now."

"That's good," she said softly. "You deserve that."

---

The scent of fresh coffee and toast filled the house as I trudged into the kitchen, still rubbing the sleep from my eyes. The morning light streamed in through the window, casting a golden glow over the countertops.

Mom stood by the stove, flipping pancakes while humming softly to herself. Sam was already seated at the table, reading a book between bites of scrambled eggs, while Lily practically bounced in her seat, kicking her feet under the table.

"Morning, sleepyhead," Mom greeted with a smile, glancing over her shoulder as I sat down. "You actually slept in today."

I yawned. "I think my body finally decided to catch up on rest."

Lily leaned forward, grinning. "That's 'cause you were up late talking to Mia and Jasmine on the phone."

I shot her a look. "You eavesdropping now?"

She giggled. "No, but I did hear you laughing a lot."

Mom set a plate of pancakes in front of me before sitting down with her own cup of coffee. "It's nice to hear you laughing more," she said softly, and something about the way she said it made warmth spread in my chest.

I drizzled syrup over my pancakes, watching as it soaked into the fluffy stack. "It's nice to laugh more."

Sam, without looking up from his book, mumbled, "That's kind of sad."

Lily kicked him under the table. "Don't be a grump."

Mom just shook her head with an amused smile. "Alright, enough of that. Eat up before everything gets cold."

For a while, we just ate, the quiet hum of morning settling around us. It was comfortable, familiar, home.

After finishing off the last of my pancakes, my gaze landed on Mom's coffee mug. The rich, dark liquid steamed as she took a slow sip, her face relaxing as if it were the best thing in the world.

I'd never really wanted coffee before, but something about the way she enjoyed it made me curious.

"What does coffee taste like?" I asked, tilting my head slightly.

Mom raised an eyebrow. "Bitter, unless you add sugar and cream."

Lily wrinkled her nose. "It's gross. I tried it once, and it tasted like burnt dirt."

Sam finally looked up from his book. "It's an acquired taste," he said matter-of-factly before taking another bite of his toast.

I hesitated before glancing at Mom. "Can I try some?"

She studied me for a moment, then sighed and stood up. "Alright, but just a little. I don't need you bouncing off the walls."

Lily gasped. "No fair! You didn't let me try it when I asked!"

"That's because you were six at the time," Mom said, pouring a small amount into a separate mug. She grabbed the sugar and cream, stirring in a generous amount before setting it down in front of me. "Here, try this. It's light and sweet, so it won't be as bitter."

I picked up the warm cup, feeling the heat seep into my fingers. Taking a cautious sip, the taste hit me immediately—rich, slightly bitter, but mellowed out by the cream and sugar. It wasn't bad, but it wasn't great either.

"Well?" Sam asked, smirking. "Do you love it?"

I swallowed and made a face. "It's... weird."

Mom laughed. "That's a pretty common reaction the first time."

"I kinda like it," I admitted, taking another small sip. "But I don't think I'd drink it every morning."

Lily shook her head dramatically. "Nope, you've been corrupted. Next thing you know, you'll be waking up at five in the morning and grumbling like Mom."

Mom gasped in mock offense. "Excuse me, I do not grumble."

"Yes, you do," Sam and Lily said in unison.

I laughed, setting the cup down. "Maybe coffee's not for me after all."

Mom ruffled my hair, smiling. "Probably for the best."

As the laughter settled, I leaned back in my chair, feeling a quiet contentment.

After breakfast, as I was rinsing my plate in the sink, Lily tugged at my sleeve.

"Emily," she said, practically bouncing on her heels. "Can you read another chapter of Captain Flip today?"

I blinked at her, caught off guard. It had been a while since I last read the book out loud. A few months, actually.

"You still want me to read that?" I asked.

Lily gasped, clutching her chest dramatically. "Of course! You left me on a cliffhanger last time! I need to know what happens next."

I smirked, drying my hands with a towel. "I don't even remember where we left off."

"Yes, you do!" she insisted. "Captain Flip was about to sail into the Forbidden Waters, but the Shadow Corsairs were waiting for him! You have to read it today."

I couldn't help but laugh at her excitement. "Alright, alright. I'll read it."

Lily squealed and raced off toward the living room. Sam, who had been listening from the table, rolled his eyes.

"You created a monster," he muttered.

I stuck my tongue out at him before following Lily into the living room. She was already curled up on the couch, hugging a pillow, the book sitting on her lap. The worn cover had creases along the edges, a sign of how many times we had flipped through it.

"I bet Captain Flip is gonna find the treasure in this chapter," Lily said, her voice filled with anticipation.

I plopped down beside her and took the book in my hands. "Actually, today we're starting a new adventure."

Lily's eyes widened. "A new one?"

I grinned. "Yep. The Adventures of Captain Flip: The Quest for the Whispering Pearl."

Lily gasped dramatically. "That sounds amazing!"

I flipped open to the first page, taking a deep breath before beginning.

"'The salty breeze carried the scent of adventure as Captain Flip stood at the helm of his mighty ship, The Storm Chaser. The sea stretched wide before him, endless and full of mystery. But today, he wasn't sailing for just any treasure—he was chasing a legend.'"

I glanced at Lily, who was already hanging onto every word, eyes wide with excitement.

"Keep going!" she urged.

I smiled and turned the page.

I cleared my throat, making my voice a little deeper, a little grander—just the way Lily liked it when I read aloud.

"The sun hung high over the Salty Sprinkles Sea as Captain Flip lounged on the deck of the Banana Boat, flicking seaweed from behind his ear..."

Lily curled up against my side, eyes wide with excitement as I read on, her tiny fingers gripping the edges of the blanket draped over us. The warmth of the house, the soft hum of the heater, and the crackling fire in the background made for the perfect storytime setting.

Sam had originally sat across from us, pretending to be uninterested, flipping through some book of his own. But by the time Captain Flip revealed the map to the Whispering Pearl, Sam had scooted closer, casually leaning on the couch arm like he wasn't completely invested.

I smiled to myself but kept reading.

When I got to the part about the Giggling Gulls, Lily giggled herself, covering her mouth. "I would not let them steal my scarf," she declared.

Sam smirked. "They'd probably think it was some kind of magical cloth and build a whole shrine around it."

Lily elbowed him playfully, then gasped when I continued reading.

"A massive clam emerged from the darkness, its shell gleaming like polished silver. Two glowing eyes peered from within."

Lily grabbed my arm. "Oh! Old Murmur!" she whispered dramatically.

I kept going, making my voice as deep and slow as possible.

"I am Old Murmur, the guardian of the pearl!"

Lily grinned from ear to ear as I read through the riddle, her eyes darting between me and the book as if she could solve it before Captain Flip did.

When I finally reached the end, "Sounds like the start of another adventure!", Lily flopped back against the couch with a satisfied sigh.

"That. Was. Amazing," she declared.

Even Sam, who had been pretending not to care, gave a small nod of approval. "Alright, that was actually kinda cool. I like the part with the riddle."

Lily sat up quickly. "Can we read another one?"

I laughed, closing the book. "Not right now. I think one adventure is enough for today."

She pouted but didn't argue, still clearly buzzing from the story.

As I set the book down, I glanced at the window. The snow was still falling, but softer now, like a quiet reminder that winter wasn't done with us yet.

Lily leaned into me, still warm from the excitement. "I wish we could have a real adventure like Captain Flip."

I smiled, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. "We do, Lily. Every day."

Lily stretched with a satisfied grin before hopping off the couch. "That was so good! Captain Flip is the best pirate ever!"

"Better than Captain Blackbeard?" I teased.

Lily scrunched her nose. "Duh. Captain Flip actually has adventures instead of just stealing stuff."

She skipped off to her room, probably to draw another one of her colorful pictures, leaving me sitting there with the book still in my hands. I traced my fingers over the cover before setting it down. Reading to Lily always made me feel warm inside, like I was doing something right. Like a big sister should.

As I stood up, the scent of something warm and savory drifted from the kitchen, making my stomach growl. I followed the smell and found Mom pulling out ingredients from the fridge.

She glanced up and smiled. "You want to help with lunch?"

I hesitated. "Uh... sure. What are we making?"

"Grilled cheese and tomato soup," she said, placing a block of cheddar on the counter. "Perfect for a snowy day."

I grabbed a cutting board and a knife, carefully slicing the cheese into thick, even pieces. "You always make soup from scratch, right?"

Mom chuckled. "Of course. Canned soup is fine, but homemade is so much better." She grabbed a few ripe tomatoes, rinsing them under the sink. "Wanna chop these?"

I took the knife and got to work, the bright red tomatoes staining my fingers as I cut them into chunks. The soft thunk-thunk of the knife against the cutting board was oddly soothing.

Mom set a pot on the stove, heating some butter until it sizzled. "Cooking's kind of like an adventure, don't you think?" she mused, stirring in diced onions.

I raised an eyebrow. "An adventure?"

"Sure," she said with a grin. "You take simple ingredients, mix them together, and create something totally different. Kind of like Captain Flip searching for treasure—except our treasure is a good meal."

I smirked. "So... does that make you the captain of this kitchen?"

"Obviously," she said, flipping her dish towel over her shoulder like a cape. "And you, my dear, are my first mate."

I laughed, shaking my head as I finished cutting the tomatoes. "First mate reporting for duty, Captain."

We worked together, moving through the kitchen like we'd been doing this for years. Mom blended the tomatoes into a smooth soup while I buttered the bread and layered on the thick slices of cheese. The pan sizzled as I placed the sandwiches down, pressing them lightly with the spatula. The smell of melting cheese filled the air, warm and comforting.

A few minutes later, we sat down at the table with steaming bowls of soup and perfectly golden grilled cheese sandwiches. As I took my first bite, the crispy bread giving way to gooey, cheesy goodness, I couldn't help but smile.

Mom caught my look and raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"Nothing," I said, dipping my sandwich into the soup. "Just... this is really nice."

Her expression softened. "It is, isn't it?"

The warmth of the food, the gentle hum of the heater in the background, the snow still falling softly outside—it was one of those moments I wanted to hold onto forever.

For the first time in a long time, home didn't feel temporary. It felt real. It felt right.

---

The roads were slick with melting snow as we drove through the city, the car heater blasting warmth into the chilly air. The buildings outside grew taller, glass windows reflecting the overcast sky. I leaned my forehead against the cold window, watching as we passed rows of stores and restaurants, their neon signs blinking against the gray afternoon.

"We're almost there," Mom announced from the driver's seat, turning on her blinker as we approached a massive parking lot.

I sat up straighter, my stomach twisting with a mix of excitement and nerves. I had never been here before.

Outside, a massive structure stretched as far as I could see, its walls lined with huge advertisements for different stores, restaurants, and even an indoor amusement park. The glass entrance doors were constantly revolving with people coming and going, bundled up in winter coats, their breath fogging in the air.

Lily practically vibrated with excitement beside me. "It's huuuuge!" she exclaimed, pressing her face against the car window.

Sam, sitting next to her, smirked. "You act like you've never been here before."

"I haven't been here in forever," she shot back. "Last time, I was like, six. And I didn't get to ride any of the cool rides!"

Mom chuckled as she pulled into a parking spot. "Well, we're not here for just rides. We have shopping to do first."

Lily groaned dramatically but didn't argue.

As soon as we stepped out of the car, the cold hit me like a wall, my breath turning to mist. We hurried inside through the glass doors, and the moment we stepped into the main atrium, I stopped in my tracks.

The place was massive.

Multiple levels stretched above us, each floor lined with gleaming glass railings that overlooked the vast central area. Shiny storefronts with bold lettering and neon signs framed the walkways, their displays full of mannequins dressed in the latest styles. A massive skylight loomed overhead, its arched panes casting streaks of soft, golden light that shimmered against the polished tile floor.

But the real spectacle sat right in the middle of it all—an entire indoor theme park, alive with movement and sound. A roller coaster twisted and looped between trees and flashing billboards, its bright orange track weaving dangerously close to other rides. Carnival lights blinked in rapid succession, illuminating the rides and game stalls, where kids tugged their parents toward oversized plush prizes.

The scent of cinnamon pretzels and buttered popcorn mixed with the crisp, new-clothes aroma of the surrounding stores. It was overwhelming—but also kind of incredible.

And just when I thought it couldn't get any more surreal, a life-sized SpongeBob SquarePants waddled past, his foam costume swaying with each exaggerated step. He waved at a group of excited kids, his wide, frozen grin somehow both cheerful and unsettling.

"Alright," Mom said, pulling off her gloves. "We have a few things to get done first. Sam, you need new jeans, right?"

Sam sighed. "Yeah. I grew again."

Mom turned to me. "Emily, you need anything?"

I hesitated, shifting on my feet. "Um... I guess I could use some new sweaters?"

Mom smiled. "Perfect. And Lily, you already know you need new shoes."

Lily groaned. "But I don't want new shoes."

"You literally have a hole in your boot," Sam pointed out.

Lily scowled. "That's called character."

Mom raised an eyebrow. "It's called a hole. And you're getting new shoes."

Lily huffed but didn't argue.

The first store we hit was a department store, where Mom sent Sam off to the men's section while she took Lily and me to find sweaters and shoes.

I still wasn't used to shopping like this—with someone actually wanting to buy me things. For so long, I'd only ever gotten clothes secondhand or from charity drives, and because of my 'birth-mother', I'd learned not to be picky.

Now, though, Mom actually wanted me to pick things out for myself.

I ran my fingers over a rack of soft knit sweaters, my gaze lingering on one in particular—dark green with a cable-knit pattern. It looked warm. Cozy.

Mom must've noticed, because she pulled it off the rack and held it up. "You like this one?"

I swallowed, nodding. "Yeah... I do."

She smiled and handed it to me. "Then we'll get it."

Just like that. No hesitation. No sighing about the price. No telling me to hurry up and pick something else.

For a moment, I didn't know what to do with that.

Lily, meanwhile, was in full drama mode over the shoe selection.

"These are too stiff," she complained, putting down a pair of sneakers. "And these are too pink. And these are—"

"Lily," Mom said, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Just pick a pair that fit."

Lily crossed her arms. "They also have to have vibes."

I snorted, shaking my head as I folded my sweater over my arm.

Eventually, Lily found a pair of boots that apparently passed her vibe check, and we met up with Sam again, who had already picked out jeans and was looking thoroughly done with shopping.

"Can we get food now?" he asked.

Mom checked her watch. "Actually, yeah, we're right on time for lunch."

Lily perked up. "Oooh, can we get pretzels?"

Mom shook her head. "Real food first, then snacks."

Lily pouted but didn't argue.

The food court was chaos.

People bustled between the different counters, balancing trays piled with burgers, pizza, and steaming bowls of noodles. The air was thick with the smell of fried food and fresh bread.

We managed to grab a table, and soon enough, we were all digging into our food—Mom and Sam had sandwiches, I had a bowl of soup, and Lily had somehow convinced Mom to let her get a slice of pizza and chicken nuggets.

"This place is kind of crazy," I admitted, looking around at the sheer size of everything.

Sam nodded. "Yeah, it's like a city inside a city."

"I think it's awesome," Lily said through a mouthful of pizza.

Mom chuckled, her gaze drifting upward as if lost in a memory. "I remember coming here when I was your age," she said, a nostalgic smile creeping onto her face. "Back then, the park was called Camp Snoopy. Everything was themed around the Peanuts gang—Charlie Brown, Lucy, Linus, and Snoopy himself. It felt like stepping straight into one of the comic strips. The rides were different too—smaller, maybe, but just as exciting."

Her eyes swept across the flashing lights and twisting tracks of the new rides. "It's wild seeing how much has changed. Back then, Camp Snoopy felt huge—but looking at this now? I think they've outdone themselves."

I stirred my soup, taking in everything. The noise, the movement, the sheer energy of it all. The theme park buzzed with life—roller coasters rattling overhead, flashing lights blinking in rapid succession, kids shrieking with delight as they darted between game booths and cotton candy stands. The air smelled like cinnamon pretzels and buttered popcorn, blending strangely with the warm, savory steam rising from my bowl.

I lifted my spoon, but my gaze caught on something across the food court.

There he was again—SpongeBob SquarePants, or at least some poor soul stuck inside the giant foam costume, waddling past with exaggerated, bouncy steps. He waved at a few kids, his wide, frozen grin unchanging, his oversized blue eyes almost too bright under the artificial lights. One kid ran up and hugged his spongy leg, and for a second, SpongeBob just stood there before dramatically patting the kid's head like he was in a cartoon.

I huffed a quiet laugh and took a slow sip of my soup.

I had spent so much of my life trying not to take up space—trying to blend into the background, to keep quiet, to not be a problem. But here? Here, it was impossible not to take up space.

And for the first time, I didn't feel like I had to make myself smaller.

I took a deep breath and smiled. "I think I kind of like it."

Mom gave me a warm look. "Good."

And as we sat there, surrounded by the buzz of people, the clatter of trays, and the laughter of kids on the rides nearby, I let myself just be.

As soon as we finished eating, Lily wiped her hands on a napkin and turned to Mom with wide, hopeful eyes.

"Can we go on the rides now?" she asked, practically bouncing in her seat.

Mom raised an eyebrow. "I thought we were here to shop."

Lily gasped dramatically. "That was before I remembered there was a whole amusement park inside!" She turned to me and Sam for backup. "Right, guys? We should totally go on at least one ride!"

Sam leaned back in his chair, smirking. "I'm good."

Lily groaned. "You're so boring."

Mom sighed, clearly debating whether or not she wanted to spend the next hour chasing us around a theme park.

I hesitated, glancing toward the giant indoor amusement park visible from the food court. Twisting coasters, bright flashing lights, and the distant sound of kids screaming as they plunged down a log ride—it was a lot.

But then I looked at Lily's face—pure, hopeful excitement.

She had so much energy, so much confidence. And honestly? I kind of envied her for it.

I took a deep breath and shrugged. "I'd go on a ride."

Lily gasped, grabbing my arm. "YES! SEE? Emily wants to go!"

Mom sighed but smiled. "Alright, alright. One ride."

Lily pumped her fist in victory. "YES! You're the best, Mom."

The amusement park smelled like cotton candy, popcorn, and that weird mix of rubber and metal that all theme parks seemed to have. Lily practically dragged me through the crowd, weaving between families and kids clutching oversized stuffed animals from game booths.

The place was huge, and everywhere I looked, there were Nickelodeon characters staring back at me. A giant slime fountain sat in the center, bubbling with a bright green glow, and a massive statue of SpongeBob grinned down from above a ride entrance.

"Okay, okay, which ride first?" Lily said, spinning in place as she tried to take in everything at once.

I barely had time to think before she pointed at a spinning roller coaster, its bright orange tracks looping through the air. The sign read:

The Fairly OddCoaster.

My stomach dropped just looking at it. The cars were teacup-style, which meant they spun while moving on the tracks.

"That one!" Lily declared, practically bouncing.

I swallowed. "Of course you picked the one that spins in every possible direction."

Mom chuckled. "You sure about this one, Emily?"

I wasn't. But Lily looked so excited, and after everything she'd done to make me feel welcome, I kind of wanted to do this for her.

I sighed. "Yeah. Let's do it."

Lily squealed and grabbed my arm, dragging me toward the line.

The second the lap bar clicked into place, I knew I had made a mistake.

"This is gonna be AWESOME!" Lily cheered beside me.

The ride lurched forward, climbing the first hill. I gripped the lap bar as we neared the top, my stomach twisting.

Then we dropped—and the car spun.

The world blurred as we twisted and turned, the coaster dipping through neon-colored tunnels and over bright blue tracks. Somewhere in the distance, I saw a giant Timmy Turner face staring at me, which only made the whole experience weirder.

Lily was cackling. I was clinging to the lap bar for dear life.

"I CHANGED MY MIND!" I yelled as we whipped around a curve.

"TOO LATE!" Lily howled with laughter.

The car spun again, sending us into a dizzying spiral. I squeezed my eyes shut for a second before forcing myself to look at Lily.

She had the biggest grin on her face, her hair whipping around wildly. She wasn't scared at all. She was free.

And somehow, despite my stomach flipping in every possible direction, I started laughing too.

By the time we pulled into the station, my legs were shaky, and I was a little dizzy, but... I didn't hate it.

Lily jumped out of the car, beaming. "THAT. WAS. AMAZING."

I stumbled after her. "That was something, alright."

Mom met us at the exit, smirking. "How was it?"

Lily threw her arms in the air. "Best. Ride. EVER."

Mom looked at me. "And you?"

I took a breath, still feeling the world tilt slightly. But then I smiled. "I survived."

Mom laughed, wrapping an arm around my shoulders as we started walking. "That's all that matters."

Before I could fully recover, Lily was already planning our next ride.

"Oooh! Let's do SpongeBob SquarePants Rock Bottom Plunge!"

I turned to see a bright blue and yellow roller coaster, its cars shaped like SpongeBob's pineapple house. It had a near-vertical drop that made my stomach lurch just looking at it.

"Hard pass," I said immediately.

Lily pouted, then spun around and pointed at another one. "Avatar Airbender!"

I followed her gaze and felt my soul leave my body. It was a huge halfpipe, with ride cars shaped like Aang's air scooter. The whole thing spun while swinging back and forth.

"Nope. Absolutely not."

Lily groaned. "You're so lame."

"Pick something that doesn't make me want to throw up, and we'll talk."

She huffed, crossing her arms, but then her eyes landed on something else. "What about Dora's Rescue Adventure?"

I turned and saw a slow-moving indoor ride, themed around Dora the Explorer.

I smirked. "That, I can handle."

Lily gasped. "Wait, no! That was a joke! I don't want to go on baby rides!"

Mom laughed. "Well, maybe next time you'll pick something everyone likes."

Lily groaned dramatically, but I just smiled.

Maybe I wasn't as fearless as Lily. Maybe I wasn't ready for SpongeBob drops or Avatar spins.

But I had survived one ride.

And that was enough.

After barely surviving The Fairly OddCoaster, I decided I was done with rides for the day.

Lily, of course, was not.

The second she spotted Blue's Skidoo, a gentle spinning ride themed after Blue's Clues, she immediately dragged Sam along instead. He rolled his eyes but didn't fight her on it—probably figuring it was easier to let her burn off energy than argue.

Mom and I found a bench nearby, overlooking the amusement park. The neon lights flickered above us, and the distant roar of a roller coaster filled the air. Kids ran past clutching plush toys, and the smell of popcorn mixed with the sugary scent of cotton candy.

For a while, we just sat there, watching.

Then Mom glanced at me. "You holding up okay?"

I shrugged, still feeling the slight dizziness from earlier. "Yeah. Just... rides aren't really my thing."

Mom smiled. "That's okay. You don't have to love everything Lily does."

I picked at the edge of my sweater, the one Mom had bought for me earlier. "She's really something else, though."

Mom chuckled. "That she is."

I hesitated, watching as Lily and Sam boarded the ride, her excitement still buzzing even after hours of running around.

"I don't think I was ever like that," I admitted softly.

Mom tilted her head. "Like what?"

"Like Lily," I said. "So... carefree. Excited about everything."

Mom exhaled, nodding slowly. "You've had a different life than her."

I stared at my hands. "Yeah."

She didn't push me to say more, and I was grateful for that.

I took a deep breath. "It's just... weird, I guess. Being here. Doing this."

Mom's expression softened. "Weird how?"

I struggled to find the right words. "I guess... I just keep waiting for it to go away. For this to be temporary." I gestured toward the park, the mall, everything around us. "Like, I don't know—like one day, I'll wake up, and it won't be real anymore."

Mom was quiet for a moment before she spoke.

"It is real, Emily."

I swallowed hard, focusing on a patch of scuff marks on the tile floor. "I want to believe that."

Mom turned slightly, facing me. "I know you do. And I also know it's hard."

She reached out, gently squeezing my hand.

"I can't change the past," she said softly. "But I can tell you this—you're not going anywhere. This family? It's yours. Forever."

Something thick formed in my throat, and I wasn't sure what to do with it.

A few months ago, I would've pulled away. I wouldn't have believed her.

But now?

Now, I let her hold my hand.

Now, I let myself hope.

A loud ding sounded from across the park as Lily and Sam's ride came to a stop. Within seconds, Lily was bounding toward us, her face flushed with excitement.

"That was amazing!" she announced, grabbing my hands and practically swinging me off the bench. "Can we get ice cream before we leave? Pleeease?"

Mom laughed. "I suppose we can do that."

Lily cheered, already dragging Sam toward the food stands.

Mom stood up, looking at me again. "You ready to head out?"

I nodded, but before I followed her, I glanced around the amusement park one last time.

I still wasn't sure I fully believed it yet.

But maybe I was starting to.

---

Monday morning came too fast.

The weekend had been fun—surprisingly so. I still wasn’t sure if I was ready to call myself the kind of person who enjoys the mall, but spending the day with my family had felt… different. Good different. Like I was starting to settle in, even if part of me was still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

I tugged my new sweater over my head, adjusting the sleeves as I looked in the mirror. It was soft and warm, the deep green fabric wrapping around me like a hug. It wasn’t too fitted, wasn’t too baggy. Just right.

Some days, I felt more comfortable dressing a little more masculine. Other days, I leaned more feminine. But today? Today, I just wanted something cozy and safe.

And this sweatshirt? It was exactly that.

I grabbed my backpack and headed downstairs.

The school halls were loud and chaotic as always. Lockers slammed, voices overlapped, and students moved in clusters like schools of fish, dodging around each other with practiced ease.

Jasmine spotted me first. “Hey! Look at you, all cozy and mysterious in that sweater.”

I smirked. “Mysterious?”

She nodded. “It’s giving ‘I know something you don’t know’ energy.”

Mia, who had been switching out her textbooks, glanced over. “It suits you.”

Something about those three words settled deep in my chest.

It suits you.

Not "That looks nice on you" or "Oh, cool sweater." Just… it fits. Like it matched me—not just on the outside, but in a way that said they saw me.

I smiled. “Thanks.”

We made our way toward first period, but before we got there, I heard the voice I least wanted to hear.

“Oh, look who it is,” Trevor sneered from his locker, arms crossed. “What’s the vibe today, huh? We going for brooding poet or mysterious loner?”

I ignored him.

That only made him push further. “Or wait—lemme guess. You wake up every morning and roll a dice to see who you’re gonna be?”

A flicker of old fear tried to claw its way up my spine. But today?

I wasn’t in the mood.

I turned, leveling him with a look. “You really have nothing better to do, do you?”

His smirk faltered—just for a second.

Jasmine, never one to let anything slide, scoffed. “Seriously, Trevor. Do you wake up thinking about how to be the biggest asshole in school, or does it just come naturally?”

A few kids nearby snickered.

Trevor rolled his eyes, slamming his locker shut. “Whatever.” He muttered something under his breath and stalked away.

Mia exhaled. “Wow. I think that was the fastest one yet.”

Jasmine grinned. “I’ve been honing my skills.”

I let out a slow breath, feeling the tension ease from my shoulders.

A few months ago, that kind of comment would have followed me all day. Would’ve stuck to me like glue, making me second-guess everything about myself.

But now?

Now, it barely lingered.

I glanced down at my sweater—the one I picked, the one Mom bought just for me, because she knew I liked it.

I felt comfortable in my skin. In my clothes.

In who I was.

And Trevor’s opinions?

They didn’t change that.

“C’mon,” I said, adjusting my backpack. “We’re gonna be late.”

Jasmine and Mia fell into step beside me, right where they always were.

And that was all I needed.

As always during lunch, the cafeteria was as loud and chaotic as ever. The scent of pizza, tater tots, and overcooked vegetables hung in the air as students moved through the lunch line, grabbing trays and swapping conversation.

But something was… different.

Trevor wasn’t there.

No smug smirk. No side comments as I walked past.

Just… nothing.

I noticed it, and so did Jasmine. “Huh,” she mused as we grabbed trays. “No Trevor today. Think he finally got bored of being the worst human alive?”

Mia adjusted her glasses, glancing around. “Maybe he’s in detention.”

Jasmine scoffed. “If only we could be so lucky.”

I should have been relieved, but instead, my eyes landed on someone else.

Lexi.

She was standing behind the lunch counter, wearing the same school-issued apron and plastic gloves as before, scooping mashed potatoes onto plates. Her expression was neutral, her focus on her task. She didn’t look miserable, but she also didn’t look happy to be here.

I stepped forward, sliding my tray into place. Lexi glanced up, her blue eyes flicking to mine for a split second before she spoke.

“Can I talk to you at the end of lunch?”

The question caught me off guard.

Not "Next," or "What do you want?" but an actual request.

I hesitated. A few weeks ago, Lexi had been right there with Tasha, laughing at me, making my life miserable. She had never been as loud as Tasha, never the one throwing the first insult, but she had stood by and let it happen. Encouraged it. Added her own words when it suited her.

Then Tasha turned on her.

She had tried to defend me that day—tried to stop Tasha from attacking me—but by then, it was too late to pretend she hadn’t played a part in everything before that.

Tasha was gone now—expelled. Lexi wasn’t. But she wasn’t off the hook, either. Two weeks of lunch duty was her punishment, a reminder that even if she had tried to do the right thing at the last second, she had still spent months making my life miserable.

And now, she was standing here, asking me for a moment of my time.

I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.

I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.

But something in her expression made me nod. “Yeah. Sure.”

Lexi didn’t say anything else, just nodded back before scooping a pile of tater tots onto my tray.

I moved along, trying to shake the weird feeling in my stomach.

Jasmine, of course, noticed immediately. “What was that about?”

“She wants to talk after lunch.”

Jasmine narrowed her eyes. “Oh no. Nope. Absolutely not. Do we need to establish a no Lexi zone? Because I will.”

Mia, ever the logical one, sighed. “Let’s not get dramatic. Maybe she wants to apologize again.”

“She already apologized,” Jasmine shot back, stabbing her fork into a tater tot. “How many do-overs does she get?”

I poked at my food, considering it. “I don’t know. But… she seemed serious.”

Jasmine scoffed. “Yeah, well, so did Trevor the time he pretended to be nice to that substitute teacher. And we all know how that turned out.”

Mia tilted her head. “You’re not wrong… but I think Lexi’s different. She didn’t have to defend Emily against Trevor. But she did.”

Jasmine grumbled under her breath but didn’t argue.

I let their voices fade as I took a bite of my pizza, my mind still stuck on Lexi.

What did she really want?

And more importantly… was I ready to listen?

The cafeteria buzzed with noise and movement as students dumped their trays and filtered toward the hallways. I lingered near the doorway, shifting on my feet, my tray feeling heavier than it should as I debated whether I really wanted to do this.

Lexi was waiting near the back of the lunchroom, still wearing her lunch duty apron, her arms crossed over her chest. She wasn’t looking around for me, wasn’t tapping her foot impatiently or rolling her eyes.

She just stood there, watching me approach.

I took a deep breath and walked over. “Okay,” I said, stopping a few feet away. “What did you want to talk about?”

Lexi pulled off her gloves and exhaled, like she was trying to gather her thoughts.

“I know I already apologized,” she started, her voice lower, less guarded than usual. “But I wanted to say it again. And this time, I really mean it.”

Something in my chest tightened.

I had heard apologies before. From people who didn’t mean them. From people who just wanted to move past the problem without actually fixing it.

I had learned to be careful with forgiveness.

Still, I didn’t say anything. I just waited.

Lexi hesitated before continuing. “I got a phone call last night,” she said, her fingers tightening around the edge of her apron. “From Tasha.”

My stomach dropped.

Tasha had been gone. Expelled. And after she attacked me, I figured I’d never hear about her again.

“What?” I asked, my voice quieter than I meant it to be.

Lexi nodded. “She bailed out of juvie.”

I blinked. “Bailed out?”

Lexi’s jaw tightened. “Her parents got her a lawyer. They pulled some strings, and now she’s out.”

A chill ran through me, colder than the winter air outside.

I should have known. Tasha’s family always got her out of trouble, always made excuses for her, always made things disappear.

But this?

“She called you?” I asked, my voice uneasy.

Lexi’s hands clenched into fists. “Yeah. And she wasn’t exactly calling to catch up.”

A strange feeling curled in my stomach.

“What did she say?”

Lexi swallowed, her blue eyes flicking to mine. “She said she had it coming for you.”

The cafeteria noise faded into the background.

She had it coming for me.

I felt sick.

Tasha had already gone too far before. She had already crossed every possible line.

But she still wasn’t done.

Lexi must have seen something in my face because she stepped forward, lowering her voice. “Listen, I know I don’t have a right to ask you to trust me. Not after everything.”

I stared at her, my thoughts spiraling.

Lexi had stood beside Tasha for months. She had laughed at my expense. She had never stopped it—not until Tasha turned on her.

And now, she wanted to act like my protector?

Lexi exhaled, rubbing her forehead. “I never told Tasha this, but…” She hesitated, like she wasn’t sure if she should say it. Then she did anyway.

“I have a sister,” she said quietly. “She’s transgender.”

My breath hitched.

Lexi looked away. “She came out when I was in sixth grade. And… I was a brat about it. I didn’t understand. I said stupid things. Made her life harder than it needed to be.”

I wasn’t sure where this was going, but I stayed silent, waiting.

Lexi sighed. “She doesn’t talk to me much now. Not because she hates me or anything, but because I made it really hard for her back then. And after everything I did to you, I started thinking about that. About her.”

She let out a bitter laugh. “I used to think I was better than Tasha. That I was just playing along, that I wasn’t really hurting anyone. But I was. And I hurt you.”

Her words hung there, heavy in the air between us.

She shifted on her feet. “I want to be your ally, Emily. Not just because I feel guilty, not just because of what Tasha said—but because I want to be better. And if Tasha comes after you, I swear I’ll do whatever I can to stop her.”

I stared at her, my chest tight with too many emotions at once.

I didn’t know what to say.

Lexi had spent months making my life miserable. But now, she was choosing to stand on the other side.

And she wasn’t asking me to forgive her immediately. She wasn’t making excuses.

She was owning it.

I swallowed. “I don’t know if I can trust you,” I admitted, my voice honest but not cruel.

Lexi nodded. “I figured.”

I took a deep breath, my fingers tightening around the strap of my backpack. “But… I guess we’ll see.”

Lexi let out a small breath, like she had been holding it. Then she nodded. “That’s fair.”

The bell rang, signaling the end of lunch.

I turned to go, but before I left, I glanced back at Lexi.

“Thanks for telling me,” I said.

She didn’t smile, but there was something softer in her eyes. “Yeah. See you around.”

I walked out of the cafeteria, my mind spinning.

Tasha was back.

Lexi wanted to be my ally.

I wasn’t sure what to think about either of those things.

But one thing was for sure.

This wasn’t over.

It was gym class. And as usual, it smelled like sweat, rubber, and floor polish—the usual mix of scents that somehow managed to be both familiar and awful at the same time.

I adjusted the sleeves of my sweatshirt, keeping it on even though I knew I’d probably overheat by the end of class. Some days, I felt comfortable enough in just my T-shirt. Today wasn’t one of those days.

Mia and Jasmine stood beside me, stretching lazily while the rest of the class milled around, waiting for instructions.

Jasmine nudged me. “So… what did Lexi want?”

Mia perked up. “Yeah, was it another apology?”

I glanced around, making sure no one was eavesdropping, then lowered my voice. “She told me Tasha bailed out of juvie.”

Jasmine froze mid-stretch. “Excuse me, WHAT?”

Mia’s expression turned serious. “How?”

“Her parents got her a lawyer,” I said, crossing my arms. “And now she’s out.”

Jasmine made a disgusted noise. “Ugh. Of course they did. Probably cried their way out of it, saying ‘our daughter is misunderstood’ or some garbage like that.”

Mia frowned. “Did she say anything about you?”

I nodded. “Lexi said Tasha told her she’s ‘coming for me.’”

Jasmine’s eyes darkened. “Oh, hell no.”

Mia exhaled sharply. “That’s… really bad.”

“Yeah,” I muttered. “No kidding.”

Before we could keep talking, the gym teacher blew the whistle and called for everyone to huddle up.

That’s when I saw him.

Trevor.

Standing near the back, leaning against the bleachers, arms crossed, looking like he couldn’t care less.

I knew guys like Trevor. They didn’t just let things go.

We split up into groups, some kids grabbing basketballs while others stretched for warm-ups. Mia, Jasmine, and I ended up in a small group together, which was good—less risk of getting paired with someone awful.

Trevor joined another group across the gym.

At first, he seemed like he was ignoring me, focused on whatever half-effort he was putting into his workout.

But then, when no one else was looking—

He lifted his hand and gave me the finger.

Just like that. No words. No smirk. Just a single, silent message.

I stiffened, my pulse spiking for half a second.

Then I exhaled, rolled my eyes, and turned away.

Mia noticed. “What?” she asked, glancing at me.

I shook my head. “Nothing.”

Jasmine followed my gaze, catching Trevor’s expression as he turned back to his group.

She huffed. “Ugh. He is such a child.”

Mia sighed. “At least he’s keeping his distance.”

“Barely,” I muttered, shaking off the moment.

Trevor still hated me. That much was clear.

But for whatever reason, he wasn’t pushing things like before.

And honestly? That was fine with me.

---

By the time school let out, the winter sky had already started to darken, the weak afternoon sun sinking behind thick gray clouds. I pulled my hoodie up as I stepped outside, shoving my hands into my pockets to keep the cold from biting through my fingers.

Lily was already at the car, talking Mom’s ear off about something exciting that happened in class. Sam leaned against the passenger side door, scrolling through his phone, completely unbothered by the weather.

I adjusted my backpack and started toward them—

Then I heard it.

“Emily.”

The voice was quiet but firm, coming from just off to the side near the bike racks.

I turned, expecting to see Jasmine or Mia catching up—but instead, I saw someone else entirely.

A girl, probably a year or two older than me, stood near the fence, her black beanie pulled low over her ears, a thick gray scarf wrapped around her neck. Her dark brown eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that made my stomach twist.

I didn’t recognize her.

But something about the way she was watching me—not with cruelty, not like Trevor or Tasha, but with something else—made me freeze.

She tilted her head slightly. “You don’t know me,” she said. “But I know Tasha.”

My heartbeat kicked up a notch.

She took a slow step forward, glancing around like she was making sure no one else was listening. “I don’t have a lot of time,” she muttered. “But I wanted to warn you.”

A cold feeling crept up my spine. “Warn me about what?”

Her jaw tightened. “Tasha’s been running her mouth ever since she got out. She’s got people listening to her.”

I swallowed hard. “What do you mean?”

She hesitated, her breath forming small puffs in the freezing air. “Just be careful,” she said. “She’s not done with you.”

I stiffened.

I had already known that—Lexi had warned me. But hearing it from someone completely unrelated? That made it feel even more real.

The girl shifted her weight, glancing over her shoulder. “I don’t know what she’s planning. But I figured you’d rather know than not.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Why are you telling me this?”

For the first time, she hesitated. Then she exhaled sharply, like she had debated saying something and decided against it. “Let’s just say… I don’t owe Tasha anything,” she muttered. “And I don’t like watching people get screwed over.”

Before I could say anything else, she turned on her heel and walked away, her boots crunching in the thin layer of snow covering the sidewalk.

I stared after her, my heart hammering.

That had not been normal.

She had known my name.

She had known about Tasha.

And now, she was warning me to watch my back.

I wasn’t sure what terrified me more—the fact that she had said it… or the fact that I believed her.

The ride home was quiet.

Lily, of course, didn’t notice. She kept chattering away, going on about her day, completely unaware of the fact that I wasn’t even hearing her. Sam made the occasional sarcastic remark, scrolling through his phone like usual.

But me?

I was stuck.

Stuck on what that girl had said.

"She’s got people listening to her."

"She’s not done with you."

"Just be careful."

The words looped in my head, over and over, getting louder each time.

I tried to breathe, tried to push the panic down, but the farther we drove, the worse it got. My fingers were curled into fists inside my hoodie pocket. My leg bounced restlessly. My stomach twisted itself into knots.

She had known my name.

She had gone out of her way to warn me.

Tasha wasn’t just talking—she was making moves.

And I had no idea what that meant.

By the time we pulled into the driveway, my hands were shaking.

Lily jumped out first, running ahead toward the front door. Sam trailed behind her, stuffing his phone into his pocket as he walked inside.

I stayed in my seat, gripping my backpack like a lifeline.

Mom noticed.

She always did.

She turned off the car, but she didn’t get out right away. Instead, she glanced over at me, her expression shifting from calm to concerned in an instant.

“Emily?” Her voice was gentle, but firm. “What’s wrong?”

I tried to speak.

I couldn’t.

My chest tightened. My breathing hitched.

I was panicking.

I was really panicking.

Mom reached out, resting a hand lightly on my shoulder. “Hey, sweetheart, breathe.”

I tried. I really did.

But my thoughts were racing too fast.

Tasha was out.

She had people listening.

She wasn’t done with me.

I pressed my palms against my temples, my breath coming too quick, too shallow.

I felt trapped. Like the walls of the car were closing in.

Mom’s voice cut through the haze. “Emily. Look at me.”

I did.

Her expression was steady, calm, but her eyes were full of concern.

“I need you to breathe with me, okay?” she said softly.

I clenched my jaw. “I—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can.”

She took a slow, deep breath, in through her nose, holding it for a few seconds before exhaling. She nodded for me to do the same.

I tried.

It was hard—my lungs felt like they were fighting against me—but I forced myself to follow her lead.

In.

Hold.

Out.

Again.

And again.

Eventually, my hands stopped shaking. My vision cleared. My heart wasn’t slamming as hard against my ribs anymore.

I still felt unsteady, but the wave of panic was fading.

Mom watched me carefully, waiting until I wasn’t gasping for air before she spoke again.

“Do you want to tell me what happened?”

I swallowed, my throat tight and raw.

I wanted to say no. I wanted to pretend it wasn’t real, that if I didn’t say it out loud, it wouldn’t exist.

But I knew better.

So I forced myself to whisper, “Tasha’s out.”

Mom’s face didn’t change—but I saw it. The way her grip on the steering wheel tightened just slightly. The way her eyes flickered with something sharp, something protective.

I kept going. “She called Lexi. Said she had it coming for me.”

Mom’s jaw clenched. “What else?”

I swallowed again. “Some girl—older than me—came up to me after school. Said she knew Tasha. Said I needed to be careful.”

That got a reaction. Mom straightened in her seat.

“She knew your name?”

I nodded.

Mom exhaled, gripping the wheel like she wanted to break it in half.

For a long moment, she didn’t say anything.

Then, finally, she spoke. “Okay. We’re going to handle this.”

I stared at her. “How?”

Mom looked me dead in the eye. “By making sure she never gets the chance to hurt you again.”

Mom didn’t waste a second.

The moment we stepped inside, she took off her coat, tossed it over the chair by the door, and walked straight toward Dad’s office. Her footsteps were firm, determined—not rushed, but not hesitant, either.

I followed, my legs still feeling a little shaky.

Through the slightly open office door, I could hear Dad’s calm, professional voice. He was in the middle of a Zoom call, something about budgets or quarterly reports—normal work stuff.

Mom didn’t care.

She knocked once—sharp, purposeful—before pushing the door open anyway.

Dad glanced up from his screen, eyebrows raising in mild surprise at the interruption. “Give me one second,” he said into his headset before muting the call. He leaned back in his chair, studying Mom’s face, then mine. His brows knitted together immediately.

“What’s wrong?”

Mom didn’t sit. She crossed her arms, her stance unshakable. “Tasha’s out.”

Dad’s expression didn’t change much, but I saw it. The way his fingers tensed slightly on the desk, the way his eyes flicked toward me for half a second before settling back on Mom.

He reached up, took off his headset, and set it carefully on the desk. “Explain.”

Mom did.

She laid it out quick and direct—how Tasha’s parents bailed her out, how she called Lexi, how she made a threat against me. And then, finally, how a mystery girl had approached me after school, warning me that Tasha had people listening to her.

Dad’s jaw tightened.

When Mom finished, he leaned forward, pressing his hands together. His voice was measured, but there was something cold underneath it—something I had never really heard before.

“What exactly did this girl say?” he asked me.

I swallowed, still feeling the tension in my chest. “She said… she doesn’t know what Tasha’s planning, but she wanted me to be careful.” I hesitated. “And she knew my name.”

Dad exhaled slowly, like he was holding something back.

Then he looked at Mom. “We need to call the school.”

Mom nodded. “Already planned on it.”

Dad’s fingers drummed once against the desk, his version of thinking fast. “If Tasha tries to come near the school, near our house—”

“She won’t,” Mom cut in, her voice steel-hard. “Because we’re not letting it get that far.”

Dad nodded once. He looked at me, his expression softer, but still serious. “Do you feel safe?”

The question made my stomach twist.

I wanted to say yes. But I didn’t know if that was true.

So I shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Dad’s gaze didn’t waver. “Then we fix that.”

I swallowed hard, blinking fast. “How?”

Mom sat down on the edge of the desk, looking me straight in the eye. “First, we call the school and let them know what’s going on. Second, you’re not walking home alone, you’re not going anywhere without a friend. You stay aware.”

I nodded, gripping the strap of my backpack.

Dad wasn’t done. “And if she tries anything, we go straight to the police.”

The word police made my stomach twist, but I understood. This wasn’t just bullying anymore. Tasha had crossed that line a long time ago.

Mom sighed, running a hand through her hair. “She’s not going to take this from you,” she said. “She doesn’t get to control your life.”

I wanted to believe that.

But Tasha had never been the kind of person to back down quietly.

Still, looking at my parents—at the way they were already planning, already protecting me—I realized something.

I wasn’t alone in this.

Not anymore.

Mom didn’t waste time.

As soon as she finished talking to Dad, she grabbed the house phone and dialed the school. I sat on the couch, gripping a throw pillow like it was the only thing keeping me grounded. My stomach still felt twisted, my chest tight, and my head buzzed with the weight of everything.

Tasha was out.

She had people listening.

She wasn’t done with me.

And the one place I was supposed to feel safe—school—was about to let me down.

I already knew it before Mom even got past the secretary.

The office transferred her to Mr. Peterson. I heard his voice muffled through the phone, deep and level, like he had done this conversation a hundred times before.

I knew that tone.

It was the “we’ll handle it” voice people used when they actually meant “this is not my problem.”

Mom’s posture didn’t change, but I saw the tension in her shoulders as she explained the situation—all of it. That Tasha was out of juvie, that she had called Lexi, that she had made a direct threat against me.

And then came his response.

"We don’t have any reason to believe she would return."

I felt my stomach drop.

Mom’s fingers tightened around the phone. “Excuse me?”

"We don’t have any reason to believe she would return," Mr. Peterson repeated, like he was reading from a script. "And we can’t take action unless something actually happens. But we’ll keep an eye out."

Mom’s entire body stiffened.

My pulse pounded in my ears.

Of course.

Of course, this was how they handled it.

Like I was just being paranoid. Like Tasha hadn’t already crossed every line imaginable. Like she hadn’t attacked Lexi two weeks ago in a rage-fueled meltdown.

Mom’s voice was steady, but deadly cold. “So you’re telling me that my daughter needs to wait until something happens—until this girl shows up—before you’ll take action?”

"We simply can’t act on speculation, Mrs. Blake."

Speculation.

That word slammed into me like a punch.

Speculation, as if I was just making this up. As if I hadn’t been living in fear of Tasha for months, as if I didn’t have every reason in the world to be afraid now.

Mom inhaled deeply through her nose. “You do realize,” she said, her voice low and sharp, “that if anything does happen, I will personally make sure this school is held responsible for ignoring a documented history of harassment and violence against my daughter.”

Silence.

Then Mr. Peterson sighed, like this conversation was an inconvenience for him.

"I understand your concerns, Mrs. Blake," he said finally. "We will alert security to be on the lookout for any unauthorized visitors. But unless Miss Caldwell physically enters school grounds, there’s nothing more we can do."

Mom gritted her teeth. “Fine,” she said stiffly. “But if anything happens, I want it on record that I reported this to you. Today.”

"Understood," he said, already sounding dismissive.

Mom hung up the phone without another word.

The room was silent for a long moment.

Then she turned to me.

I couldn’t even look at her.

My heart pounded, my hands felt clammy, and a horrible, familiar weight settled deep in my chest.

The school wasn’t going to help.

They weren’t going to protect me.

I had known it—of course I had known it—but hearing it so plainly, so directly, made me feel sick.

Mom let out a slow, controlled breath, then ran a hand over her face. “They’re useless.”

I let out a hollow laugh. “Yeah. No kidding.”

She shook her head, muttering something under her breath before kneeling down in front of me, resting a hand on my knee. “Listen to me, Emily.”

I swallowed, forcing myself to meet her eyes.

She wasn’t angry. She was furious—but not at me. At the school. At the system that was failing me.

“This changes nothing,” she said firmly. “Tasha isn’t going to get near you. Do you hear me?”

I nodded stiffly.

Mom squeezed my knee gently. “I’m not just going to sit around waiting for something to happen. If the school won’t step up, I will.”

I blinked. “What does that mean?”

Mom stood up, pulling her phone out of her pocket. “It means I’m calling someone who will actually do something about this.”

I stared.

“…Who?”

She was already scrolling through her contacts, her jaw set with determination. “Your uncle.”

My stomach did a weird little flip.

Uncle Who?

“Uncle David.”

Mom’s older brother. A former military police officer who now worked in private security. The same uncle who had taught me how to throw a proper punch last summer when I got frustrated about Tasha messing with me.

I suddenly felt very, very bad for Tasha.

Mom hit call, lifted the phone to her ear, and walked into the other room, already talking.

I slumped back against the couch, exhaling.

Tasha was coming.

The school wouldn’t protect me.

But my family would.

---

The next morning, I woke up feeling like I hadn't slept at all.

I dragged myself out of bed, the weight of everything still sitting heavy on my chest. My brain kept replaying every single thing that had happened yesterday—Tasha's threat, the school brushing it off, Mom making that call to someone I didn't even know.

The world hadn't changed overnight, but it sure felt different.

I threw on my hoodie and jeans, making sure the sleeves of my sweatshirt covered my hands. I wanted to disappear today, to just get through school without anything else being thrown at me.

But deep down, I knew that wasn't going to happen.

At breakfast, Mom acted normal.

Too normal.

She made coffee, helped Lily with her hair, and talked to Sam about something he had due for class. She didn't mention last night, the phone call, or Tasha.

I stared at my plate, pushing my eggs around with my fork, waiting for her to bring it up.

She didn't.

Finally, I broke the silence. "Did you... talk to him?"

Mom paused mid-sip of her coffee. "Yes."

I waited for her to say more, but she didn't.

I frowned. "And?"

Mom set her mug down. "And we'll talk about it later. Right now, you need to eat and get ready for school."

I hated that answer.

But I also knew that tone—the one that meant she wasn't going to give me anything else right now.

So I let it drop.

For now.

At school, Jasmine and Mia were waiting at my locker.

And they could tell immediately that something was up.

Jasmine narrowed her eyes. "Okay. What's wrong?"

I sighed, shoving my books into my locker. "The school is useless. That's what's wrong."

Mia crossed her arms. "What did they say?"

I turned to face them, my frustration bubbling up again. "I told Principal Peterson about Tasha. About how she called Lexi, how she threatened me, how some girl I don't even know warned me to be careful." I snapped my locker shut. "And you know what he said? We don't have any reason to believe she would return."

Jasmine's jaw dropped. "Are you freaking kidding me?"

Mia let out a slow breath. "That's... that's really bad."

Jasmine wasn't calm about it at all. "So what, they're just gonna wait until something happens? Like, oh, sorry Emily, I guess we should've stopped her before she ruined your life again?"

"Pretty much," I muttered.

Mia rubbed her temples. "That's completely irresponsible."

"Yeah, no kidding," I said, crossing my arms. "Mom tried to push back, but they basically shut her down."

Jasmine shook her head, looking like she wanted to throw something. "Okay, well, if the school isn't gonna do anything, then we have to."

I raised an eyebrow. "Jasmine, what exactly do you think we're gonna do?"

She threw up her hands. "I don't know! But we can't just pretend this isn't happening."

Mia nodded. "She's right. Even if we can't stop Tasha from coming back, we can at least be prepared. Watch each other's backs."

Something about that eased the pressure in my chest a little.

At least I had them.

At least I wasn't alone in this.

The rest of the morning passed in a blur.

I couldn't focus. Every time someone walked by me in the hall, I found myself checking their face, looking for any sign of Tasha or someone connected to her.

Nothing happened.

No warnings.

No strange looks.

No Tasha.

But I still felt like I was waiting for something to drop.

I felt like I was coming apart at the seams.

Even though nothing had happened yet, my chest felt tight all morning, my stomach flipping every time someone walked past me in the hallway. I caught myself checking the doorways, glancing over my shoulder, waiting for something to happen.

It didn't.

And somehow, that made it worse.

Because the longer nothing happened, the more I felt like it was only a matter of time.

By third period, I could barely focus.

The teacher's voice drifted in and out, words turning into static as my mind replayed yesterday over and over again.

Tasha is out.

She had it coming for me.

She has people listening.

I tapped my pencil against my desk, my leg bouncing under the table. The room felt too warm, like the air was pressing in on me. I tried to shake the feeling, tried to tell myself I was just overthinking it, but my brain wouldn't let it go.

The second the bell rang, I was out of my seat instantly, shoving my books into my bag and heading straight for the hall.

I needed air.

I needed space.

I needed to—

"Emily?"

I flinched at the voice before realizing it was Lexi.

She was standing near the lockers, still wearing that same cautious expression I'd seen since she started trying to "fix things."

I hadn't even noticed her watching me.

"Are you okay?" she asked, frowning slightly.

I blinked. "I'm fine." The words came out too fast.

Lexi didn't buy it.

She crossed her arms, studying me like she was debating whether or not to say something.

I didn't have time for this.

I needed to get away, clear my head, something—but before I could walk off, Lexi sighed.

"She's not here."

My stomach clenched. "What?"

"Tasha," she said, voice even. "I know you're waiting for her to show up, but she's not here. At least... not yet."

I exhaled sharply. "Great. That makes me feel so much better."

Lexi hesitated, looking like she wanted to say more, but she pressed her lips together and shook her head. "Just... don't let her get in your head before she even does anything."

I scoffed. "That's easy for you to say."

Lexi frowned. "No, it's not."

I didn't know how to respond to that, so I didn't. Instead, I just turned and walked toward my next class, my pulse still hammering, my skin still crawling with the feeling that something was coming.

Because deep down, I knew.

Lexi could say Tasha wasn't here yet.

Jasmine and Mia could say they had my back.

Mom and Dad could say they'd protect me.

But at the end of the day, none of it mattered.

Because Tasha wasn't the kind of person to let things go.

And she wasn't done with me.

Not by a long shot.

The cafeteria was loud, but I barely heard it.

The sound of trays clattering, voices overlapping, laughter ringing across the room—it all blurred into the background, like a movie I wasn't really watching.

I stared at my plate, my hands resting limply on the edges of my tray.

Spaghetti.

The red sauce was thick, pooling beneath the tangled noodles, and the longer I looked at it, the worse it got.

It didn't look like food.

It looked like guts.

Like someone had spilled their insides onto my tray and expected me to eat it.

My stomach twisted.

I swallowed hard, pushing the tray a little farther away.

Jasmine noticed immediately. "Emily, you haven't eaten anything."

I didn't answer.

She nudged my arm. "Come on. You need to eat."

I shook my head, gripping the sleeves of my hoodie like they could anchor me to something real, something safe.

I couldn't tell her what I was thinking.

I couldn't say, I'm picturing my intestines on this tray.

I couldn't say, It reminds me of how Tasha wants to tear me apart.

So I just sat there, my eyes burning, my chest tight, the cafeteria growing louder, heavier, unbearable.

Jasmine's voice softened. "Emily, please."

Mia set her juice box down, watching me carefully. "It's okay," she said, gentle but firm. "Just try a little."

I didn't want to.

I wanted to push the tray off the table, to run out of the cafeteria, to be anywhere but here.

But Jasmine's eyes were filled with worry, not frustration.

And that was somehow worse.

So, with shaking hands, I picked up my fork.

I twirled a little bit of spaghetti onto it.

I brought it to my mouth.

And the second I swallowed, the tears started.

I couldn't stop them.

A silent tear slid down my cheek, then another, then another, until I was just sitting there, crying into my food like an idiot.

Jasmine and Mia exchanged a glance, but neither of them said anything right away.

Jasmine scooted a little closer, not touching me, but just being there.

Mia slid a napkin across the table. "It's okay," she murmured.

I sniffled, staring at the tray, my hands gripping the fork too tightly.

I didn't know why I was crying.

Or maybe I did.

Maybe it was everything.

The fear. The waiting. The fact that no one was doing anything.

And the fact that I was just sitting here, eating spaghetti, like my life wasn't about to fall apart again.

Jasmine reached out slowly, hesitating before gently placing a hand on my arm.

"We got you," she whispered.

Mia nodded. "Always."

I let out a shaky breath, wiping at my face quickly, embarrassed but grateful.

They weren't letting go.

Even when I wanted to disappear, they were still right here.

By the time I got home, my body felt heavy, like all my energy had been drained from me.

I barely remembered the car ride—just staring out the window, watching the winter sky grow darker, my mind still tangled up in everything that had happened today. The spaghetti, the panic, the way Jasmine and Mia had looked at me like they were afraid I might shatter into a thousand pieces.

I didn't want them to look at me like that.

I didn't want to feel like this.

But I didn't know how to stop it.

I stepped inside, kicking off my shoes, already planning to go straight to my room when I stopped dead in my tracks.

There was a man standing in the living room.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dark jeans, a fitted jacket, his arms crossed as he talked to Dad in a low, serious voice.

And I had no idea who he was.

His head turned at the sound of the door closing, and sharp blue eyes locked onto mine.

For a moment, I froze.

Then Mom walked in from the kitchen. "Emily."

I swallowed hard. "Uh. Who—"

"This is your Uncle David."

I blinked.

Uncle... David?

I knew Mom had a brother, but I didn't know him. I didn't even remember hearing about him much.

And now, suddenly, he was in my house?

He studied me for a second before giving a small nod. "Hey, kid."

I didn't know what to say.

Mom stepped forward, her voice gentler now. "I told you I wasn't going to sit back and wait for something to happen." She glanced at Dad, then at Uncle David. "David's here to help."

"Help... how?" I asked slowly.

Uncle David's expression didn't change. "Your mom filled me in on the situation. Tasha Caldwell. The school brushing it off. The fact that you feel like you're constantly waiting for something bad to happen."

I shifted uncomfortably, crossing my arms. "Okay, but what are you gonna do about it?"

Dad cleared his throat. "Your uncle works in private security. He has experience handling situations like this."

I stiffened. Private security?

I glanced at Uncle David again. He wasn't smiling, wasn't trying to act like this was some casual family visit. His posture was too controlled, too sharp, like he was always scanning the room, always thinking three steps ahead.

I didn't know what to say.

Mom must have noticed my hesitation because she softened slightly, stepping closer. "Emily, I know you don't know him, but he's family. And right now, we need to be thinking about your safety."

The word safety made my stomach twist.

Because right now, I didn't feel safe at all.

I bit my lip, glancing back at Uncle David. "So... what exactly are you going to do?"

He uncrossed his arms. "First step is making sure you know how to handle yourself."

My stomach dropped. "Wait. You're gonna teach me how to fight?"

Mom sighed. "Not fight. Defend yourself."

Uncle David nodded. "You don't need to be scared of her, Emily." His voice was even, steady, like he was stating a fact. "Fear is what makes people like her feel powerful. You take that away? She's got nothing."

I let out a small, hollow laugh. "Yeah, well, that's easier said than done."

His expression didn't change. "That's why I'm here."

I swallowed hard.

This was really happening.

Uncle David wasn't just some guy here to talk things through.

He was preparing me.

Because whether I liked it or not, Tasha wasn't done with me.

And I had to be ready.

---

Chapter Nine

I had barely gotten through the door of my room when my phone buzzed. The sound, usually so harmless, sent a jolt through my body like a static shock.

At first, I thought it was Jasmine or Mia texting to check on me. Or maybe even Uncle David, telling me when he planned to start my "training." I glanced at the screen, my heart already settling—until I saw the message.

The second my eyes landed on it, my stomach dropped like a stone in deep water.

**UNKNOWN NUMBER: Did you think I forgot about you?**

I froze, my grip on my phone tightening until my fingers ached.

My mouth went dry. My pulse spiked in my ears, a deafening drumbeat drowning out everything else.

I forced myself to swallow, my fingers hovering over the screen as I read the message again. Once. Twice. Three times. As if the words might change, as if I'd misread them.

This couldn't be real.

This couldn't be happening already.

The room around me suddenly felt too big and too small all at once, walls pressing in while the shadows stretched too far. My breath hitched, a cold sweat breaking out on the back of my neck.

I hesitated for only a second before doing the one thing that made sense.

I blocked the number.

The screen went blank, the silence almost mocking. My reflection in the darkened screen looked as shaken as I felt. I squeezed my phone in both hands, willing myself to calm down, to remind myself that it could be a prank—

**BZZT.**

I jumped, my breath catching in my throat.

Another message.

Another unknown number.

**UNKNOWN NUMBER: Blocking me won't make me go away.**

My breath hitched again, this time sharp and ragged.

I blocked the number again, my fingers shaking so hard I almost hit the wrong button.

Five seconds later—

**BZZT.**

**UNKNOWN NUMBER: I see you, Emily.**

A cold wave of terror crashed over me, knocking the air from my lungs.

This wasn't a prank.

This wasn't random.

This was Tasha.

Or—someone working for her.

I dropped my phone on my bed like it had burned me, backing away as if putting distance between us would make the messages stop. My legs hit the edge of the mattress, but I barely registered the impact.

It didn't stop.

**BZZT.**

I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment, my heartbeat slamming against my ribs. I didn't want to read it. I really didn't.

But I knew I had to.

My hands felt detached, like they weren't even mine, as I reached for the phone and turned it over.

My breath hitched, my hands shaking as I stared at the screen.

**UNKNOWN NUMBER: Are you scared yet?**

I was.

I hated that I was.

My stomach churned, my heartbeat pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears. Every part of me was screaming to block the number again, to shut my phone off, to pretend this wasn't happening.

But I couldn't.

Because blocking it wasn't working.

And if this really was Tasha, or someone working for her, then that meant one thing:

They wanted me afraid.

They wanted me cornered, powerless, panicking.

I refused to give them that.

So before I could second-guess myself, before my brain could catch up to how stupid this was, my fingers moved on their own.

I typed out the message quickly, hit send, and watched the text bubble appear beneath their threats.

**ME: Wrong number. Who this?**

My hands were so cold I barely felt the phone in my grip. My entire body was coiled so tightly, every muscle tense, bracing for whatever would come next.

**BZZT.**

The response was instant.

**UNKNOWN NUMBER: Nice try.**

**BZZT.**

**UNKNOWN NUMBER: You know exactly who I am.**

A chill crawled up my spine.

I tried to swallow, but my throat felt tight, like I'd swallowed glass.

The walls of my room seemed to press in on me, the air thick and suffocating.

My attempt to play it off hadn't worked.

I hadn't tricked them.

If anything, it made them bolder.

**BZZT.**

**UNKNOWN NUMBER: Cute, though. I almost laughed.**

I dropped my phone onto my bed again, taking a step back, like the distance would keep me safe. My hands clenched into fists, fingernails digging into my palms, trying to ground myself, trying to fight back the sickening fear curling in my gut.

This wasn't a prank.

This was real.

And they were playing with me.

I squeezed my eyes shut. Breathe, Emily. Just breathe.

**BZZT.**

**UNKNOWN NUMBER: You're not going to block me this time?**

**BZZT.**

**UNKNOWN NUMBER: Smart. Wouldn't want to miss what's coming.**

A shudder ran down my spine.

No.

No, I was done with this.

I turned and bolted out of my room, my phone still buzzing as I flew down the stairs two at a time, my socked feet barely making a sound against the worn wood.

"Mom!" I gasped, barely able to get the words out. "Mom, I—"

She was already in the living room with Dad and Uncle David, their conversation cutting off the second they saw my face.

Mom's expression darkened immediately. Her hands, which had been clasped together, dropped to her sides in tight fists. "Emily, what's wrong?"

I held up my phone, my hands shaking so badly I thought I might drop it.

Dad stood up straight, his usually relaxed stance shifting to something tense, alert. His jaw tightened as he reached for the phone. "What happened?"

I took a deep, unsteady breath, trying to force the words out. "Someone's... they're texting me. Threatening me. I block the number, but they keep using a new one."

Uncle David snatched the phone from my hand and scrolled through the messages, his face unreadable, but I saw the way his knuckles whitened as he gripped the device.

Mom's fists clenched even tighter. "This has to be her."

Dad exhaled through his nose, his whole body stiff with barely contained anger. "Or someone working for her."

Uncle David was still studying the phone, his jaw set in that same sharp line. "You said each number is different?"

I nodded quickly. "Every time I block one, another pops up."

He let out a quiet hum, his brows furrowing. "This isn't just a burner phone. This is an app. Someone's using a fake number generator to keep sending messages without being traced."

Mom's face went pale, her lips parting slightly before she swallowed hard. "So there's no way to stop it?"

"For now?" Uncle David exhaled slowly, like he was thinking two steps ahead. "Not easily."

I felt lightheaded. My stomach churned, my heartbeat too loud in my ears. "So what do I do? Just keep getting threats until they get bored?"

Uncle David's eyes flickered toward me, calculating but calm. "No. We're going to handle this."

"How?" Mom demanded. "The school isn't doing anything. The police won't care until something actually happens. And now, this?" She shook her head, rubbing her forehead as if trying to push away a headache. "What are we supposed to do, David?"

Uncle David didn't answer right away.

Instead, he handed my phone to Dad, then looked me straight in the eye.

"You don't respond. You don't acknowledge the messages at all. You don't let them see you panic."

I blinked at him, my pulse hammering. "I can't just—"

"You can," he cut in, his voice steady, firm. "They want a reaction. They want you scared. You don't give them what they want."

I clenched my fists at my sides, nails biting into my palms. "I am scared."

His expression softened—just barely, but enough. "I know. But that doesn't mean you let them win."

I swallowed hard, trying to push down the wave of panic rising in my chest.

Dad cleared his throat, his voice a quiet but solid presence in the room. "We'll keep track of the messages. If it escalates, we take this to the police—whether they want to listen or not."

Mom crossed her arms, her face tight with worry. "I don't want to wait for escalation."

"We won't," Uncle David said. "I have a contact who can trace the numbers back to their source. It won't be easy, but we'll find out who's behind this."

Mom nodded sharply, then turned her focus back to me. "And until we do, you don't go anywhere alone."

I exhaled shakily, my heart still pounding.

This was real.

This was happening.

Tasha hadn't made her move yet, but she was letting me know she could.

And that was almost worse.

I took my phone back from Dad, my grip tight, my throat dry.

**BZZT.**

Another buzz.

Another number.

Another message.

**UNKNOWN NUMBER: Sweet dreams, Emily.**

A shiver ran down my spine, leaving my skin cold.

Uncle David reached over my shoulder and swiped the phone from my hands before I could react.

"That's enough for tonight," he muttered.

I let out a shaky breath, nodding as I wrapped my arms around myself.

But no matter how hard I tried, I knew I wouldn't be getting any sweet dreams tonight.

As I walk into my room, I shut the door behind me, the weight of the night pressing down on my shoulders.

My legs felt weak as I knelt down by my bedside, my fingers curling into the blanket. My chest was tight, my heart pounding, but I forced my eyes shut and took a slow, shaking breath.

And then, for the first time since my birth father died, since my birth mother turned away from Him...

I prayed.

"Lord... I don't know if You still hear me.

It's been so long since I've done this. Since I've even tried. I used to pray every night when I was little. I used to believe You were always listening.

But then Dad died. And Mom—she changed. She said You weren't real, that You didn't care. And maybe... maybe I started to believe her.

Because if You were real... why did You let that happen?

Why did You take him away? Why did You leave me alone with a mother who didn't want me anymore?

I spent so long thinking You had forgotten about me. That maybe I wasn't worth saving.

But now?

Now I don't know what to believe.

I don't know what to do.

I feel like I'm trapped in a nightmare, and no one can wake me up. Every time I think I can breathe, Tasha comes back, her shadow stretching further and further, and I feel like I'm right back where I started. Helpless. Small. Scared.

I don't want to be scared anymore.

I don't want her to have this power over me.

But I don't know how to stop it.

I don't know how to make this fear go away.

So... if You're still there, if You're still listening—please help me.

Please show me I'm not alone in this.

Please protect me.

I don't know if I can do this by myself anymore.

Amen."

I had barely settled under the covers, my body still tense, when my phone buzzed one more time.

I flinched.

I didn't want to look.

I really, really didn't want to look.

But something in me knew—I had to.

With a deep breath, I reached for my phone, my fingers feeling cold against the screen.

One new message.

**UNKNOWN NUMBER: Nice that you prayed. You're going to need it.**

My breath hitched, my stomach twisting so hard I thought I might be sick.

I stared at the words, my pulse thundering in my ears.

They knew.

How did they know?

My hands were shaking as I slammed my phone face-down on the nightstand, my chest rising and falling in quick, shallow gasps.

The walls felt like they were closing in again, the darkness in my room stretching, creeping, swallowing the edges of my vision.

I squeezed my eyes shut, pulling the blankets tighter around me.

I had just asked God for help.

And now, it felt like the devil was listening too.

---

The police arrived early the next morning.

Mom had called them as soon as she saw the last message, her voice sharp and cold as she explained the situation. She didn't care if the school wouldn't act. She didn't care if the police thought there was "no physical threat yet."

She wanted this on record.

So now, I sat stiffly on the couch, my arms wrapped tightly around myself as two officers stood in our living room, taking down notes.

Officer Reynolds, a middle-aged man with tired eyes and a thick mustache, flipped through his notebook. "And you said the number changes every time you block it?"

I nodded. "Yeah." My voice sounded small, and I hated it. "Uncle David says it's an app. A fake number generator."

Reynolds hummed, scribbling something down. His partner, a younger woman named Officer Diaz, leaned forward. "Did the messages stop after last night?"

I hesitated. "Yeah. After that last one."

Nice that you prayed. You're going to need it.

I swallowed hard, my fingers digging into the sleeves of my hoodie.

Mom, who sat beside me, scoffed. "So what are you going to do about this? Because I'll tell you right now, I'm not waiting around for this girl to escalate."

"We're going to start by questioning Tasha Caldwell," Officer Reynolds said. "If she's responsible, she might slip up."

Dad, who had been standing with his arms crossed, let out a breath. "She's not going to admit it."

Uncle David, sitting in the corner, smirked slightly. "That's what makes it interesting."

I looked at him, my stomach twisting. He was too calm. Like he already knew exactly how this was going to go.

And deep down... so did I.

It's been an hour now. Sitting in the cold, sterile office of the police station, I felt like I was going to be sick.

Tasha sat across from me, a smirk playing at the edges of her lips, but her expression was otherwise relaxed. Like she had nothing to worry about.

Like she already knew she was going to get away with this.

Officer Diaz was at the desk, her voice even as she addressed her. "Tasha, do you know why you're here?"

Tasha tilted her head slightly, her eyebrows raising just enough to feign confusion. "No clue. But I'm guessing it has something to do with Emily?"

I stiffened at the way she said my name—sweet, light, like she was amused.

Mom, sitting next to me, barely contained her glare.

Officer Reynolds took over. "Emily has been receiving threatening messages. Since you two have a documented history, we have reason to believe you may be responsible."

Tasha's eyes widened slightly, and for a second, I almost believed her surprise was real. Almost.

Then she let out a breathy laugh, shaking her head. "Are you serious?"

No one answered.

She placed a hand over her chest, her expression twisting into something resembling offense. "I haven't even spoken to Emily since I was expelled. Why would I text her?"

I clenched my fists.

Officer Diaz leaned forward. "Would you be willing to hand over your phone?"

Tasha shrugged easily. "Yeah. Sure."

Then, to my absolute horror, she pulled her phone out and handed it over without hesitation.

That was the moment I knew.

She had planned for this.

Officer Diaz took the phone and began scrolling, her expression unreadable. A few minutes passed in silence, only the soft sound of her fingers swiping across the screen.

Then she shook her head. "No messages. No evidence of any threatening texts."

Mom's head snapped toward me. "Emily, are you sure—"

"I didn't make them up!" I burst out, my voice sharp and desperate. "I have screenshots!"

Officer Reynolds raised a hand to calm me. "We believe you. But it doesn't appear these messages came from Tasha's phone."

Mom stood, furious now. "What about an app? A fake number generator?"

Officer Diaz went through a few more settings before shaking her head. "There's nothing on here."

Tasha smiled.

It wasn't big. It wasn't obvious.

But I saw it.

I felt the ice creeping into my veins, the realization clicking into place.

She had wiped it.

She had planned for this.

She knew this would happen, and she covered her tracks before they even called her in.

Tasha tilted her head, looking at me with mock concern. "Emily, are you sure it was me? Because this... kinda sounds like someone trying to frame me."

I couldn't breathe.

She was turning this around.

Making it seem like I was paranoid, desperate, maybe even lying.

Mom wasn't buying it, though. She stood tall, her voice sharp as a knife. "We are not falling for this act. You're playing a game, and I promise you, you won't win."

Tasha blinked at her innocently. "Mrs. Blake, I really don't know what you're talking about."

I wanted to scream.

I wanted to yell at the officers to check again, to break her phone open, to dig until they found what she was hiding.

But deep down, I already knew it was pointless.

She had done this exact thing before.

Officer Reynolds sighed. "At this time, we don't have enough evidence to accuse Miss Caldwell of anything."

Mom bristled. "You're kidding me."

He held up a hand. "That doesn't mean we're done looking. But for now, we don't have enough to act on."

Tasha leaned back in her chair, looking completely unbothered.

I felt like I was going to explode.

Mom put a hand on my shoulder, guiding me to stand. "Come on. We're done here."

Tasha gave me a mocking little wave. "See you around, Emily."

The words sent a cold shiver down my spine.

I didn't respond.

I didn't even look back.

I just followed Mom out of the office, my heart hammering, my mind spinning, my skin crawling with the horrible, suffocating feeling that she had just won this round.

I barely made it to the car before my knees felt weak.

Mom yanked open the driver's side door with more force than necessary, her jaw tight, her hands gripping the wheel like she wanted to strangle something.

Dad got into the passenger seat, muttering curses under his breath, and Uncle David slid into the back with me, his expression unreadable.

The car was silent as Mom started the engine.

I stared blankly out the window, my chest aching, my hands curled into tight fists in my lap.

She got away with it.

She played them.

She acted so innocent, handed over her phone like she had nothing to hide, and now the police were letting her walk.

Tasha had won this round.

And worst of all? She knew it.

**BZZT.**

I flinched.

The sound sliced through the silence, making my stomach lurch.

My hands shook as I reached for my phone, a horrible, sinking feeling settling in my gut.

One new message.

**UNKNOWN NUMBER: That was cute.**

**BZZT.**

**UNKNOWN NUMBER: Nice try, Emily. But you should know better by now.**

My breath hitched.

I blinked at the screen, my vision blurring, my heartbeat slamming against my ribs.

It was her.

The same number from last night.

I blocked it. I knew I did.

But here it was again.

Mocking me.

Proving that nothing we did mattered.

Proving that no one could stop her.

My throat closed up, my breath coming in short, sharp bursts.

I felt trapped, like I was suffocating in the backseat, the walls of the car pressing in.

I wanted to scream.

I wanted to throw my phone out the window, to make it stop, stop, stop—

"Emily?"

Uncle David's voice cut through my spiraling thoughts, steady and firm. "What is it?"

I swallowed hard, my fingers locking around the phone like a lifeline. Slowly, I turned the screen so he could see.

His entire expression shifted.

Gone was the calm, unreadable man from earlier.

His jaw tightened, his shoulders tensed, and something dark flickered behind his eyes.

Mom and Dad both twisted around in their seats, their faces paling as they read the message.

"She's taunting her," Mom whispered. "She waited until we left to send that."

Dad let out a slow, dangerous exhale. "Because she knew we wouldn't find anything on her phone. She knew this would happen."

Uncle David didn't say anything for a moment.

Then, in a voice so cold it sent a shiver down my spine, he muttered,

"She wants to play games? Fine."

He turned to me, his gaze piercing, unreadable, intense.

"We're done waiting."

The phone store smelled like plastic and stale coffee.

I sat stiffly in one of the chairs, my arms crossed tightly over my chest, while Mom handled the paperwork at the counter. Dad stood next to her, his expression unreadable, but I could tell from the way his fingers tapped impatiently against his wrist that he was just as frustrated as I was.

Uncle David leaned against the wall, checking his own phone, looking like this was just another mission to solve.

But for me?

This felt like losing something I couldn't get back.

The first phone number I had ever had.

I'd gotten it back in Georgia, back when I still lived with my birth parents. Back when things were different.

It was my number.

Mine.

And now, it was about to be erased.

I tried to tell myself it was just a number. That it didn't matter. That changing it wouldn't change who I was.

But deep down, I knew that wasn't true.

It felt like one more thing Tasha was taking from me.

First my safety. Now my phone number.

What was next?

"Alright," Mom said, turning back toward me. "It's done."

I swallowed hard. "So that's it?"

She nodded, her expression softening when she saw my face. "I know this is hard, sweetheart, but this will help. No more messages. No more threats."

I wasn't so sure about that.

But I didn't argue.

I just took the new SIM card from the employee and let them swap it into my phone.

The screen blinked out for a moment, then came back on.

Just like that, my old number was gone.

The one I had memorized since I was a kid. The one my dad had written down for me on a piece of paper when I first got my phone. The one I used to call my birth mom with, back when she still answered.

I bit the inside of my cheek, hard, forcing the lump in my throat to go away.

I couldn't cry over a phone number.

I wouldn't.

Instead, I nodded, pocketed my phone, and walked out of the store without another word.

The ride home was silent—except for Uncle David, who was already making calls.

"Yeah," he said into his Bluetooth earpiece, his voice clipped and professional. "I need a trace on a series of numbers. Burner accounts. Someone's using a generator to send messages without being tracked."

I glanced at him from the backseat. Was that even possible?

Uncle David caught my look and gave me a single nod, like he knew exactly what I was thinking.

I turned back toward the window, my mind racing.

Mom was gripping the steering wheel tightly, her knuckles white. "Are you sure your guy can track it?"

"He's better than the police," Uncle David said flatly. "They don't know what they're looking for. I do."

I bit my lip. "So what happens if we find out where it's coming from?"

Uncle David's jaw tightened slightly. "Then we'll know what we're dealing with."

I didn't like the way he said that.

Like there was more to it.

Like he was already three steps ahead, planning something I wasn't ready for.

The second we got home, Uncle David pulled out his laptop and set up at the dining table.

I hovered near the doorway, watching as he typed faster than I thought was humanly possible.

"This should take a few hours," he muttered, not looking up. "But we'll get something."

I hesitated. "And if we don't?"

He finally looked at me, his eyes cool, unreadable. "We will."

Something about the way he said it sent a shiver down my spine.

Mom sighed, rubbing her temples. "David, just—don't do anything reckless."

Uncle David smirked slightly but didn't respond.

Instead, he turned back to his screen and kept working.

I stood there, I hated my new number, my heart still twisting with the loss of the old one.

Everything about my life was changing.

And I wasn't sure how much of myself I was losing in the process.

---

The hallways felt too loud, too bright, too normal.

It was like nothing had changed, like everyone else was living their lives while mine was falling apart in the background.

Locker doors clanged. Voices rose and fell in conversations I couldn't focus on. The scent of the cafeteria's early morning breakfast lingered in the air, mixing with the faint staleness of old textbooks and too many people packed in one building.

I walked with my hood up, my bag slung over my shoulder, my hands deep in my pockets. My new phone was in there too, feeling wrong, unfamiliar, like a constant reminder that I was losing parts of myself.

I still hadn't memorized the new number.

And I hated that.

"Emily!"

Jasmine's voice cut through the morning hum, and I barely had time to brace myself before she latched onto my arm, tugging me toward the lockers where Mia was already waiting.

"You weren't answering texts last night," she said, her dark eyes scanning my face like she was searching for a problem. "And Mia said you didn't answer her either. Where have you been?"

I opened my mouth, then shut it.

Mia frowned, adjusting her glasses as she studied me. "You look tired."

I sighed. "I am."

Jasmine narrowed her eyes. "Emily."

I glanced at the floor, swallowing hard. I didn't want to tell them.

Because telling them meant saying it out loud.

And saying it out loud meant it was real.

But Jasmine wasn't about to let it go, and Mia was giving me that look—the one that told me they already knew something was wrong.

So, I exhaled and said it fast, like ripping off a bandage.

"The police got involved. We went to the station. Tasha played innocent and erased everything before they even questioned her." I hesitated, then added in a quieter voice, "And... we changed my number."

Both of their eyes widened.

Jasmine's grip on my arm tightened. "Wait. What?"

Mia's expression flickered, her brows furrowing. "You changed your number? Why?"

I swallowed, shifting uncomfortably. "Because she kept texting me. Every time I blocked the number, a new one popped up. It wouldn't stop."

Jasmine let go of my arm like she had been burned. "Oh my God."

Mia looked sick. "Emily, why didn't you tell us sooner?"

I shrugged, kicking the toe of my shoe against the floor. "I didn't know how."

Jasmine took a step back, running a hand through her curls, looking like she wanted to punch something. "Okay, but—changing your number? That's, like, serious."

I laughed, but it came out brittle. "Yeah. It is."

Mia tilted her head slightly. "How do you feel about it?"

I hesitated.

How did I feel?

Like I was losing pieces of myself.

Like Tasha was ripping apart my life one thread at a time, and no one could stop her.

Like every time I tried to move forward, she was already waiting for me at the next corner.

But I couldn't say that.

So instead, I just shrugged.

"I don't know."

Jasmine didn't buy it. "Emily—"

The warning bell rang, cutting her off.

She groaned, looking between me and Mia, like she was debating whether or not to ditch class to keep talking about this.

Mia touched her arm. "Later."

Jasmine exhaled sharply. "Yeah. Later."

I gave them both a small, weak smile before turning toward my first class, pulling my hood up a little further, trying to shrink into myself.

But as I walked away, the sinking feeling didn't leave.

Because even though I had told them the truth, it didn't change the fact that I was still terrified of what would come next.

The smell of greasy, cheesy goodness filled the cafeteria as I grabbed my tray.

A slice of rectangle pizza sat in the middle, the kind that always had too much sauce, barely melted cheese, and crust that was either rock hard or weirdly soft.

It was exactly like the ones I used to get back in elementary school.

I stared at it for a second, and just like that—memories came flooding back.

Like the time it was raining so hard that the school lost power, and we all got sent home early. We sat in the classroom, eating our pizza in near darkness, giggling over the way our teacher's flashlight made shadows dance on the wall.

Or the time Abby bit her tongue from eating too fast. She had been so excited about pizza day that she practically inhaled it—and then spent the next five minutes dramatically whining about how much it hurt.

I smiled a little at the memory.

I missed Abby.

And then, like a switch flipping in my head, my stomach dropped.

She had my old number.

She didn't even know it was changed.

I bit my lip, my chest tightening. It was just one more thing I had lost.

Taking a deep breath, I made my way to the table where Jasmine and Mia were already sitting.

Jasmine was in the middle of a rant about math homework, aggressively stabbing her fork into a sad-looking pile of green beans. Mia, as usual, listened patiently, nodding every now and then as she took small bites of her food.

I sat down, setting my tray in front of me.

Jasmine paused mid-rant, noticing the look on my face. "You okay?"

I hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah. Just... remembering things."

Mia raised an eyebrow. "Good things?"

I glanced at the pizza again, feeling the faintest tug of a genuine smile. "Yeah. Just little things from when I was younger."

Jasmine smirked. "Like what?"

I picked up my pizza and shrugged. "Like the time Abby bit her tongue from eating too fast."

Jasmine snorted. "Sounds like something she'd do."

Mia tilted her head. "You still talk to her much?"

My stomach twisted again. "I... I need to give her my new number."

Jasmine and Mia both froze, their smiles fading.

It was like I had just reminded them why I even had to change my number in the first place.

Mia was the first to speak, her voice softer now. "You should text her soon. Before she tries to reach you and thinks you're ignoring her."

I nodded. "Yeah."

Jasmine sighed, rubbing the back of her head. "This whole thing still sucks."

I let out a short, dry laugh. "Yeah. It really does."

For a few moments, none of us spoke. We just sat there, the usual cafeteria chaos swirling around us.

Then I reached into my pocket, pulling out my phone. "Speaking of... let me give you guys my new number."

Jasmine immediately perked up. "Oh, yeah! Duh, I need that."

Mia pulled out her phone as well. "Go ahead."

"612-073-5701" I whispered.

As I gave my new number, I watched as they typed it in, feeling a strange mix of emotions.

Like I was starting over.

Like I was trying to hold onto the past while being forced into something new.

Like I was rewriting the pieces of my life that had been erased.

Jasmine sent me a quick text, her usual array of emojis flooding my screen.

Mia's was more simple.

Mia: Got it. You're not getting rid of us that easily.

I stared at the message for a second before looking up at them.

And for the first time all day, I felt just a little bit lighter.

Later that afternoon, when I finally got home, I collapsed onto my bed with a heavy sigh. The room was dim, the only light coming from the soft glow of my phone screen. Every time I looked at it, I felt the sting of losing my old number—a number that held memories of my childhood in Georgia, of days when everything seemed simpler.

I pulled my blanket around me and opened the messaging app. My thumb hovered over the contact labeled "Abby" for what felt like an eternity. I missed her. I missed the comfort of a friend who understood without judgment.

My heart pounded as I typed out a message, knowing that this small act was a step toward reclaiming something I feared was slipping away.

**ME: Hey Abby, it's Emily. I got a new number.**

I paused, my finger hovering over the send button. Then I tapped it.

Seconds later, my phone buzzed again.

**ABBY: Wow, new number? Didn't think you'd change. How are you, Emily?**

A warmth flickered inside me as I read her message—a real, human connection. I typed quickly.

**ME: I'm okay... I mean, I'm trying to be. It's been a rough day.**

I stared at the screen, waiting for her reply, the silence stretching longer than it ever had before. Finally, her next message appeared.

**ABBY: I'm sorry you're going through that. Remember, I'm always here. Just... text me when you're ready to talk, okay?**

Her words were simple, but they felt like a lifeline. I glanced around my room, feeling both isolated and, oddly, a bit less alone. This new number was a reminder that while parts of my past were being erased, some connections could still be salvaged.

I typed back slowly, almost hesitantly.

**ME: I miss you, Abby. I miss us. I... I had to change my number. Everything's different now.**

Her reply came quickly.

**ABBY: I miss you too, Em. And I promise, no matter what number you have, I'll always know how to reach you. Don't let anyone make you feel small.**

I stared at the message for a long moment, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes. Her words felt like a warm embrace—one that I desperately needed.

In that quiet moment, lying alone on my bed, I felt a tiny spark of hope. Maybe I was losing pieces of my past, but I was also building something new.

I pressed send on one final message, a small smile creeping across my face despite everything.

**ME: Thank you, Abby. I'll text you soon.**

And as I set my phone down, I knew that even in the midst of the chaos and fear, there was still a part of me that could reach out and connect—a part that could fight back against the darkness, one message at a time.

I wiped my eyes quickly before tossing my phone onto my bed, forcing myself to shake off the heavy emotions swirling in my chest. Abby's message had helped—more than I could admit—but it didn't erase the fear still crawling under my skin.

The smell of dinner drifted up from the kitchen, pulling me out of my thoughts. My stomach twisted, reminding me that I hadn't eaten much at lunch. With a deep breath, I pushed myself up and headed downstairs.

Lily and Sam were already at the table, their plates full, the hum of conversation mixing with the clinking of silverware. The table was warm and familiar, the kind of setting that should have made me feel safe.

I hesitated in the doorway for a second, just watching them.

Lily was rambling about something—her words tumbling out too fast, too excited—while Sam chewed his food with the patience of someone who was used to her energy.

Mom and Dad were busy at the stove, putting the last of the food onto plates. The house smelled like garlic, melted cheese, and something rich and comforting.

Spaghetti.

I swallowed, my chest tightening just slightly. Another reminder of something I had lost—this time, because of my own mind.

The spaghetti at school had reminded me of guts, of my own fear, of how easily I could picture myself falling apart if Tasha ever got her way.

But this wasn't school.

This was home.

I had to remind myself of that.

I finally stepped forward and pulled out my chair. Lily immediately noticed.

"Emily!" she chirped, beaming at me like I had been gone for days. "Guess what?"

I raised an eyebrow, sitting down. "What?"

She held up her fork dramatically. "I won the great breadstick battle."

I blinked. "The... what?"

Sam sighed, clearly over it. "She and Mom both wanted the last breadstick, and it turned into a full-on standoff."

Lily grinned victoriously. "Mom said we had to split it, but I distracted her with a story and took it when she wasn't looking!"

Mom, who had just sat down, gave her a flat look. "I let you have it because I felt bad for you."

Lily ignored her. "Victory is victory."

Dad chuckled, shaking his head. "Alright, enough talk about food wars. Let's eat before everything gets cold."

I picked up my fork and twirled some spaghetti onto it, hesitating for just a second before taking a bite.

It tasted like home.

Warm, familiar, home.

Lily kept talking through dinner, telling some long-winded story about a playground conspiracy theory at school. Something about how there were secret tunnels under the jungle gym, and the kindergarteners had formed a secret society.

Sam muttered, "You do realize they're just kids, right?"

Lily waved him off. "That's what they want you to think."

I laughing.

The tension in my chest didn't disappear completely—but it loosened, just a little. Enough to remind me that no matter how much Tasha wanted to tear my life apart, I still had this.

I still had them.

And that?

That was something she could never take away.

---

Copyright © Natasa Jacobs. All Rights Reserved.

---

The house was quiet, as if holding its breath in the early hours of dawn. I woke to a gentle glow of sunlight that crept in through the gauzy curtains, painting the walls in soft, pastel hues. The room still smelled faintly of night—hints of cool dew and the lingering dreams of sleep—but there was already a promise of the day ahead. The warmth of my blankets was a comforting embrace, urging me to stay wrapped in the remnants of sleep, yet outside the cocoon of my bed, a more tantalizing aroma beckoned.

It was the rich, earthy scent of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the spicy sweetness of cinnamon. I sat up slowly, taking in the subtle symphony of sound and scent that filled the silent house. As I slid out of bed, my feet met the cool hardwood floor, and I paused for a moment, listening to the gentle creaks that spoke of a house waking up alongside me.

I padded down the hallway, the faint hum of the early morning whispering in my ears, and reached the kitchen. The room was softly illuminated by the tender morning light streaming through the window, where tiny motes of dust danced in the beams like delicate fairies. The counter was a patchwork of warm colors and cherished memories: chipped ceramic mugs, a well-worn cutting board, and a scattering of handwritten recipes in a little binder with faded stickers.

There, at the counter, stood Mom. She was busy rolling out dough with a careful precision, her sleeves rolled up to reveal arms that bore the traces of years of loving labor. Her hair, pulled into a loose bun that somehow managed to be both practical and graceful, shimmered with a few rebellious strands escaping their confines. Behind her, the radio played a soft medley of old tunes that seemed to carry the stories of generations past.

"Morning," I mumbled, stretching as I eased into the creaking wooden chair at the table. My eyes, still half-lidded with sleep, were drawn to the glistening coffee pot that sat like a sentinel on the counter—its dark contents promising strength and comfort.

Mom glanced over her shoulder with a smile that warmed the room even more than the sun ever could. "Morning, sweetheart. Sleep well?" Her voice was a melody of kindness and gentle teasing, as familiar and steady as the beat of my own heart.

"Yeah," I replied, my voice soft and a little uncertain, as I rested my head on my hand. I couldn't help but steal a glance at the coffee pot, admiring how it always seemed to mirror the start of a day full of small wonders. "Did you make enough for me, too?"

A soft chuckle escaped her as she reached for an extra mug from the shelf, worn smooth by years of use. "I figured you'd want some," she said, her tone laced with the assurance of knowing me better than anyone else. With practiced care, she poured the steaming coffee into my mug and slid it across the table like a little gift, its warmth promising to awaken every fiber of my being.

I took a slow, deliberate sip, savoring the bold, slightly bitter taste that hinted at long nights and early mornings. Even when I added a generous splash of cream and a sprinkle of sugar, that underlying bitterness persisted—a reminder of both the challenges and the comforts of life. It was a flavor that had, over time, become a silent testament to resilience and the beauty of imperfection.

My gaze then drifted to the bowl of cinnamon and sugar that lay invitingly on the counter beside the dough. "You're making cinnamon rolls?" I asked, nodding toward the dough that now seemed less like a simple mixture of ingredients and more like the beginning of a cherished ritual.

Mom's eyes sparkled as she nodded, the motion imbued with an unspoken promise of shared secrets and quiet celebrations. "Figured we could have something special today. You want to help?" Her invitation carried more than just the offer of assistance; it was a call to be part of something that transcended everyday routines.

I felt my heart lift at the sound of her voice, an emotion both tender and complex. "Yeah!" I replied with a genuine enthusiasm that belied the quiet uncertainty that sometimes shadowed my thoughts. In the gentle clatter of cinnamon rolling off my spoon and the soft rustle of sugar against the bowl, I found a familiar kind of peace—a moment where all the questions of belonging, of identity, of the past and future, were set aside.

As I reached for the bowl, memories of my early days—when the concept of family felt as fragile as spun sugar—mixed with the warm reassurance of the present. Even after the adoption, there were days when I questioned if I truly belonged, if I could ever be as woven into the fabric of this home as the worn wooden floors or the familiar creak of the staircase. Yet in these gentle, unremarkable moments, I felt an undeniable certainty: I was home.

Mom slid the baking dish toward me with a conspiratorial smile and a nudge that was both playful and laden with meaning. "Go ahead and sprinkle that on while I finish rolling the dough," she said, her tone making it clear that these shared moments were the threads that bound us together.

I followed her instructions, letting the fragrant cinnamon and sugar cascade evenly over the dough, each sprinkle a tiny promise of sweetness to come. The mixture swirled into the fabric of the dough, and with every motion, I sensed the melding of love, tradition, and hope—a delicate alchemy that transformed simple ingredients into a celebration of life.

"This is nice," I murmured, almost to myself, as I watched the transformation happening before my eyes—a quiet metamorphosis of morning into a day filled with potential and meaning.

Mom paused and glanced at me, her eyes soft with a mix of pride and gentle mischief. "Yeah, it is," she said, nudging me playfully as if to remind me that these moments were fleeting treasures. "I like having you around, you know."

Her words, simple yet profound, stirred a warmth deep within me—a warmth that spoke of acceptance, belonging, and the gentle strength of a family bound not just by blood, but by heart. In that kitchen, amid the rising aroma of cinnamon rolls and the comforting clink of utensils, I felt more rooted than ever. Here, in the simple rituals of morning, the echoes of love and memory whispered that I truly belonged.

The cinnamon rolls baked in the oven, and with every passing minute, the kitchen filled with an intoxicating blend of sweet cinnamon and warm sugar that seemed to wrap around every corner of the room. The aroma was so rich and enveloping that it almost drowned out the soft clinks of silverware and the quiet hum of the old refrigerator. I could almost taste the promise of sweetness as my stomach let out a loud, unmistakable growl—a sound that did not escape Mom's keen ears.

Mom smirked as she set her steaming mug of coffee down on the counter, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "You'd think I never feed you," she teased, her tone light and affectionate. I couldn't help but roll my eyes in playful protest. "Not my fault they smell so good," I retorted, my voice mingling with the cozy clatter of the kitchen.

She leaned back in her chair, stretching her arms over her head in a long, languid yawn that seemed to stir the very air around her. "We've got a little time before they're ready," she observed, a soft smile curving her lips. "Anything you want to do today?" There was a genuine curiosity in her tone, an invitation to shape the day in any way that felt right.

I paused for a moment, cradling my warm mug between my palms as I swirled the dark liquid inside. The steam curled upward like ghostly ribbons in the early morning light. "I don't know... maybe just spend the day together?" I suggested, the simplicity of the idea echoing a deep-seated desire for closeness and shared moments.

Her expression softened immediately, and the corners of her eyes crinkled with delight. "I like the sound of that," she said. "We could go into town, maybe walk around a little." Her voice carried the promise of adventure, as light and refreshing as the cool breeze outside that hinted at a winter's day freshly awakened.

A spark of excitement lit my face. "That could be fun," I replied, my thoughts already drifting toward the little treasures waiting in town. "Ooh! Can we stop at the bookstore?" I added, almost unable to contain my anticipation for the sanctuary of stories and printed words.

Mom chuckled, shaking her head in playful disbelief. "You and that bookstore. You're running out of shelf space," she teased, the affection in her voice clear as she gently ribbed me about my ever-growing collection of novels and paperbacks.

"I can make more room," I insisted, a smile tugging at my lips. "Besides, I haven't been in a while." The bookstore wasn't just a place to browse for me—it was a quiet haven where each book held the promise of new worlds and adventures.

"Well, if that's what you want to do, then sure. We'll go after breakfast," she agreed, her tone warm and accommodating as she shifted her focus back to the kitchen as the timer on the oven began to sing its digital beep. The sound was sharp against the soft murmur of morning, and I nearly leapt out of my seat in a mixture of excitement and mild surprise.

Rushing over, Mom pulled the oven door open to reveal the golden spirals of cinnamon goodness. Each roll was a perfect, artful curl, glistening with a sheen of melted sugar that caught the light and promised indulgence. The delicate aroma was now at its peak, swirling around us in a dance of sweet spices and warm dough, making my mouth water in anticipation.

Mom carefully set the tray on the counter and allowed the rolls to cool just enough before handing me a bowl of icing and a well-worn spoon. "Go ahead," she said with a grin, her eyes inviting me into this small but significant act of finishing our creation. "You did the work; you get to finish them off."

I took the spoon with reverence, feeling the cool glaze between my fingers as I began to drizzle the icing over each roll. The thick, creamy icing cascaded over the contours of the pastry, slowly melting into every crack and crevice, transforming the cinnamon swirls into miniature works of art. The kitchen, already a symphony of scents, now resonated with the promise of a perfect treat.

We each picked up a cinnamon roll, its tender, warm dough practically melting in our mouths as we took the first bite. "Mmm," I mumbled through a mouthful, the flavors blending into a comforting mix of spice and sweetness. "I think we nailed it." My words were soft, almost lost in the gentle hum of contentment that filled the room.

Mom's eyes shone with agreement as she savored her own bite. "Definitely," she said, nodding with quiet satisfaction. "We might have to make these a regular thing." The idea of repeating these cherished moments warmed me from the inside out, like the first sip of a hot drink on a cold day.

After breakfast, the kitchen slowly transformed back into its quiet, orderly self as we cleaned up and packed away the remnants of our morning ritual. Bundling up in our coziest winter clothes, we stepped outside to greet the day. The snow had finally ceased, leaving behind a pristine, crisp winter morning. The streets, still quiet from the night's lull, glistened under the low winter sun, each surface dusted with a sparkling layer of frost.

Our first destination was the town bookstore, a beloved little haven with weathered wooden floors and shelves lined with stories waiting to be discovered. Inside, the soft rustle of pages and the faint scent of old paper greeted us like old friends. I immediately made a beeline for the fiction section, my eyes scanning the titles as if they held the keys to hidden adventures.

Mom wandered leisurely among the other sections, her pace unhurried and reflective, until she reappeared beside me, a book in her hand. "Find anything good?" she inquired gently, her voice a soothing contrast to the crisp whispers of the wind outside.

I held up a couple of options, my fingers tracing the embossed titles as I deliberated. "Still deciding. What about you?" I asked, curious to see what captured her interest.

She smiled, presenting her choice—a mystery novel with a dark, intriguing cover that promised twists and turns. "Figured I'd try something different today," she said, a playful glint in her eyes that made it clear she was ready to explore new narratives alongside our familiar routine.

After choosing our books, we wandered through the town, stopping at the local market where vendors displayed an array of colorful produce and handmade trinkets. We lingered at a small café for a cup of hot chocolate, the rich, velvety drink warming our hands and hearts against the lingering chill of the morning.

The day unfolded gently, an easy tapestry of shared moments and quiet adventures. By the time we returned home, the sun was beginning its slow descent, casting long shadows and bathing the world in a soft, golden light. I collapsed onto the couch, opening my newly acquired book, while Mom busied herself putting away the groceries—a silent choreography that spoke of comfort and routine.

As dusk settled outside, the memory of the morning's cinnamon rolls and our escapades in town lingered like a cherished melody—a day woven with simple joys, laughter, and the unmistakable warmth of being together.

I held up a couple of options. "Still deciding. What about you?"

She showed me the book—a mystery novel. "Figured I'd try something different."

After we picked out our books, we made a few other stops—picking up a few things from the market and grabbing some hot chocolate from a small café. The day felt easy, comfortable, just me and Mom spending time together.

By the time we got home, the sun was starting to dip lower in the sky. I flopped onto the couch, opening my new book while Mom put away the groceries. Lily and Sam would be back soon, and the quiet wouldn't last, but for now, it was just us.

Right on cue, the front door swung open, letting in a gust of cold air as Lily and Sam tumbled inside, their laughter echoing through the house. They kicked off their boots in a chaotic mess near the entryway, their cheeks rosy from the cold.

"We're home!" Lily announced, bounding into the living room like an excited puppy.

Sam followed more slowly, brushing snow from his jacket. "That was fun," he admitted, a rare note of enthusiasm in his voice.

I looked up from my book, stretching my legs out on the couch. "Where'd you guys go?"

Lily flopped onto the armrest beside me, her curly hair still speckled with melting snowflakes. "We spent the day with Dad and Uncle David! It was awesome! Uncle David let me ride on his snowmobile!"

I blinked. "Wait, Uncle David has a snowmobile?"

"Apparently," Sam said, shoving his hands in his pockets. "He took us out to this big open field, and we rode around for a while. Dad even tried it."

Lily giggled. "And he almost fell off! You should've seen his face."

I smirked, trying to picture Mr. Blake, always so serious and composed, nearly losing his balance on a snowmobile. "Sounds like I missed quite the adventure."

"You totally did," Lily agreed, kicking her feet against the couch. "We even stopped at the diner for burgers and fries."

My stomach rumbled at the thought, but I was still full from the cinnamon rolls and hot chocolate from earlier. "Guess you guys had a fun day, then."

"It was great," Sam admitted, pulling off his gloves and stuffing them in his jacket pockets. "But I think I'm gonna chill in my room for a while." He gave a small nod toward Mom, who had stepped into the hallway to greet them, before disappearing upstairs.

Lily, however, had no plans of slowing down. She tugged at my arm. "Wanna go outside and check on the snow castle?"

I hesitated. "Didn't the snowstorm mess it up again?"

"Yeah, but I think we can fix it!" Her enthusiasm was infectious, and I found myself smiling despite the exhaustion of the day.

Mom stepped into the living room, raising an eyebrow. "You just got back inside, Lily. You sure you don't want to warm up first?"

Lily huffed, crossing her arms. "I am warm."

Mom chuckled, shaking her head. "Alright, alright. Just don't stay out too long. And make sure to bundle up."

Lily grabbed my hand before I could even respond, pulling me toward the door. "Come on, Emily! The kingdom needs us!"

I laughed, rolling my eyes as I set my book aside and reached for my coat. "Alright, alright. Let's go check on the damage."

Mom just smiled, watching us head out into the cold as the sky began to turn shades of pink and orange with the setting sun.

For all the chaos and the change that had come into my life, this—these little moments—felt like home.

---

The math class had been quiet—the usual low hum of pencils scratching against paper, the steady voice of our teacher explaining equations, the occasional sigh of frustration from someone struggling to keep up. The steady rhythm of normalcy, the clatter of desks, the faint rustle of paper—it was a symphony of routine that surrounded us.

But even in that moment, I wasn't really paying attention. My mind was elsewhere, tangled in the events of the past few days, each thought heavy with the weight of uncertainty and dread. The numbers and formulas blurred together on the page in front of me, reduced to meaningless scribbles, like a foreign language I could no longer comprehend. I tapped my pencil against the desk absently, trying—and failing—to shake the unease that had settled in my chest like a stone.

And then—

Bang.

The sound shattered through the air like a lightning strike, sharp and deafening, sending a jolt down my spine. My pencil slipped from my fingers, clattering against the desk. For a second, I thought I had imagined it, that my mind had conjured some terrible trick, a manifestation of my own anxiety. Then—another.

Bang.

And another.

Loud. Sharp. Close.

The classroom fell into an immediate, suffocating silence. My heart clenched, a cold grip of fear coiling around my ribs. For a few stretched-out seconds, nobody moved. Nobody breathed. It felt like the world had turned to glass, frozen in a moment of sheer horror and disbelief.

And then our teacher reacted.

"Everyone, get down!" she whispered harshly, her voice trembling as she motioned for us to move to the back of the room.

There was no hesitation. Desks scraped against the floor as we scrambled, a cacophony of chaos knocking over books and bumping into each other in our frantic desperation. My hands shook violently as I pressed my back against the cold wall, ice creeping into my veins. The air smelled like eraser dust and sweat and something else I couldn't name—fear, maybe. It had a scent, and it clung to everything.

Jasmine and Mia huddled beside me, their faces pale, their eyes wide with terror. I could hear Jasmine's breath hitch, could feel Mia trembling against me as she wrapped her arms around herself, her fingers digging into her sleeves. Someone knocked into my shoulder, muttering a panicked apology that barely registered.

Across the room, someone whispered a prayer under their breath. A soft, rapid murmur—desperate, pleading. I turned just enough to see Eric, usually the class clown, on his knees, his hands clasped, eyes squeezed shut. His lips moved quickly.

"Please, God. Please, God. Please, God."

Next to him, Sarah pulled her hoodie up over her head and ducked low, her mouth barely moving as she whispered Psalm 23 under her breath, her fingers clutching the tiny silver cross around her neck. The words were quiet, but I recognized them anyway. "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death..."

The lights flickered and then clicked off, plunging the room into darkness so thick it felt alive.

The teacher locked the door with a definitive click that echoed through the air like a gunshot in the suffocating quiet.

A whimper broke the silence. A quiet, muffled sound, quickly swallowed by the weight of the terror that pressed down on all of us like an oppressive fog, wrapping its tendrils around our throats.

Then—the sound of footsteps.

Slow. Methodical. Close.

The heavy thud of boots against the tiled floor sent a fresh wave of panic rippling through my body. My pulse pounded behind my ears, drowning out everything else. I could feel Jasmine gripping my arm, her nails digging into my skin, but I couldn't bring myself to care. My chest tightened as I held my breath, terrified that even the smallest sound would betray us.

The footsteps stopped just outside the door.

A shadow loomed across the window, dark and ominous, a silhouette that seemed to swallow the light.

I stopped breathing.

The doorknob rattled.

My body went rigid. My heart slammed against my ribs, each beat a desperate plea for survival. I could hear the sharp intake of breath from Mia beside me, could feel the way Jasmine's grip tightened like a vice. The room was so silent I swore they could hear my heartbeat, thundering like a war drum in my ears.

The doorknob twisted again—harder this time. A desperate, testing motion.

A pause.

A long, heavy silence stretched between us and whatever was on the other side of that door.

And then—the footsteps moved on.

The breath I had been holding came out in a shaky, near-silent exhale. My fingers clenched into my jeans, my body trembling so hard I thought I might collapse into myself. But I didn't dare move. Didn't dare make a sound.

None of us did.

Minutes passed.

Maybe longer.

Maybe forever.

Jasmine was crying silently now. I could feel the small jolts of her sobs as she tried to muffle them, pressing her face into her sleeve. Mia reached over and took her hand. I took the other.

And then—
The sound of sirens.

Distant at first, but growing closer. The wailing cry of salvation and fear, a signal that the nightmare might finally be ending. It wasn't over yet—we all knew that—but something in me clung to the sound like a lifeline. A promise. A prayer being answered.

Somewhere beside me, Eric whispered "Amen."

And I found myself silently saying it too.

Another voice boomed through the hallway—not the one we had feared.

"This is the police! Stay where you are!"

The tension cracked like a dam breaking.

Someone sobbed.

Someone gasped for air.

Someone collapsed to their knees with a choked whimper.

My chest ached, my breath still shaky, my heartbeat pounding in my ears like a distant war drum. Jasmine leaned into me, her grip still tight, her face buried in my shoulder. She was trembling, or maybe I was. Maybe we both were. The cold air in the room felt thick and suffocating, like we were all holding onto the same breath, waiting—waiting for what came next.

We were still alive.

The school was in chaos.

Police officers and paramedics swarmed the hallways, their boots heavy against the linoleum floor, their voices a strange mixture of urgency and reassurance. They moved with calculated precision, ushering students out of the building in small, careful groups. Radios crackled with clipped commands. The flashing lights from emergency vehicles cast red and blue pulses across the walls, turning everything into a disorienting blur of motion and color.

Some people were crying. Others were shaking. A few stood there, frozen, as if their bodies hadn't yet caught up to the reality of what had happened. Teachers whispered soothing words they didn't quite believe. Students clung to one another, some with blood on their hands—not always their own. The air was thick with the acrid smell of fear and adrenaline—and something else, something metallic and wrong, something I didn't want to name.

I felt a primal instinct—an urge to flee, to escape this place that now felt like a tomb. The walls, once familiar, now seemed to close in, whispering secrets of horror that echoed in the corners of my mind. The floor, once just scuffed tile, felt unstable beneath my feet.

The scene outside unfolded like a nightmare made real.

The parking lot was a sea of frantic faces. Parents, teachers, and news crews mingled in a disjointed mass, voices rising in desperate whispers, in frantic calls, in cries of relief or terror. Mothers clutched their children, sobbing into their hair. Fathers pulled their kids into tight, crushing embraces, their eyes glassy with tears they refused to let fall. Some parents just stood there, hands shaking, phones clenched in white-knuckled grips as they searched the crowd for the faces of their sons and daughters. Their expressions shifted with every glance—hope, despair, confusion, grief.

Camera crews had already begun to arrive, their vans lining the edges of the blocked-off street. The logos were instantly recognizable.

FOX 9, their boom mic hovering just outside the perimeter.
KSTP 5, a reporter speaking solemnly into the camera, the school building a blurred backdrop behind her.
WCCO 4, broadcasting live, their anchor pacing near the barrier, adjusting his earpiece, his face tight with concern.
KARE 11, their news chopper circling overhead, the dull thump of its blades filling the air like a warning drumbeat.
And even CNN had shown up—national coverage. A satellite truck parked beside the local crews, its dish aimed skyward, reporters with grim expressions already preparing for live updates.

Microphones were pushed forward. Questions were shouted.
"Do we have a name yet?"
"How many victims?"
"Was the shooter a student?"

No one answered. No one could.

The reporters looked for quotes, for statements, for something to fill the silence between updates. But those of us walking out didn't have words—just hollow eyes and shaking limbs. Some students hid their faces from the cameras, ducking into the arms of loved ones. Others stared blankly at the chaos, their expressions unreadable.

I caught sight of a mother collapsing to her knees when she spotted her child, her sobs ripping through the noise like thunder. Another woman was screaming at an officer, begging for answers, desperate to know if her daughter was safe. I couldn't look for long.

The wind had picked up, carrying with it the mingled smells of exhaust fumes, damp pavement, and fear. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked. Somewhere closer, someone screamed.

And in all of it, I felt myself slipping—disconnected from the moment, watching it unfold like a scene on TV. Except I was in it. And I couldn't turn it off.

The scene felt surreal, like a nightmare I couldn't wake up from. I had imagined school evacuations before—fire drills, weather drills, lockdown drills—but never like this. Never with the lingering scent of gunpowder and blood in the air. Never with the knowledge that some of us weren't coming out at all.

I swallowed hard, my throat dry and raw. My fingers dug into Jasmine's jacket as my mind played back every second leading up to this moment. The screams. The gunshots. The silence. The way we had hidden, breathless, waiting for the end. I thought of the ones who hadn't made it out.

And in the chaos, a shadow flickered at the edge of my vision—something dark and sinister that slithered through the crowd like smoke. I blinked, but it was gone, leaving a cold chill in its wake.

Was I losing my mind, or was the darkness still lurking, waiting to claim more?

The weight of what had happened pressed against me like a crushing tide, and as I stood there, trembling in the aftermath, I realized the true horror was far from over. I was still alive, yes, but the scars of this day would haunt us forever. The whispers of fear would echo in our minds, feeding on our anxiety, reminding us that safety was an illusion—a fragile mask that could shatter at any moment.

"Emily!"

I turned just in time to see Mom running toward me, her face tight with fear, her eyes wide and frantic, scanning every inch of me for injuries. Her breaths came fast and shallow, her hair clinging to the sweat on her forehead in wild disarray—like the storm of panic still swirling around us. I barely had time to brace myself before she wrapped me in the tightest hug of my life, her arms trembling as they locked around me like a lifeline, a desperate plea for reassurance.

"Are you okay? Are you hurt?" Her voice cracked, raw with anguish, a sound that clawed at the frayed edges of my nerves and pulled them taut again.

"I'm—I'm okay." My voice sounded distant, hollow, like it didn't belong to me at all. The words came out more as a reflex than a truth. The weight of what had just happened hadn't fully settled—it hovered, heavy and ominous, like a thunderhead ready to break.

Dad was right behind her. His jaw was clenched so tight it looked painful, his eyes scanning the crowd, as if still waiting for a second attack. His arms were stiff at his sides, his chest heaving with the effort of restraint. He rested a hand on my back—firm, grounding—but the fury simmering beneath his skin was unmistakable. His eyes burned with the quiet promise of justice, or vengeance. Maybe both.

Nearby, I heard Lily crying, her small voice muffled as she sobbed into Mom's coat. Sam stood beside her, shoulders stiff, his face pale and unreadable. But his fists were clenched so tight his knuckles had gone white. He looked like he wanted to scream, to break something, anything—his rage barely contained beneath the surface.

And then I saw Uncle David.

He stood a short distance away, slightly turned from us, speaking into his phone. His expression was stone. Dark. Focused. His back was straight, his posture tense with restrained urgency, as if every word he spoke had weight. He wasn't just getting information—he was coordinating. Planning. Preparing for whatever came next.

He knew something.

And the moment his eyes met mine, I knew it too.

Something was wrong.

Something more than this.

I swallowed hard. "What?" My voice was fragile, barely more than a whisper lost in the chaos.

Mom tensed. Her grip on me tightened. Her eyes darted to Uncle David, silently pleading for him to soften the blow. But he didn't. He couldn't. He wouldn't.

Uncle David ended the call and turned toward us. His voice was low, heavy. "They caught the shooter."

A cold wave washed over me. My stomach twisted. My hands started to tremble.

"The shooter?" I echoed, as if I hadn't heard him right. "Who—who was it?"

And then, as if in perfect, horrifying sync, a voice crackled from a nearby news van's speaker. It was FOX 9, broadcasting live from the scene just beyond the police tape. The reporter's voice was tense, urgent:

"We've just received confirmation from law enforcement sources that the shooter has been taken into custody. Authorities are saying the suspect is a female former student of this school. We're working to confirm her identity—early reports suggest her name is—Tasha Caldwell."

Time stopped.

My breath caught in my throat. The world around me fell silent, even as voices screamed and sirens howled. I couldn't hear anything but the rush of blood in my ears.

Tasha?

No.

"No," I whispered, my head shaking slowly, automatically. "No..."

Uncle David didn't move. He didn't flinch.

"It was her," he said, steady but grim. "She used a stolen handgun. And she wasn't working alone."

WCCO 4 and KARE 11 had joined in now, their reporters echoing the same grim update.

"Again, for those just tuning in, a student named Tasha Caldwell is in custody following a shooting at a local middle school—sources say she may have had help—"

My legs buckled.

The ground beneath me no longer felt solid, like the whole world was tilting sideways. My knees hit the pavement before I realized I was falling. Dad caught me under the arms before I hit all the way, easing me down, but even his strength couldn't hold up the weight crashing down on my chest.

Tasha.

She came here to try to kill me.

A sudden wave of nausea rose in my throat, and I clenched my hands into the gravel to steady myself. My mind raced with images—gunshots, screams, shadows at the door. My heartbeat pounded in my ears like thunder.

CNN's van had arrived now too, and their anchor was speaking solemnly into a camera, her words slicing through the noise like glass.

"We are now hearing that this may have been a targeted attack. Multiple sources confirm the shooter had a known history with one of the students injured in the lockdown—though officials have not yet released names..."

"They're talking about me," I said softly, barely hearing my own words. "She tried to kill me."

Dad dropped to his knees beside me, pulling me into him, wrapping his arms around my shoulders protectively. "You're safe now," he said, though his voice trembled. "She didn't get to you. You're safe."

But I didn't feel safe.

I felt broken.

And something told me this wasn't over.

Not yet.

Memories slammed into me like a wrecking ball—her taunts, her twisted messages, the way she had haunted my every step since that day I stood up to her. It had all been leading to this. She had been toying with me, stalking me from the shadows, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

And now she had.

Jasmine and Mia stood frozen nearby, their expressions mirroring the horror tightening in my chest. Jasmine looked sick, her face pale, her lips pressed together like she might be fighting back bile. Mia's hands were shaking, her knuckles white as she gripped her phone, the device trembling as if it might shatter under the weight of our reality.

A sharp pain shot through my chest, recalling the chilling text messages.

**Are you scared yet?**

**Nice that you prayed. You're going to need it.**

Mom pulled me closer, her voice whispering reassurances I couldn't process, her breath warm against my ear. My fingers dug into her jacket, my breath coming too fast, too shallow. Panic clawed at my throat, a relentless beast threatening to devour me whole.

Dad spoke for the first time, his voice low and controlled but laced with barely restrained fury. "Where is she now?"

Uncle David's expression darkened, his gaze flickering toward the chaos behind us—the flashing lights, the uniformed officers moving with purpose. "In custody," he said. Then, after a beat, "But it's not over."

My stomach twisted. A fresh wave of terror coiled inside me, squeezing my lungs. "What do you mean?"

Uncle David hesitated, his eyes shadowed with something deeper than frustration—worry. Fear.

"She's already claiming she wasn't alone in this," he said, voice barely above a murmur. "That there's 'unfinished business.'"

My blood turned to ice.

Unfinished business.

The words settled in the air like a death sentence, wrapping around me like a noose.

She wasn't done.

Not yet.

Not with me.

A gust of wind swept through, carrying the distant echoes of sirens, the frantic voices of people still reeling from the horror of the day. But all I could hear was the pounding in my chest, the suffocating weight of impending doom pressing down on me like a vice.

I could feel the shadows closing in. Waiting. Watching.

And I knew this nightmare was far from over.

The drive home was silent.

Mom kept glancing at me in the rearview mirror, her eyes filled with worry, the fear etched into her features like a permanent scar. Dad's grip on the steering wheel was too tight, his knuckles bone-white. Uncle David sat next to me, tapping at his phone, his expression unreadable, but the tension in his jaw screamed of unspoken dread.

Lily and Sam were quiet, too.

No one knew what to say.

Because what do you say after finding out someone you used to go to school with tried to kill you?

I pressed my forehead against the cool window, watching the streetlights blur past in streaks of yellow and orange, like fireflies fading into the darkness. My chest felt tight, my hands still shaking, my mind spinning.

Tasha.

Tasha did this.

And she wasn't alone.

"There's unfinished business."

The words rang in my head over and over, an echo I couldn't escape, each repetition tightening the knot in my stomach.

I couldn't breathe.

Even with Tasha locked up—I wasn't safe.

I thought this was the end.

But it wasn't.

It was just beginning.

In a flash of headlights, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the window—a ghostly figure, pale and haunted, eyes wide with terror. My heart raced, fueled by the knowledge that Tasha had not only escaped justice, but had also left behind a darkness that had seeped into my very bones. An image of her—a twisted smirk on her lips as she fired the gun—flashed through my mind, and I shuddered.

And then I remembered the news report from earlier. The police had shot Tasha. She was dead, but her wrath still loomed over me like a specter, a reminder that though her body was gone, her rage could still find a way to haunt me.

Her accomplices were still out there—she had claimed not to be alone, and the dread of the unknown settled heavily on my shoulders.

What if they were watching? Waiting?

Every shadow felt like a threat, every flicker of movement made my skin crawl. The world outside blurred into an indistinct smear, a nightmarish landscape where danger lurked behind every corner, and I was just a pawn in a twisted game I couldn't comprehend.

The silence in the car was suffocating, a tangible entity that pressed down on me, squeezing the breath from my lungs. I could feel the weight of my family's fear, their worry wrapping around me like a shroud.

And I knew, deep down, that Tasha's legacy would not die with her. She had left her mark, a dark stain on my life that would never wash away.

As the car rolled to a stop, the distant wail of sirens faded into an eerie quiet, a haunting reminder that the real horror was still out there, lurking and waiting for its moment to strike again.

As I sat in the car, the weight of the day's events pressed heavily upon me, but a new thought crept into my mind, twisting like a knife: Did anyone else get hurt in the incident?

With every passing moment, the gravity of the chaos unfolded in my mind like a terrible tapestry. I remembered the fear etched on the faces of my classmates, the screams that had pierced the air like shards of glass, and the frantic movements of the police as they rushed through the hallways.

My heart raced as I recalled the sounds of panic—the slamming of doors, the echoing footsteps of officers, and the cries of students caught in the crossfire of a nightmare that had shattered our world.

How many had been injured? How many had been caught in Tasha's madness?

I glanced at my family, their faces drawn and pale, but I knew they were grappling with the same questions, the same fears. The news reports had been scarce, but the murmurs had swept through the crowd like wildfire—some students had been taken to the hospital. But how many? And were they okay?

As we drove further from the school, the reality of the situation settled in like a heavy fog. I thought of Mia and Jasmine, still frozen in shock when I last saw them. Had they made it out unscathed? What about the others? The names began to swirl in my mind—friends, acquaintances, even those I had never spoken to but recognized from the halls.

The thought that someone might have been hurt, someone I knew, sent a fresh wave of nausea rolling through me. What if they were suffering right now, alone in a hospital room, haunted by the same terror that had gripped us all?

The car turned down a familiar street, but everything felt different now. Each house we passed seemed like a reminder of the normalcy we had lost. The world outside felt like a cruel joke, a façade of safety that had been shattered in an instant.

"Emily," Mom's voice broke through my thoughts, soft yet trembling. "We'll get through this. We have to find out what happened—who got hurt. We'll make sure everyone is okay."

Her words were meant to comfort, but they only deepened the pit in my stomach. I wished I could believe her, wished I could wrap myself in the belief that this was just a nightmare from which we would soon awaken. But deep down, I knew we were standing on the precipice of something darker.

Tasha's actions had consequences far beyond our understanding, rippling through the lives of everyone who had been there that day. And there was no escaping the reality that someone, maybe many, were still in the grip of fear and pain.

The drive home felt interminable, each moment dragging like an eternity. I thought of the sirens that had echoed through the air, the chaos that had erupted around us, and the children—my friends—who might still be trapped in that nightmare.

As we pulled into our driveway, I made a silent vow to myself. I would find out what happened. I would know who had been hurt, who had suffered at the hands of someone I once thought I knew.

Because even if Tasha was gone, her legacy of terror had only just begun to unravel, and I had to face it head-on.

The door creaked as we stepped inside, the familiar sound now carrying an unsettling weight. The silence of our home felt heavy, a stark contrast to the chaos of the outside world, and I realized then that we were all just trying to find our bearings in a reality that had been irrevocably altered.

And in the back of my mind, the haunting question lingered: Who else had been hurt?

---

I woke up gasping for air.

The room was dark, but my heart was hammering against my ribs, a wild, frantic rhythm that refused to slow. My breath came in ragged gulps, too fast, too shallow, as if the walls had closed in around me, pressing the air from my lungs. My fingers curled into the blankets, the fabric damp with sweat, clinging to my skin like a second layer of fear.

For a moment, I didn’t know where I was.

The darkness felt too thick, too suffocating. My ears were still ringing, but not from silence—from the echoes of sirens, the screams that had lodged themselves in my head, the rapid-fire crack of gunshots that I would never, ever forget.

I squeezed my eyes shut, but the images were already there, burned into the backs of my eyelids. The hallway, the chaos, the bodies dropping. The way the air smelled like fear and metal. The way time seemed to stretch and snap at the same time. The way I couldn’t breathe then, either.

I jerked upright, my pulse thudding in my throat. My shaking hand reached for my phone on the nightstand, knocking over a half-empty water bottle in the process. It hit the floor with a dull thud, but I barely heard it over the blood rushing in my ears. My fingers fumbled over the screen as I checked the time.

3:47 a.m.

Too early. Too late.

I swallowed hard, trying to convince myself that I was safe. That I wasn’t still there. That I wasn’t trapped in that moment, waiting for the next shot to fire, waiting for my own body to hit the ground.

But my heart didn’t believe me.

I forced myself to take a deep breath, then another. The ceiling stared back at me, featureless and blank, but I could still see the flashes of red and blue light through my bedroom window. My mind wouldn’t stop replaying the way Tasha had looked at me, that mix of hatred and something worse—something hollow, something gone.

Tasha wasn’t working alone.

That thought slammed into me like a punch to the gut. My fingers tightened around my phone.

Someone had helped her. Someone who had made sure she got the gun. Someone who knew exactly what she was going to do and let it happen. Maybe even encouraged it.

And whoever they were—they were still out there.

A shiver ran down my spine, cold and sharp. The air in my room suddenly felt too thin, too heavy all at once.

I wasn’t safe.

Not yet.

I didn’t say much at breakfast.

Lily and Sam talked, their voices drifting in and out of my awareness like a distant radio signal.

“I couldn’t sleep last night,” Sam muttered, stirring his scrambled eggs with his fork. “Every time I closed my eyes, I kept hearing it. The sirens. The intercom. The—” He swallowed hard, shaking his head. “I don’t know. It just kept replaying in my head.”

Lily let out a breath. “Same. Every time I thought I was finally drifting off, I’d hear the lockdown alarm again, like it was still happening.” She rubbed her arms, like she was trying to shake off a chill. “It still doesn’t feel real. Yesterday morning, everything was normal. And then…”

Her voice trailed off. No one needed her to finish the sentence.

Sam nodded slowly. “Yeah. One second, we were just sitting in class, and the next… we were hiding. Waiting. Wondering if—” He stopped himself, pressing his lips together. His fork scraped against his plate as he forced himself to take a bite, chewing mechanically.

Lily looked over at me. “Em, you okay?”

I barely moved, just kept pushing my food around my plate. The scent of scrambled eggs and bacon filled the air, warm and familiar, but it did nothing to stir my appetite. The eggs sat there, fluffy and yellow, next to a slice of toast that had gone cold. A few strips of bacon rested on the edge of my plate, slightly crisp but untouched. The orange juice in my glass had tiny bubbles clinging to the sides, but I didn’t lift it to drink. I just kept tracing the edge of my fork along the plate, pretending to be interested in the patterns it made in the eggs.

Mom kept glancing at me from across the table. I could feel her watching me between sips of her coffee, her fingers curled around the mug like she was holding back words she wanted to say. She probably expected me to talk, to open up, to tell her what was on my mind.

But I didn’t want to talk about it.

Because talking about it wouldn’t change anything.

Tasha had tried to kill me.

And now, someone else might try again.

The thought twisted in my stomach like a knot that refused to loosen. It had only been a day since everything happened, but it already felt like a lifetime. The police station, the phone calls, the threats—every bit of it clung to me like a shadow I couldn’t shake. Changing my number was supposed to make it stop. It didn’t. The messages just kept coming, like whispers in the dark, reminders that I wasn’t safe.

“I don’t want to go back,” Lily admitted, barely above a whisper.

Sam sighed. “Yeah. Feels like if we do, it’ll just—happen again.” He pushed his plate away, shaking his head. “Like, what if there was someone else? What if next time, they actually get into our classroom?”

Lily shuddered. “I keep thinking about the door. How we all just sat there, staring at it, waiting for it to open.” She bit her lip. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget that feeling.”

I swallowed, gripping my fork a little tighter.

I knew that feeling too. But fear sat differently in my chest. Theirs was fear of what had already happened, fear of the memories that wouldn’t let go.

Mine was fear of what was still coming.

“Emily?” Mom’s voice was soft, careful.

I didn’t look up.

“You okay?”

I shrugged, still dragging my fork through the eggs. The weight of her stare pressed down on me, waiting.

Sam and Lily had gone quiet now, their conversation dying down as they picked up on the tension. I could feel them looking at me too.

I took a slow breath and reached for my orange juice, just for something to do. The glass was cold against my fingers as I lifted it to my lips. The juice was tangy and fresh, but I barely noticed the taste. I set it back down without a word.

Mom sighed, her chair creaking as she shifted.

“You barely touched your food.”

“I’m not hungry,” I muttered.

She hesitated, then nodded. “Okay. Just... let me know if you need anything.”

I knew she wanted to say more, to tell me to talk to her, but she didn’t push. Maybe she knew that no amount of words could fix this.

Sam cleared his throat, shifting in his seat. “For what it’s worth... I don’t think any of us are okay right now.”

Lily nodded. “Yeah. We’re all scared, Em.”

I dropped my fork onto my plate, the clatter breaking the silence, and pushed my chair back. “I think I’m gonna go lie down for a bit.”

Mom frowned but didn’t argue. “Alright.”

I stood up and walked away from the table, my legs feeling heavier with every step. I didn’t look back as I left the kitchen, but I could still feel their eyes on me.

I knew they were worried. I knew they wanted to help.

But right now, I didn’t know if anyone could.

By mid-morning, Uncle David was back at the house.

He had his laptop open at the dining table, his jaw tight, his eyes sharp as he scanned through what looked like police files and security footage. A faint reflection of the screen flickered in his glasses, the light casting strange shadows across his face. His fingers moved quickly over the keyboard, tapping out commands with practiced efficiency. Whatever he was looking at, it had his full attention.

Dad stood nearby, arms crossed, his stance rigid. The usual warmth in his expression was absent, replaced by something hard, something protective. “Anything?” he asked, his voice low.

Uncle David sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose before sitting back in his chair. “Nothing concrete,” he admitted. “But we know Tasha wasn’t lying. She had help.”

A cold weight settled in my stomach. I gripped the back of a chair, steadying myself. “Who?”

Uncle David finally looked up at me. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes held something that made my pulse quicken—concern, frustration, maybe even doubt. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” he said.

Mom, who had been standing behind me, put a hand on my shoulder. It was meant to be comforting, but all it did was make my skin prickle. Like that would somehow make it better. Like that would make me feel safe.

It didn’t.

It just made me feel small, like a kid again, helpless against the storm swirling around me.

Uncle David exhaled and leaned forward again, tapping a few keys. “I have some names. A few possibilities. But if Tasha was willing to take the fall and not give them up right away, then they’re smart. They won’t make it easy.”

A shiver ran down my spine.

I already knew who I wanted to blame.

Trevor.

His name alone sent a rush of dread through my veins.

He had hated me for so long—mocked me, humiliated me, made my life hell. I could still hear his taunts in my head, the cruel laughter, the sharp words meant to cut me down. He had always been vicious, always willing to push things further than anyone else.

But would he go this far?

Would he actually help Tasha do… this?

I clenched my hands into fists, my nails digging into my palms. My heart pounded so hard it hurt.

I didn’t know.

And that terrified me.

Uncle David kept scrolling through his files, his focus intense. The room felt too quiet, even with the soft hum of the laptop and the occasional click of the mouse. Dad shifted, his arms still crossed, his eyes locked on the screen. Mom’s fingers tensed on my shoulder, and for once, she didn’t say anything reassuring. Maybe because she didn’t have any reassurances to give.

“Do you think it’s him?” I finally asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Uncle David glanced at me. “Trevor?”

I nodded, my throat tight.

He hesitated, just for a second, then shook his head. “I don’t know. He’s not the first name on my list, but he’s not off it either. We have to be careful about assumptions.”

I swallowed hard. That wasn’t the answer I wanted.

“So what now?” Dad asked.

“Now, I keep digging,” Uncle David said. He cracked his knuckles, flexing his fingers like he was gearing up for battle. “If Tasha had help, they left a trail. Maybe not one we can see yet, but it’s there. I just have to find it.”

The words should have reassured me. Should have made me feel safer.

But all they did was remind me that whoever had helped Tasha was still out there.

And they weren’t finished yet.

That night, I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, trying—desperately trying—to make myself believe everything was fine. That the worst had passed. That I could sleep without fear clawing at my chest.

But sleep wouldn’t come. It never did, not anymore. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the messages. The threats. The endless unknown stretching out before me, waiting for the next strike. I could still hear the officer’s voice from earlier that day, calm but firm: If anything else happens, call us immediately.

I told myself I was safe. That it was over.

And then—

A sound.

A soft thump outside my window.

My breath caught mid-inhale, my whole body going rigid. My fingers dug into my blanket, my pulse hammering against my ribs like it was trying to escape. The room felt too quiet, too still, the kind of silence that only existed when something was wrong.

I sat up slowly, my skin prickling as a sharp chill ran down my spine. My eyes darted toward the window. It was dark outside—darker than usual. The streetlight at the end of the driveway flickered unsteadily, its yellowish glow stretching long shadows across the yard. The branches of the old oak tree swayed against the night sky, their movement eerily slow.

For a long moment, I didn’t move. Maybe I imagined it. Maybe it was just the wind. Maybe—

Another sound.

Not a thump this time. More like… a rustling. Something brushing against the glass.

My stomach twisted. My mouth went dry.

I forced myself to swing my legs over the side of the bed, my feet hitting the wooden floor with a faint creak. The sound sent a fresh wave of panic through me, like I had just alerted something—or someone—to my presence.

Slowly, my legs trembling beneath me, I crept toward the window. The air felt colder near the glass, seeping through the thin cracks. I swallowed hard, hesitating before I reached out, fingers barely brushing the curtain.

The moment I pulled it back, I saw it.

A piece of paper. Taped to the outside of my window.

I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. The edges of my vision blurred, the shadows outside distorting as my mind raced. A note. Another note. Someone had been here—standing right outside my window. Watching. Waiting.

The world around me tilted as fear crashed over me, cold and suffocating. My fingers twitched at my sides, my breath coming in uneven, stilted gasps. I didn’t want to know what it said.

But I had to.

With shaking hands, I fumbled to unlock the window. The latch stuck for a second before finally giving way with a soft click. A gust of wind rushed in, biting against my skin, making the curtain billow around me. My pulse pounded in my ears as I reached out, my fingers barely brushing the edge of the paper before I ripped it away from the tape.

It was standard printer paper, slightly crumpled, as if someone had balled it up before smoothing it out again. The ink was bold, smeared slightly from the damp night air. My stomach twisted as my eyes locked onto the words.

YOU’RE NOT SAFE.

The paper slipped from my fingers, fluttering to the floor.

I stumbled backward, my legs hitting the edge of my desk. My whole body felt numb, like I wasn’t even inside it anymore. My lungs tightened—too much, too fast—I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t—

The door burst open.

“Emily?”

Mom’s voice. Sharp. Urgent.

I turned toward her, but the words wouldn’t come. I couldn’t make a sound. My mouth opened, but all I could do was point at the window.

She followed my shaking hand, her gaze landing on the note lying on the floor. Her face drained of color. For a moment, she didn’t move, didn’t speak—just stood there, gripping the doorknob so hard her knuckles turned white.

Then she whirled around.

“Matthew!”

Dad was there in seconds, his footsteps heavy against the hardwood floor. Uncle David followed, his face dark with something unreadable as he took in the scene.

“What is it?” Dad asked, but Mom couldn’t answer. She just pointed.

Uncle David stepped forward, crouching to pick up the note. His expression darkened as he read the words, his fingers tightening around the paper. The muscle in his jaw twitched, his gaze snapping toward the window.

“Son of a—” He cut himself off, glancing at me before straightening. “This just now?”

I nodded, barely able to move.

Dad was already pulling out his phone, his voice low but tense as he called the police. Mom moved toward me, her hands trembling as she reached out, gripping my shoulders, pulling me close.

“It’s okay, baby,” she whispered, but her voice shook. “We’re right here. We won’t let anything happen to you.”

I wanted to believe her. Wanted to sink into her warmth, let it erase the fear still clinging to my skin. But I couldn’t.

Because all I could think was—

It’s not over.

They’re still out there.

And I wasn’t safe.

Not even in my own home.

---

I didn't sleep.

Even though the police had come and checked everything, even though Uncle David stayed up most of the night watching the security footage, even though Mom and Dad promised me I was safe, I couldn't shake the feeling that someone was still out there.

Watching.

Waiting.

The house was too quiet. Too still. It felt unnatural, like the silence itself was pressing in on me, smothering me. I lay in bed, my body stiff, my fingers curled tightly into the blanket as if letting go would mean losing all control. Every small noise—the house settling, a branch scraping against the window, the distant hum of a passing car—made my heart lurch into my throat.

I stared at my bedroom door, half-expecting it to creak open at any moment. The glow of the nightlight in the hallway cast long, stretched-out shadows that twisted along the walls, playing tricks on my tired mind. I swore I saw movement out of the corner of my eye, but every time I turned my head, there was nothing. Just the same empty room.

But was it really empty?

My breath was shaky. I pulled the covers up to my chin, listening.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

The old wall clock in the hallway counted down the slowest seconds of my life. My own pulse throbbed in my ears, a steady, relentless drumbeat against my skull.

At some point, I must have started dozing off—if only for a second—because a sound from outside yanked me back into reality. A creak. Faint. Barely there. But I heard it. My blood turned to ice.

Was that just the wind? Or was someone out there?

I held my breath and listened harder, straining to pick up even the smallest sound over the wild pounding in my chest. My hands felt clammy as I gripped the blanket tighter. The urge to move, to check, to make sure everything was okay, was overwhelming. But at the same time, I was too afraid to lift my head, as if doing so would confirm that someone really was standing there.

It was irrational. I knew that. But fear didn't care about logic.

Minutes stretched into hours. The darkness outside remained just as deep, just as heavy. My window overlooked the backyard, but I didn't dare look. What if I saw something staring back?

I turned my phone over in my hands, resisting the urge to check for another message. Another threat. I had blocked the numbers, changed my contact information, done everything I could, but the fear was still there. Because what if they found a way to reach me again? What if Tasha's friends were out there, watching, waiting for the right moment?

When the first pale light of morning crept through my curtains, I still hadn't closed my eyes. My body felt like lead, exhausted beyond belief, but my mind was still on high alert.

I heard footsteps in the hallway—Dad, probably heading to the kitchen for coffee. The smell of it drifted in a few minutes later, comforting in a way I couldn't fully explain. A normal smell. A morning smell. But nothing felt normal anymore.

I forced myself to sit up. My limbs ached, and my head pounded from lack of sleep. I caught sight of my reflection in the mirror across the room—pale, dark circles under my eyes, hair tangled from tossing and turning all night. I looked like a ghost in my own body.

Because in a way, that's what I was now.

A shadow of the person I used to be.

And I didn't know if I'd ever feel safe again.

At breakfast, I sat at the table, staring at my untouched plate. The scrambled eggs on my plate had started to cool, congealing into clumps. The toast, lightly buttered just the way I used to like it, sat untouched, the crust slightly curling at the edges. The smell of bacon, usually my favorite, now made my stomach churn.

Mom kept looking at me. So did Dad. Lily was quiet, which was rare. Sam kept picking at his food, stabbing his fork into a piece of pancake over and over, like he didn't know what to say.

I didn't know what to say either.

I just felt numb.

The weight of last night pressed down on me like an anchor. The words from that last message still echoed in my head, wrapping around my thoughts like a vine I couldn't shake loose. Even after changing my number, even after sitting in that police station, it felt like none of it mattered. Tasha was in custody, but it didn't feel like she was gone. It didn't feel like any of this was over.

"Sweetheart," Mom tried gently. "You need to eat something."

I didn't answer.

I just kept staring at my plate, like if I focused hard enough, I could disappear. If I just sat still enough, maybe the world would move on without me. Maybe I wouldn't have to go back to school. Maybe I wouldn't have to pretend like everything was normal when nothing felt normal anymore.

Mom sighed, reaching over to squeeze my hand. Her fingers were warm, steady. She was trying to ground me, trying to remind me that she was here, that I wasn't alone. But even with her touch, I felt distant, like I was floating somewhere far away.

"We're going to see Dr. Hart today."

I barely blinked.

I didn't argue.

I just nodded.

Because what was the point?

Nothing was going to fix this. Nothing was going to make me safe again.

Dad cleared his throat, shifting in his seat like he wanted to say something but didn't know how. His coffee sat untouched in front of him, which was rare. Mom gave him a glance, a silent conversation passing between them, one I couldn't decode.

"I know it doesn't feel like it right now," Dad finally said, his voice measured, careful, like he was afraid I might break at the wrong word. "But we're going to get through this."

The words were meant to be comforting, but they didn't reach me. I wanted to believe him. I really did. But how was I supposed to get through this when every time I closed my eyes, I could still see Tasha? When every time my phone buzzed, I felt my stomach drop, even though I knew it couldn't be her anymore?

Lily finally spoke up, her voice small. "Maybe we can do something after? Go to the bookstore or something?"

I glanced at her. Her brown eyes were hopeful, hesitant. I knew she was trying, but I couldn't bring myself to nod, to agree, to pretend like anything sounded okay right now.

Mom gave my hand another squeeze before pulling back. "Just take a few bites, sweetheart," she murmured. "You don't have to finish, just... something."

I hesitated, then picked up my fork, pushing the eggs around my plate. The movement felt slow, disconnected, like I wasn't really the one doing it. I speared a small bite, brought it to my mouth, and chewed. The texture was wrong, the taste off. My throat tightened as I forced myself to swallow.

Mom smiled softly, but it didn't reach her eyes.

Dad finally took a sip of his coffee. Sam stopped stabbing his pancake. Lily gave me a small nod, like she was proud of me for at least trying.

I placed my fork down. That was all I could manage.

Mom didn't push me to eat more.

Instead, she reached for my plate, gathering it up along with everyone else's, as if to spare me the sight of it.

The quiet in the kitchen felt heavier than ever.

I sat there, hands folded in my lap, staring at the place where my plate used to be. The numbness hadn't lifted. If anything, it had settled deeper.

Dr. Hart wasn't going to fix this.

No one could.

I sat in the big chair across from Dr. Hart, staring at the same old bookshelf, the same ugly lamp, the same framed quote about healing taking time. The words blurred together, a dull smudge in my vision. The air smelled like lemon-scented cleaning spray and the faintest hint of lavender, something I was sure was meant to be calming, but it did nothing to settle the tightness in my chest.

I'd been here before. So many times. But this time, I felt different. Like I wasn't really here at all.

Dr. Hart sat across from me, her hands folded neatly in her lap, her expression calm, patient. She always waited—never forced me to talk, never pressured me. Her eyes were steady, like she could see right through all the walls I'd put up.

But today, the silence felt too heavy. Too thick. Like a suffocating fog pressing down on my lungs.

I swallowed, my fingers curling into the sleeves of my sweatshirt, twisting the fabric between my hands.

"I don't know what to say," I admitted, my voice flat, detached, like it wasn't really mine.

Dr. Hart tilted her head slightly. "That's okay. Start with whatever comes to mind."

I clenched my fingers tighter, my breath coming out too shallow, too slow.

"Tasha," I whispered, the name barely making it past my lips.

Dr. Hart nodded, her face unreadable. "You're scared."

I almost laughed. Understatement of the year.

"I don't feel scared," I said instead. "I just feel... nothing."

Dr. Hart studied me carefully, her gaze unwavering. "That's normal, Emily. It's your brain protecting you. Shutting down is a way to cope when everything feels too overwhelming."

I bit my lip, my gaze dropping to the floor. The patterned rug beneath my feet blurred, the swirling designs twisting into meaningless shapes.

"But I don't think I can fix this," I whispered. "I think... I think I'm always going to feel this way."

Dr. Hart leaned forward slightly, her voice gentle but firm. "That's the fear talking," she said. "That's not the truth."

I shook my head, my throat tightening. "She tried to kill me. And she's not the only one. Someone else is out there. Someone who helped her."

My voice broke on the last word, and suddenly, it was like everything I had been holding back came crashing down at once.

The fear. The helplessness. The exhaustion.

My chest tightened, my vision blurred, my breath came in fast, uneven gasps. My hands started shaking, my fingers still clutching my sweatshirt like it was the only thing holding me together.

Dr. Hart didn't panic. She didn't rush. She just nodded.

"Breathe, Emily," she said softly. "It's okay to feel this."

I hated that. I didn't want to feel this. I wanted it to stop. I wanted everything to stop.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to will the feeling away, but it was like trying to hold back a tidal wave with my bare hands. My breathing hitched, my chest rising and falling too fast. The room felt too small, the walls pressing in, the air too thick to breathe.

Dr. Hart's voice cut through the noise. "Count with me. In for four, hold for four, out for four."

I shook my head, but I tried anyway. One. Two. Three. Four.

The air filled my lungs, but it wasn't enough. It would never be enough.

Still, I forced the breath out. One. Two. Three. Four.

My hands ached from how tightly I'd been gripping my sweatshirt. Slowly, I let my fingers loosen, flexing them out, but the shaking didn't stop.

"Does it ever go away?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Dr. Hart was quiet for a moment, considering her words carefully.

Then she said, "It changes. It won't always feel this big, this heavy. It won't always be this terrifying. But it takes time."

I looked away, my stomach twisting. "I don't know if I have that much time."

Dr. Hart's gaze softened. "Why do you say that?"

I swallowed hard. My pulse pounded in my ears. I thought about the note. The way it was taped to my window. The words—YOU'RE NOT SAFE—scrawled in jagged, uneven letters.

My fingers twitched, phantom sensations crawling up my arms like I could still feel the paper between my fingertips. I'd ripped it down so fast I'd gotten a paper cut on my palm, but I hadn't even noticed until later.

I lifted my gaze, meeting Dr. Hart's steady eyes.

"Because I'm not safe," I whispered.

She didn't argue. She didn't tell me I was wrong. She just waited.

I let out a breath, my shoulders sinking under the weight of everything pressing down on me.

"I don't know if I ever will be again."

---

I was sitting on my bed, scrolling mindlessly through my phone, trying to drown out the whirlwind of thoughts in my head. The screen's glow cast a pale light over my hands, the only illumination in the darkened room. I wasn't looking for anything in particular—just something, anything, to keep my mind from spiraling.

Then a notification popped up.

Not a text.

Not a call.

An email.

I almost ignored it. It was probably spam. Some useless newsletter I'd forgotten to unsubscribe from. But as my thumb hovered over the screen, I noticed the subject line.

**Subject: You Thought It Was Over?**

A chill raced up my spine, my body stiffening as dread curled in my stomach like a tightening noose.

I hesitated, my pulse pounding in my ears as I tapped the message open.

There were no words.

Just a picture.

A picture of me.

Taken tonight.

Through my bedroom window.

A fresh wave of terror crashed over me, drenching me in cold sweat. My grip on the phone faltered as my breath hitched in my throat.

I couldn't move.

I couldn't breathe.

My eyes darted to the window, the darkness outside now feeling like a living, breathing entity, pressing against the glass. The curtains were drawn, but I knew. Someone had been there. Someone had been watching me.

I scrambled off the bed, my heart slamming against my ribs. My hands shook as I reached for the window, fingers clutching the fabric of the curtains. I didn't want to look. What if they were still there?

But I had to.

Slowly, I pulled the curtain back just enough to peek through.

Blackness. The yard was still. The street beyond it empty. The only movement was the faint swaying of the tree branches in the wind.

But I knew better. I knew I wasn't alone.

I spun back toward my phone, my mind racing. Call someone. Tell someone. My fingers fumbled to unlock it, but before I could dial, another notification slid across the screen.

Another email.

**No Use Hiding.**

I dropped my phone like it had burned me, scrambling away from the window. My breath hitched, coming too fast, too shallow, and my heartbeat pounded in my ears, drowning out everything else.

The blanket wasn't enough—the walls weren't enough—the house itself felt too exposed.

A creak.

It wasn't from inside the room. It came from outside.

The window.

I ran, bolting for the door so fast I almost tripped, catching myself on the frame before tearing down the hallway. The shadows felt deeper than before. The floorboards under my feet groaned like something unseen was shifting beneath them.

"Mom! Dad!"

The words came out as more of a gasp than a shout. My lungs ached, but I didn't stop until I reached the living room.

They were downstairs, talking in hushed voices with Uncle David.

Three heads turned toward me at once.

I barely registered what I was saying—just shoved my phone into Uncle David's hands, shaking, breathing too hard, too fast.

He read the message.

His expression didn't change.

That made it worse.

Because I knew what that meant.

It meant he wasn't surprised.

It meant he had been expecting this.

"Alright!" Dad yelled. "Pack up. We're going to a hotel!"

Mom didn't ask questions. She was already moving, grabbing her keys and purse like she'd been waiting for the signal. Like she'd been bracing for this moment, too.

"What's going on?" I choked out, voice barely audible.

Uncle David didn't look at me at first. He was too busy studying the photo, fingers pinching and zooming in like he could pull something out of the shadows. A reflection. A clue. Anything.

"It means she's escalating," he finally muttered. "We thought she might lie low after the last scare. Clearly, she's not done."

"She?" I echoed. My legs felt unsteady beneath me.

Uncle David didn't answer. But he didn't have to.

My dad came back into the room, holding a duffel bag he'd packed in record time. "Emily, sweetheart, go get some clothes. Enough for a few nights. Don't worry about school, we'll figure that out later."

"But—"

"No buts," Mom cut in gently but firmly, brushing hair back from my face. Her hands were warm, but I could feel the tremor in them. "This isn't safe anymore. Not here."

It felt like the walls were closing in—like even in this room, with my family all around me, I wasn't safe. The picture kept flashing in my mind. My window. My silhouette. The glow of my phone. They'd been watching the whole time.

"Do you think she's still out there?" I whispered.

Uncle David finally looked me in the eyes. His voice was quiet but steady. "If she is, she won't be for long."

That was supposed to be reassuring, but all I heard was: She was close enough to take a picture. Close enough to get inside if she wanted to.

I nodded numbly and turned toward the stairs, legs like jelly. Every shadow seemed sharper. Every creak in the house felt like a threat. I grabbed my bag and stuffed it with clothes, my hands moving on autopilot. Toothbrush. Phone charger. Hoodie. I threw it all in without really thinking.

As I zipped up the bag, I glanced at the window one more time.

Curtains shut. No movement.

But I still felt her eyes on me.

The car ride was supposed to make me feel safer.

It didn't.

I was squished between Mom and Lily in the back seat, my duffel bag pressed against my legs, my phone still clenched in my hands like a lifeline. Dad was driving, one hand gripping the wheel too tight. Uncle David sat up front, staring straight ahead like he was watching for something—someone—on the road.

No one was talking.

The only sound was the soft hum of the tires and the occasional click of the turn signal. The highway was nearly empty, just long stretches of black asphalt and cold streetlights flickering overhead like they could blink out at any second. The farther we got from home, the darker it seemed to get.

My phone buzzed.

I jumped, heart leaping into my throat.

It was just the battery warning—20% left—but my fingers trembled anyway. I tucked it into my hoodie pocket, like hiding it could shut out the terror clawing at the edge of my thoughts.

I glanced out the window. Nothing but darkness and trees. But it didn't feel empty. It felt...watched.

Then I saw them.

Headlights.

Far behind us, weaving through traffic. Getting closer. At first, it didn't seem strange. Just another car.

But it didn't pass us.

It didn't fall back either.

It just stayed there. Always the same distance behind us. Keeping pace.

"Uncle David..." I whispered, leaning forward between the seats. "That car behind us..."

"I see it," he said without turning around.

His calm didn't help. If anything, it made it worse—because he didn't say it's nothing. He didn't tell me I was being paranoid.

"Could just be someone heading the same direction," Dad said, but his voice was flat. Stiff. Like even he didn't believe it.

Mom slipped her arm around my shoulders. I leaned into her, but the pressure in my chest kept building.

Minutes passed.

The car was still there.

Then my phone buzzed again.

Another email.

My breath caught.

I didn't want to look.

But I did.

Subject: You Can't Run Forever.

No message. Just a live location.

Ours.

My blood went cold. My mouth opened, but no words came out—just a broken sound that barely escaped.

I showed the phone to Uncle David. This time, his jaw clenched.

"Pull over," he said.

"What?" Dad barked. "We can't just stop!"

"Do it," David snapped. "Now."

Dad yanked the car onto the shoulder, gravel crunching under the tires. The headlights behind us slowed too. Then stopped.

The car behind us stayed still. No one got out. No one moved.

I couldn't take my eyes off it.

Uncle David was already on the phone, speaking low, fast, with clipped words I couldn't make out.

Then, finally—finally—the other car turned. The headlights swerved away, tires screeching as it vanished down the next exit.

Gone.

But the feeling stayed.

That feeling of being hunted.

Of being followed.

Of being known.

The Holiday Inn looked sterile and too bright against the inky night sky, its glowing green sign flickering slightly as we pulled into the parking lot. The lobby lights spilled onto the pavement, cold and fluorescent, like a spotlight we didn't ask for.

No one spoke as we got out of the car.

Uncle David stayed on the phone, his voice low and urgent, pacing near the front entrance while Mom ushered us inside. The automatic doors slid open with a mechanical hiss that made me flinch. Everything felt too clean, too quiet, like the calm before a storm—or the eye of one.

The man at the front desk barely looked up as Mom gave our last name. Uncle David had already called ahead.

"They put us on the third floor," she said once she had the key cards. "We're all staying in the same room. No exceptions."

I didn't argue. I didn't want to be alone.

The elevator ride was silent except for the faint hum of bad elevator music—something upbeat that felt painfully out of place. I hugged my bag to my chest, trying not to picture the hotel window. Trying not to imagine someone watching from the parking lot below.

The room smelled like fresh linens and old air conditioner. There were two queen beds, a pullout couch, and a small desk in the corner. The lights were too bright, too fake. I wanted to curl up in the dark and disappear, but I was afraid of the shadows now, too.

Uncle David joined us a few minutes later, his face unreadable.

"She's definitely close," he said quietly, sliding his phone into his coat pocket. "The email came from a proxy, but we traced the IP to somewhere local. Probably a public Wi-Fi. Coffee shop. Library. Maybe even a neighbor's unsecured network."

"Then she's still here," Mom whispered.

He nodded.

"I'll be heading back to the station in the morning. I want to keep things quiet for now. No press. No sudden moves." His eyes landed on me. "You okay?"

I nodded.

I lied.

I wasn't okay. I hadn't been okay in weeks. Maybe longer.

"I don't want to sleep near the window," I said softly, not caring how it sounded. "Please."

Mom nodded, already moving her bag to the bed farthest from it. Lily stayed close, quiet and pale, watching me like she was afraid I'd break. Sam was already curled on the pullout couch, earbuds in, trying to pretend this was just another weird night.

But it wasn't.

It was a warning.

A message.

You can run, but I'll still find you.

Later, after everyone settled and the lights dimmed, I sat on the edge of the bed, my phone resting on my knees. No new emails. No calls. Just silence.

But I could still feel her.

Out there.

Somewhere.

Waiting.

Uncle David was up. He hadn't slept, not even for a second.

He sat at the desk across the hotel room, eyes fixed on the grainy feeds from the security cameras set up around our house. The glow from his laptop screen painted his face in a cold blue light, making the tired lines beneath his eyes look even deeper.

Outside, snowflakes drifted lazily under the parking lot lights, but on his screen, the world looked different—sharper, colder, more dangerous.

Red and blue lights cut through the night, flashing across the snowy ground like silent alarms. Two Bloomington police officers stepped out of their cruiser, their uniforms dark against the white. Their breath curled in the freezing air, visible in short, rhythmic puffs.

The crunch of their boots on ice echoed through the speakers like breaking bones.

They moved cautiously toward the house, flashlights cutting across the yard, checking windows, doors, and corners. Uncle David watched them in silence, every muscle in his body tight with tension. He'd asked for the patrol himself. Not just to keep an eye out—but to send a message:

We know you're out there.

Uncle David's fingers hovered over his keyboard, hesitating for the briefest second.

He wanted to be there. You could see it in his eyes. He hated being this far away—hated trusting others to do the job he'd always done himself.

But he'd made a choice.

He glanced over his shoulder at us—still asleep, or pretending to be. Sam, curled up under a blanket on the pullout couch. Lily half-dozing, earbuds in, probably listening to some calm playlist to drown out the fear. Mom laid with one arm across my waist like a seatbelt, like if she let go I'd vanish.

Uncle David's gaze lingered on me the longest.

He would've gone back in a heartbeat. But someone had to stay behind.

Someone had to protect us.

He turned back to the screen. The officers radioed in—all clear. No signs of forced entry. No footprints in the snow beyond the ones already expected.

But that didn't mean she wasn't there. It just meant she was better at hiding than most.

Uncle David leaned back in the chair, cracking his knuckles slowly.

"She's not done," he whispered to himself. "Not even close."

He didn't know I was awake. I kept my eyes shut, but I listened. My heart beat slower now, not from calm—but from fear sinking deeper into my bones.

Because if Uncle David was scared...

Then we all should be.

Morning came slow, and it came gray.

The kind of morning that didn't feel like morning at all—just a slightly lighter version of night. Snow still dusted the ground outside the hotel window, but it was already starting to melt into slush under the weight of tire tracks and boot prints. The blinds were cracked just enough to let in the weak light, casting long shadows across the room.

Nobody had really slept, not deeply. Not peacefully.

Sam snored softly on the pullout couch, his blanket twisted around his legs. Lily was sitting cross-legged on one of the beds, scrolling quietly through her phone, earbuds still in. Mom was awake but silent, sipping lukewarm coffee from a hotel cup like it was doing more than it was.

There was no school again—not that I'd forgotten. It had been shut down ever since the shooting, and no one knew when it would reopen. Maybe next week. Maybe not at all. For now, the building was just a place with boarded windows and blood-stained silence.

I sat on the edge of the bed, picking at the sleeve of my hoodie, trying to act normal. Trying to pretend that the night hadn't happened. That there wasn't someone out there taking pictures of me. Stalking me. Playing games with my life like it was entertainment.

A knock at the door shattered the silence.

Three sharp raps.

Everyone froze.

Uncle David was already moving, gun holstered at his side, badge clipped to his belt. He approached the door like it might explode. Then he looked through the peephole and let out a breath.

"It's them," he said.

He opened the door just enough to let in the cold air—and two uniformed officers. One was tall, bald, and stone-faced. The other was younger, with tired eyes and a clipboard.

"Update from the house," the younger one said, voice low. "No signs of her. But we found footprints in the alley behind the property. Barely visible, but there."

"So she was close," Uncle David muttered. "Watching."

The officer nodded. "She's smart. No tire marks. Probably on foot. We're checking security footage from the corner gas station, but it'll take time."

"Thanks," Uncle David said. "Let me know the second you find anything."

The door clicked shut.

I waited until everyone else had distracted themselves—Mom went to brush her teeth, Lily disappeared into the bathroom, Sam mumbled something in his sleep—and then I got up and walked quietly to the desk.

Uncle David was already back at his computer, reviewing the footage again in slow motion, frame by frame.

"I know you're trying not to scare us," I said quietly. "But I already am."

He didn't look away from the screen. "I know."

"Why didn't you tell me this could happen again?"

Now he looked at me. Not with pity. Not with soft words. But with something closer to respect.

"Because you needed a break. After what happened at school, after—Trevor—" His jaw tightened. "You deserved to feel safe again. Even if it was just for a little while."

"I never felt safe," I said, barely above a whisper.

He nodded slowly. "Then you're smarter than I gave you credit for."

A silence stretched between us, long and heavy.

"She took a picture of me, David," I said. "Through my bedroom window. What if I hadn't seen the email? What if I just went to sleep like normal and—"

I couldn't finish.

He reached over and gently closed the laptop. The screen went dark.

"I won't let her get close again," he said. "I swear to you."

But his voice wasn't as steady as it usually was.

Because we both knew she already had.

---

Chapter Seventeen

The door closed behind the officers, and just like that, it was quiet again.

Too quiet.

Dad had left an hour ago to take a few business calls down in the hotel's business center—some private room with too many chairs and bad coffee, probably. He said he needed to "keep things moving" at work, but I knew the real reason. He didn't want us to see the stress in his eyes every time the phone buzzed. He didn't want us to hear the way his voice cracked when someone mentioned my name.

I couldn't blame him.

We were all coping in different ways.

Mom paced the room like a caged animal, folding and refolding clothes that didn't need folding, smoothing out already-made beds. Every time the ice machine down the hall made a noise, she flinched.

Sam stayed on the couch, eyes glued to a tablet, but I wasn't sure he was really watching anything. He hadn't said a word since breakfast.

Lily had taken over the bed by the window. She'd been staring out between the blinds for twenty minutes straight now, her phone forgotten in her lap.

And me?

I was curled up in the corner with a blanket wrapped around my shoulders, watching the muted TV screen flash with images of a world that had kept spinning while mine had stopped.

A news anchor's face moved across the screen. A headline at the bottom read: School Shooting Investigation Continues—Suspect in Custody, Accomplice Still Unknown.

I wanted to throw something at the screen.

Instead, I just turned it off.

"Can we at least try to act like things are normal?" Lily asked suddenly, not looking away from the window.

Sam scoffed. "What's normal about hiding in a hotel room because some psycho's stalking our sister?"

"Sam," Mom said sharply.

He shrugged, but he didn't take it back.

"I didn't mean it like that," Lily said, quieter now. "I just... I don't want to feel like we're waiting for something bad to happen. Again."

"We're not waiting," Uncle David said. He was seated by the desk again, drinking what had to be his fourth cup of coffee. "We're preparing."

The way he said it made my skin crawl.

"Is that supposed to make us feel better?" I asked.

"No," he said simply. "But it's the truth."

We fell back into silence, the weight of it pressing against our chests like gravity had doubled. I hated this. Hated being stuck in a box with nothing but my thoughts and the fear crawling just beneath my skin.

"I wish we were home," Sam muttered.

"I don't," I said. "She was watching me through the window."

That shut everyone up.

Even Lily.

I pulled the blanket tighter around myself and looked toward the window. Snow was starting to fall again—light, soft, and almost peaceful.

But peace didn't live here anymore.

Not in the house.

Not in the school.

Not even in this hotel room.

The snow had picked up again. Thick, heavy flakes now, clinging to the windows like frostbitten fingers. I'd lost track of time—hours blurred together inside the hotel room like a fog. Mom was sitting with Lily and Sam at the table, trying to distract them with a card game, but no one was really paying attention.

I was back on the bed, staring at the muted TV screen again, not watching it.

When the knock came this time, it was softer.

But somehow it still made my blood run cold.

Uncle David was at the door before anyone could move. He checked the peephole first, always cautious. Then he cracked the door open.

It was the same two officers from before.

Only this time, they weren't alone.

Two men in dark coats stood just behind them. One of them was tall and built like a statue, with ice-blue eyes and a hard expression. The other looked younger, his face serious but kind in a way that made me nervous—like he felt sorry for us before he even said a word.

FBI.

I knew it before they said anything.

"We need to speak with you," the taller man said. "Now."

Uncle David stepped aside, letting them in. Mom stood up, her face going pale, the cards in her hands forgotten. Sam and Lily exchanged looks and backed up instinctively.

The shorter agent glanced at me, then back at Uncle David. "We found something."

My stomach twisted.

"There's a house about six blocks from yours," the agent began, pulling out a folder from inside his coat. "Vacant. Listed for sale. We got a call from the realtor this morning—they went to check on it and found signs of forced entry."

"She's been squatting there," the officer added grimly. "Probably for weeks."

The folder opened. Inside were photos.

My face stared back at me.

Photo after photo—some printed, some polaroids. All of me.

Some of them were in school.

Getting into our car.

Looking out my bedroom window.

One photo had me brushing my hair in front of the mirror, blinds barely open—taken from a distance, but unmistakably me. My breath caught in my throat.

"We also found this," the FBI agent said, pulling out another picture. It showed a table with three computer monitors lit up in the dark. All three displayed different angles of our house. "She hacked into the exterior cameras. Wired into the feed. She's been watching you. Live."

My mouth went dry.

"She was in that house?" Mom asked, voice barely above a whisper.

"She lived there," the taller agent said. "There were food wrappers, clothes, a mattress on the floor. But no sign of her now. She's gone."

"She knew you'd come," Uncle David said quietly. "She's already one step ahead."

The agent nodded. "We're sweeping the property for prints and DNA. But this wasn't just random surveillance. This was targeted. She had files on Emily. School records. Social media screenshots. Photos that go back months."

Sam let out a strangled sound and sat down hard on the couch. Lily turned to the wall, wiping her eyes.

I couldn't breathe.

"Why me?" I whispered. "Why is she doing this?"

No one had an answer.

Instead, the younger agent crouched beside the bed, his voice low and careful.

"She's obsessed with you, Emily. She sees you as the loose end. Something personal."

"Do you think she's planning something?" Uncle David asked.

The agent hesitated. Then he nodded.

"Yes."

Silence settled over the room like a death sentence.

"She's not going to stop," the agent continued. "Not unless we stop her first."

After the agents left, the room felt like it was holding its breath.

Mom sat stiffly on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor like she was trying to disappear into the carpet. Lily had crawled under the blanket and pulled it over her head, whispering something to herself I couldn't hear. Sam was still glued to the couch, pale and silent, his game abandoned on the table.

Uncle David hadn't said a word since the door closed. He stood by the window now, watching the snow fall with clenched fists and a jaw so tight it looked like it might shatter.

I slipped into the bathroom and shut the door behind me.

For a minute, I just stood there, the hum of the fan buzzing low and hollow in my ears. Then I sat down on the edge of the tub, phone in my lap, heart pounding like it was trying to claw its way out.

I opened my messages.

Jasmine (Frog Emoji)
Mia (Heart Emoji)

They were still there. Waiting. They had no idea what was happening. What was still happening. I hadn't messaged either of them since before the photo. Before the knock at the window. Before the empty house filled with pictures of me.

My fingers hovered over the keyboard.

Me: Hey.

I stared at the blinking cursor.

Deleted it.

Typed again.

Me: Something bad happened.

Deleted that too.

What was I even supposed to say? That the girl who helped try to kill me at school was living six blocks away in a vacant house watching me sleep? That she was still out there—and maybe getting closer?

No.

I couldn't send that.

Instead, I just stared at the chat, trying to feel like the world I used to live in was still real. That somewhere, things were still normal. Somewhere, people weren't afraid to close their eyes at night.

Then the hotel phone rang.

The shrill, sudden sound shattered the silence like a scream.

I froze.

I wasn't even sure who moved first—but the door swung open behind me. Uncle David rushed into the room, eyes hard. Mom was right behind him.

The phone rang again.

He grabbed it, pressing the receiver to his ear.

"Hello?"

His back straightened.

Then—his voice dropped. Tense. Controlled. "Who is this?"

I stood up slowly, my blood turning to ice.

Uncle David didn't say anything else. He just listened.

A beat passed.

Then another.

Then he slammed the phone down.

"What did they say?" Mom asked.

His face was blank.

His voice was not.

"They asked... if Emily liked the hotel bed more than her one at home."

I felt my knees buckle. Mom caught me before I hit the floor.

"David," she whispered, voice shaking, "how the hell did they get this number?"

But he already knew.

We all did.

She wasn't just watching.

She was listening.

After the call, Uncle David yanked the phone cord from the wall and threw it across the room. No one stopped him.

We didn't ask questions.

We didn't need to.

Eventually, the room went quiet again. Mom pulled the curtains tight. Lily sat with her knees hugged to her chest, eyes locked on the door. Sam laid back down but didn't fall asleep—he just stared up at the ceiling like it might crack open any second.

I curled up in the corner of the bed, wrapped in a scratchy hotel blanket. It wasn't warm, but it was heavy, and I needed the weight. I buried my face into the folds of it, letting the quiet press down over everything.

Even with everyone in the room, I felt alone.

The fear didn't shout anymore—it whispered. It crept in like smoke under a door. It hid in the shadows, in the silence, in the blinking light of my phone charging on the nightstand.

That was when it buzzed.

I jumped, heart in my throat—but this time it wasn't an email.

It was a call.

Jasmine (Frog Emoji) was lighting up the screen.

I didn't even think. I answered on the first ring and pressed the phone to my ear like it might melt into my skin.

"Hello?" My voice cracked.

"Emily?" Jasmine sounded surprised. "You picked up."

I blinked back sudden tears.

"I didn't think you'd answer," she said, her voice soft. "I've been trying since yesterday."

"I—I couldn't. It wasn't safe."

There was a pause.

"I heard something happened," she said carefully. "At the house. Someone said your street had police everywhere. Then the school sent that weird message this morning saying 'No updates at this time.' I've been freaking out."

I swallowed hard. "You don't have to worry about me."

"I want to worry about you."

That did it.

The tears slipped free.

"I don't know what to do anymore, Jaz," I whispered. "She's everywhere. Every time I think I'm safe, she's closer. She got into a house down the street and set up cameras. She knew where I was sleeping. She called the hotel phone."

"Oh my God," Jasmine whispered. "Emily..."

"I don't even know if I'm going back to school. If I can. Every time I close my eyes, I think she's going to be there. Behind the door. Outside the window. Inside the wall."

"You're not alone," she said fiercely. "You hear me? Even if you're hiding in a hotel room, even if everything feels like it's falling apart—you've still got me. And Mia. And your whole family. That girl may know where you live, but she doesn't know you. Not like I do."

A quiet laugh escaped me—half-broken, but real.

"I miss you," I said.

"I miss you too. So bad. When you're ready to talk more, or if you just wanna hear someone breathe on the other end of the phone, call me. I don't care what time it is."

I didn't know what to say, so I didn't say anything.

"...Remember that time we tried to make brownies and forgot the eggs?" Jasmine was saying after a minute of silence. "You were so sure it'd still work."

I smiled into the phone, the blanket pulled up around my chin. "They turned into chocolate gravel."

"Yeah, but you still made me eat them."

"You liked them."

"You're a liar."

I laughed softly, and for a moment, things felt almost normal. Like we were back in her kitchen, socks sliding on tile, sugar dusting the counter, the smell of burnt chocolate filling the air.

It was easy to forget the hotel walls. The flashing lights. The FBI.

The fear.

"Thanks for calling," I said after a while, my voice barely a whisper. "It helped."

"I'm always here," she said. "And hey—if you ever wanna sneak out and egg someone's house, I'm just sayin', I know a girl."

"Jasmine..."

"I know, I know. Bad timing. I'm just trying to make you laugh."

I smiled again, a small, tired smile. "It worked."

I heard her breathe out, then the soft rustle of her blankets. "Okay. Try to sleep, Em. I'll keep my phone on, promise."

"Night."

"Night."

I ended the call but didn't move. I stayed curled up in the corner, staring at the dark TV screen, clutching the phone like it could still carry Jasmine's voice. Just holding it made me feel tethered to something real.

Then I heard the soft creak of the hotel carpet.

Uncle David.

He walked over slowly, crouching beside the bed, his voice low.

"You okay?"

I nodded, not trusting my voice.

He hesitated. Then he asked, "Do you know someone named Lexi?"

I blinked.

"Lexi?" I repeated. "Yeah, I mean... I used to. She was—she was one of the girls who used to hang out with Tasha. At school. Why?"

Uncle David's expression didn't change, but something behind his eyes sharpened.

"She showed up at the house."

My blood ran cold.

"At our house?"

He nodded.

"Police were still on the scene. Said she walked right up the driveway and asked for you by name. Wouldn't say why. Said she didn't know anything about what happened with the break-in, just that she 'needed to talk to Emily.'"

"That doesn't make any sense," I whispered. "Lexi and I aren't even friends. Not really."

Uncle David stood slowly, arms crossed.

"She's not under arrest," he said. "But we're watching her now."

I pulled the blanket tighter around myself.

Because someone had told her where to find me.

And maybe, just maybe...

It hadn't been random at all.

---

Chapter Eighteen

"You're not in trouble," the agent said gently, folding his hands on the table between them. "But we need to know—did you have any idea who might've been working with Tasha?"

His voice was calm, but there was something piercing in his gaze, the way he studied Lexi's every micro-expression like her face might give away more than her words ever could.

Lexi exhaled sharply, crossing her arms in front of her like a shield. "No," she said quickly. "I swear, I didn't know she was planning anything like that. If I did, I would've stopped it."

Her voice was firm, but her eyes darted for a moment—uncertain, maybe scared. She wasn't just protecting herself. She was protecting something else. Someone.

The agent made a brief note in the folder on the table, but his expression didn't change. "There was someone else," he said. "Not Tasha. Not you. But someone who was always around. Do you remember anyone like that?"

Lexi hesitated. Her fingers dug into the sleeves of her hoodie. The silence stretched.

"There was... this girl," she said finally, her voice cautious, like she was pulling the words from a fog. "She wasn't exactly one of us, but she was always there. Quiet. Watching. Listening. Never said much."

The other agent in the room straightened in his chair.

"Name?" the first one asked.

Lexi chewed on her lip, her brow furrowed. "I'm not sure. I didn't talk to her much. Tasha did. But I think... I think her name was Chloe. Or Zoe. Something like that."

The agents exchanged a look.

Lexi's voice grew stronger now, as she let the memories surface. "She always wore the same stuff. A black beanie. And this thick gray scarf. Like, even inside. She was weird about it—like she didn't want anyone to see her."

The description matched.

The agents both knew it. One of them began typing rapidly on a laptop, pulling up security footage and access logs.

"And you said she spoke with Tasha often?"

Lexi nodded slowly. "I think so. They didn't hang out like, in public or anything. But Tasha trusted her. That was obvious."

One of the agents leaned back, eyes narrowing slightly. "She ever ask about Emily?"

Lexi hesitated again—this time longer.

"She... watched her," she said at last. "I remember once, after school, we were leaving and she said something like, 'She doesn't even know what's coming.' I thought she was just talking trash. But now..."

Her arms tightened around herself. "She was worse than Tasha," she added, her voice barely a whisper now. "That girl—Zoe, or whatever her real name is—she didn't get mad like Tasha. She didn't yell or fight. She just watched. Like she was planning something way darker."

There was a beat of silence before the agent said, "Do you know where she is now?"

Lexi looked at him, eyes wide. "No. I swear I don't. But..."

"But what?" the second agent asked.

Lexi's throat bobbed as she swallowed.

"She knew where Emily lived. I don't know how, but she did. She mentioned it once. Her street. The color of her house. Said she liked the angle from the fence near the school."

The agent stopped typing.

"We found a girl matching that description loitering near the school two days before the attack," he said. "Black beanie. Gray scarf. She spoke briefly with Emily."

Lexi's hands trembled.

"She's not done," she said softly. "Whatever she started with Tasha—she's still in it. And she's way more dangerous."

The moment Lexi said the words black beanie and gray scarf, my stomach dropped.

I was watching the interview from the hotel room, curled up in one of the armchairs while the agents projected the live feed onto the TV screen. Uncle David stood nearby, arms crossed, his face unreadable. I barely noticed Mom sit down beside me, her hand tightening around mine the second those words were spoken.

Because I'd seen her.

Talked to her.

She was the girl by the fence outside school. The one who stopped me a few days before the shooting, eyes full of fake concern, her voice soft and sympathetic as she asked if I was okay.

She wasn't there to help me.

She was studying me. Learning my routine. Getting close enough to memorize me.

And I hadn't even realized it.

The room snapped into motion. One of the FBI agents—Holt—began scrubbing through the school's exterior footage. Days blurred by on the screen, security timestamps ticking like a countdown. Uncle David moved closer, jaw tight, his fingers drumming against his arm with slow, deliberate beats.

Then—

"There!" Holt said, freezing the footage.

The image flickered and sharpened—just enough to see her.

There she was.

Standing still, just beyond the chain-link fence. A black beanie pulled low, a thick gray scarf wrapped around her neck. Even through the pixelation, I could see the way she scanned the crowd. Calm. Precise. Like she wasn't just watching.

She was waiting.

"That's her," I whispered. My voice cracked as I leaned forward, pointing at the screen with a trembling hand. "That's the girl who talked to me. A few days before the shooting."

Uncle David's eyes narrowed. "She made contact."

Agent Holt hit play again.

And then... there it was.

A recording from a different angle. No video this time—just audio, faint and muffled but unmistakable. Her voice, low and deliberate, threading through the static like a knife through silk:

"You don't know me, but I know Tasha."

The room went still.

That one sentence rang louder than a scream.

She hadn't just known Tasha. She was part of it. The web, the plan, the aftermath. She didn't stumble into this—she was woven into it from the beginning.

As I watched the screen, frozen on her figure turning away, scarf blowing slightly in the wind, a horrible realization settled over me.

She wasn't hiding anymore.

She wanted to be seen.

"Emily..." Mom's voice broke beside me. Her grip on my hand tightened. "She was getting way too close to you."

I nodded slowly, eyes glued to the screen.

Because that wasn't just some stranger in a beanie and scarf.

That was a hunter.

And I was her target.

The FBI agents worked with a tense, focused urgency. From the hotel room, we watched the feed on the mounted TV as they fed the grainy still of the girl—black beanie, gray scarf—into a facial recognition system. The screen flickered with endless windows: database scans, social media profiles, school records. Every second that ticked by stretched longer than the last. The room around me was silent except for the low hum of the laptop speakers and the quiet clicks of their keyboards.

I sat frozen in the armchair, a blanket wrapped around my legs, my fingers digging into the fabric. Mom stood just behind me. Lily and Sam sat huddled on the bed. Uncle David hadn't moved from his spot near the window, arms crossed, his eyes locked on the screen like he could will the truth to surface.

Then, finally—

A name appeared on screen, cold and clinical in its clarity.

Zoe Caldwell.

The words hit like a thunderclap.

I stared at them, my mind reeling. Caldwell.

My heart lurched.

"Wait..." I breathed. "Caldwell?"

The agent on the screen confirmed it a moment later, voice low and steady.

"She's Tasha's sister."

The room around me felt like it vanished—just gone, swallowed by the weight of that single connection.

Tasha's sister.

That was the missing piece.

Zoe Caldwell wasn't just a shadowy accomplice. She wasn't just another stranger who had circled the edges of my life. She was family to the girl who had nearly destroyed it.

I couldn't speak. Couldn't breathe.

Tasha hadn't acted alone.

And now it made perfect sense why Zoe had been there. At school. At the fence. At my house.

She wasn't just part of the plan.

She was the plan.

On screen, the agents fell silent, processing the link. I saw one of them begin searching Zoe's school records. Another pulled up archived texts, calls, photos.

Then came the chilling part.

"She's gone," one of them muttered.

He scrolled through page after page of digital records. "No school attendance. No active phone. Social media accounts deleted. Bank account frozen. No digital footprint since the day of the shooting."

It was like she'd disappeared into smoke.

"She knew we'd come for her," Uncle David said from behind me, his voice low, even. "She erased herself on purpose."

I wrapped my arms around my chest, trying to hold in the fear as it clawed its way up my throat.

"She was always one step ahead," the agent added grimly. "We've got teams looking, but she's gone completely dark."

"So what now?" I asked. My voice was barely a whisper.

The agent leaned toward the camera, his expression hard as steel. "Now we find her first."

The promise settled into the room like the final piece of a puzzle none of us wanted to see. The hotel suddenly felt smaller. The walls thinner. The air colder.

I couldn't stop staring at that name.

Zoe Caldwell.

She had watched me. Followed me. Talked to me. All while hiding this—hiding who she really was. And the terrifying part wasn't just that she was Tasha's sister.

It was that she was still out there.

And she knew exactly what she was doing.

That night, the world outside the hotel window had quieted into a deceptive stillness, but inside me, my thoughts spun like a storm refusing to die. I sat on the edge of the bed, the hotel comforter cool against my legs, my body too tired to move but my mind wide awake. Every detail of the day—Zoe's name, her voice on that recording, the fact that she had been watching me—played on a loop in my head.

She had been right there. Talking to me. Hiding in plain sight.

I hugged my knees to my chest, the dim light of the streetlamp outside filtering through the heavy curtains, casting narrow shadows across the room. Everyone else was finally asleep—Mom, Lily, Sam—even Uncle David, who had dozed off in the corner chair with his phone resting on his chest. The silence should have been comforting.

It wasn't.

BZZT.

The vibration of my phone shattered the quiet, jerking me upright. My heart punched against my ribs as I grabbed it, the screen lighting up with a new email from an unknown sender.

My hands shook as I unlocked it.

The subject line was blank.

The body of the message held just three words:

YOU'RE TOO LATE.

I froze.

The words were a gut-punch—sharp, final, cruel.

Not a threat.

A statement.

Someone was still out there. Someone who knew exactly what had happened tonight. Someone watching.

My breath came in shallow gasps. The chill of fear ran deeper now, beyond skin and bone. She knew we'd been close. She knew.

Before I could even think, Uncle David's phone rang—its sudden tone cutting through the air like a siren. He startled awake, catching it mid-ring.

"This is David," he said, his voice instantly focused.

There was a pause. His eyes narrowed.

Then: "They got her."

My head snapped up.

He stood quickly, already pulling on his jacket. "The FBI found her. Abandoned house outside the city—just off County Road 12. They moved in twenty minutes ago. She's in custody."

Mom stirred first, sitting up with a gasp. "Are you serious?" Her voice cracked from sleep and stress.

"It's her," he said. "It's really her."

Relief rippled through the room. Mom brought both hands to her mouth, tears welling in her eyes. Sam, now half-awake, blinked at us in confusion. Lily sat up silently, stunned.

But me?

I felt...nothing.

No joy. No relief. Just a cold weight in my chest.

Because I couldn't stop hearing those words:

YOU'RE TOO LATE.

Zoe hadn't just been hiding.

She had been waiting.

Her arrest didn't feel like an ending—it felt like a pause. A trap, maybe. She'd erased her footprint, vanished without a trace, and now she was caught... conveniently. Too easily. And still, she found a way to get a message through.

My gut told me this wasn't over.

Not really.

The next few days blurred into a surreal fog. FBI briefings. News reports. Snippets of Zoe's digital trail—or what was left of it—surfacing in headlines. They said she'd wiped everything before the school shooting. Deleted. Scrubbed. Disconnected.

But somehow... she'd known where we were.

The hotel became our temporary bunker. Reporters loitered outside. Agents came and went. And yet, despite everything—their confidence, their reports—I couldn't shake the feeling that the game wasn't over.

That she had planned for this.

That she wanted to be caught.

It all came to a head one quiet evening in the hotel dining area.

Dinner was quiet, the kind where silverware sounds too loud and no one really tastes what they're eating. I pushed peas around my plate until Mom finally broke the silence.

"Emily," she said softly. "She's behind bars. It's over now."

Her words floated across the table like a fragile balloon. Meant to comfort. Meant to heal.

But I couldn't grab hold of them.

"I want to believe that," I whispered, barely loud enough to hear myself. "I really do."

Uncle David set down his fork and looked at me—steady, calm, the way only he could be after everything.

"You don't have to forget," he said. "But you don't have to live in fear either. You're not alone in this."

And he was right.

Across from me sat the people who had protected me, believed me, fought for me. Jasmine and Mia's messages still pinged my phone, little reminders that I mattered. Lexi had helped turn the tide. And Uncle David—he had never stopped chasing the truth.

I took a slow, deep breath.

Maybe the worst had passed.

Or maybe the next part was just beginning.

But at least now, I wasn't facing it alone.

We came home four days after Zoe's arrest.

The FBI had done a full sweep of the property. They said everything was clear. "No threats remain," one of the agents had said, clipboard in hand, like that was supposed to erase the fear. Like words could disinfect memories.

The drive back felt longer than it should have. The streets were the same, but they looked different—like someone had tilted the whole world a few degrees while we were gone. The snow had started to melt, revealing patches of dead grass and brittle branches. Our neighborhood was quiet, too quiet, like it had been holding its breath in our absence.

The moment we pulled into the driveway, a cold, uneasy weight settled in my chest.

The front door stood exactly how we'd left it. The wreath was still hanging. The snow shovel leaned against the porch rail. Nothing had changed.

But everything had changed.

Inside, the house felt wrong.

It wasn't messy. Nothing was broken. But it was off—the kind of wrong you couldn't explain in words, only in the way your skin crawled and your heartbeat sped up for no reason.

Uncle David unlocked the door, pushing it open first. He stepped inside like he was clearing a crime scene, his eyes sweeping the living room.

We followed slowly.

The air was cold and stale. Like it hadn't been breathed in for weeks.

Mom hesitated in the doorway, clutching her keys like a weapon. Sam stayed behind her, unusually quiet. Lily stood just inside the threshold, arms wrapped around herself, her eyes scanning every corner.

I stepped in last.

And that's when I noticed it.

The throw pillow on the couch—turned the wrong way.

The kitchen chair—slightly pulled out.

My bedroom door—cracked open, even though I always left it shut.

Mom went to the kitchen, flicking on the lights.

Uncle David disappeared upstairs, calling out: "Just checking everything."

I stood in the hallway, staring at that thin sliver of darkness in my doorway.

That door hadn't been open when we left.

I knew it.

"Emily?" Mom's voice made me flinch. She was beside me now, gently touching my arm. "You okay?"

I nodded. But my feet moved on their own.

I pushed the door open.

My room was untouched—but not.

My stuffed fox had been moved from my pillow to my desk chair.

A photo frame was crooked.

And on my nightstand, tucked half-under a notebook, was a single black thread.

Thin. Coarse. Like it belonged to a beanie.

I stared at it until the walls felt like they were closing in.

She had been here.

Maybe not recently. Maybe not since they caught her.

But Zoe had been here.

I backed away from the room, heart pounding.

Uncle David was coming back down the stairs, his expression unreadable.

"House is clear," he said. "No sign of break-in."

But I saw the way his eyes lingered on my face.

He knew.

We all knew.

She might be gone. But the fear wasn't.

Not yet.

And even with Zoe and Tasha behind bars, the shadow they left behind still clung to the walls, stubborn and cold.

Home didn't feel like home.

Not yet.

But it was ours again.

And somehow, that had to be enough.

---

It had been a few weeks since the shooting.

Since the threats.

Since Zoe.

At first, I thought I'd never feel normal again—like the fear had rooted itself so deep in my bones that I'd carry it forever. I kept waiting for the next email. The next message. The next shadow in the hallway or face in the crowd. I didn't sleep much those first few nights back home. Every creak in the walls felt like footsteps. Every gust of wind outside sounded like someone breathing against the glass.

But life... life doesn't ask if you're ready before it moves on.

And slowly, almost without realizing it, I had started to move too.

The school hallways didn't feel like a war zone anymore. The place that had once felt haunted—by memory, by fear—had softened. The stares were fewer now. The whispers that once chased me between classes had faded into background noise. I wasn't the girl everyone avoided, or the one they looked at like I might shatter if they said the wrong thing.

I wasn't just the survivor anymore.

I was Emily.

And school had actually been... fun.

It felt weird even thinking that word. Like I was betraying everything I'd been through by smiling too wide or laughing too hard. But it was true. Somewhere between late homework, bad cafeteria pizza, and Mia's deadpan sarcasm during math, the heaviness started to lift.

I laughed more.

I could walk to class without hugging the wall.

I didn't flinch when someone dropped a book behind me.

I could breathe.

I wasn't whole—but I wasn't breaking anymore, either.

Of course, not everything had changed.

Trevor was still Trevor.

Still muttering garbage under his breath when he thought no one could hear. Still sending me those side-eyed glares from across the classroom like my existence was some kind of insult. Still acting like I'd somehow wronged him just by surviving.

But the difference now?

I wasn't alone in shutting him down.

Jasmine had turned into my own personal bodyguard with no volume control. The first time Trevor made a snide comment in science class, she slammed her pencil down and said, loud enough for half the room to hear, "Why don't you try evolving for once, Trevor? Or is that too advanced for you?"

The whole room laughed.

Even Mr. Reid cracked a smile behind his coffee mug.

And Mia—quiet, observant Mia—had a way of slicing him to pieces with just a few well-placed words. The kind that didn't yell. They just hit.

"Do you ever get tired of being pathetic?" she asked one day, not even looking up from her book.

Trevor had blinked at her like she'd slapped him.

And then there was Lexi.

Lexi, who had once stood beside Tasha, now stood between me and Trevor like a wall he couldn't move. She didn't say much, but when she did, it landed like a brick.

The first time she told him, "Shut up and get over yourself," I'd nearly dropped my books.

Now?

It was just part of the routine.

The best part was the look on Trevor's face. Like he couldn't believe she of all people wasn't on his side anymore. Like the world had tilted just enough to knock the power out of his hands.

He was still an issue.

But not a problem.

Not for me.

And that—more than anything—felt like progress.

In gym class, Jasmine and I ended up as partners for a volleyball unit, which mostly consisted of her making wild dives and me laughing too hard to serve straight. Mia kept score with the calm ruthlessness of a war general, and even Lexi—who always hung back during group stuff—joined in during warmups.

We weren't just surviving anymore.

We were rebuilding.

And maybe I still had nightmares sometimes. Maybe I still double-checked the locks before bed and kept my phone face-down so I didn't have to stare at the screen, waiting for another message.

But I also knew how to laugh again.

I knew how to trust people again.

Even Lexi.

We'd never be best friends. Too much had happened. Too many walls between us.

But she'd made her choice. And every time she stood beside me, backed me up, or even just didn't look away when Trevor started talking, it chipped away at the weight I'd carried for so long.

The world wasn't perfect.

I wasn't perfect.

But I was still here.

And that had to count for something.

I was in line at the cafeteria, staring down at the rectangle pizza on my tray. It looked the same as always—a little too orange, slightly overcooked at the edges, and somehow both too greasy and too dry at the same time. The kind of meal that probably should've made me hesitate.

But today, I didn't care.

I was just glad to be here.

I grabbed a packet of ranch dressing from the condiments section before heading to my usual table. The lunchroom was buzzing with chatter, the clatter of trays and the hum of a hundred overlapping conversations filling the space. It felt... normal. A kind of chaotic normal that I hadn't been able to appreciate for weeks.

As soon as I sat down, Jasmine smirked. "Emily Blake, actually eating lunch? That's a miracle."

Mia gave me a knowing look as she popped open her container of yogurt. "Yeah, remember when she just stared at her food like it was cursed?"

I rolled my eyes but smiled as I peeled open the packet of ranch and drizzled it over my pizza. The creamy white dressing pooled over the cheese, mixing with the orange grease in a way that made Mia wrinkle her nose.

Jasmine gasped dramatically. "Oh my god, you're one of those people."

I raised an eyebrow. "One of what people?"

Jasmine pointed at my pizza with exaggerated horror. "Ranch on pizza people."

Mia sighed, shaking her head. "Disgraceful."

I smirked, picking up a slice and taking a big bite. "You guys don't know what you're missing."

Jasmine shuddered. "No, I think we do. And that's why we avoid it."

Mia poked at her yogurt absentmindedly. "To be fair, compared to the cafeteria sauce, ranch might actually be an upgrade."

I held my slice out toward Jasmine, wiggling it a little. "You sure you don't want to try it?"

Jasmine recoiled like I had just held up something radioactive. "Get that monstrosity away from me."

Mia snorted. "She's too dramatic for her own good."

I laughed. A real, genuine laugh that I didn't have to force. It felt good.

Later that day, as I stuffed my books into my locker, I paused.

The hallway buzzed with end-of-day chatter—backpacks slung over shoulders, sneakers squeaking on the linoleum, someone laughing too loudly near the vending machines. Just noise. Just life.

For weeks, this place had felt like a battlefield. Every hallway, every corner, every classroom held ghosts of fear—shadows of the past that clung to me like a second skin. I used to flinch at sudden bells, brace myself whenever someone came too close, scan every unfamiliar face like it might belong to someone who didn't belong.

The echoes of whispered rumors.

The weight of anxious glances.

The creeping dread that something bad could happen again.

But today?

Today it just felt like school.

Not a place of terror. Not a minefield of memories.

Just a regular school, with scuffed floors and bad lighting and lockers that always jammed. A place where Jasmine was probably waiting to tell me some ridiculous story about gym class, and Mia would roll her eyes like she wasn't secretly amused. A place where Lexi, somehow, was no longer part of the problem—but part of the solution.

I let out a slow breath, leaning against the cool metal of the locker door.

I wasn't fully healed.

Maybe I never would be.

There would always be a part of me that remembered—moments burned into my memory like scars. I'd probably always check the shadows twice, keep one ear tuned for danger that might never come.

But I was here.

I was standing.

I was living.

And after everything?

That was enough.

That evening, the house smelled like spaghetti and garlic bread.

Not takeout. Not something microwaved at the hotel.

Real food. Home-cooked. Warm.

I stood in the kitchen barefoot, leaning against the counter while steam curled from the pot on the stove. Mom moved around like she was in her element again, humming under her breath, her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. The radio played softly in the background—some old song she loved but would never admit was a favorite.

It was simple.

But after everything?

It felt like magic.

Lily and Sam sat at the dining table, arguing over a game of Uno. Sam kept trying to peek at her cards, and Lily kept smacking his hand with exaggerated drama. The sound of their bickering made me smile. It was the kind of noise I used to tune out. Now, I savored every bit of it.

Uncle David came in through the back door, shaking snow from his coat. "Smells like civilization in here," he said with a grin.

"Try not to track the wilderness across my kitchen," Mom replied, raising an eyebrow but smiling anyway.

He held up his hands in mock surrender and hung his coat on the hook by the door.

I stirred the sauce while Mom sliced the bread, and for the first time in what felt like forever, the silence in my head wasn't deafening. It was peaceful.

Safe.

"Hey, Em," Sam called suddenly. "Wanna get destroyed in Uno after dinner?"

I glanced at Lily, who rolled her eyes. "He's cheating."

"I'm strategizing," Sam argued.

"You're peeking."

"Same difference."

I laughed. "Sure. I'll destroy both of you."

"Confidence," Uncle David muttered as he poured himself some sweet tea. "Dangerous thing in this family."

Mom set down the knife, wiped her hands on a towel, and gave me a look. One of those long, quiet ones that says everything without words.

I gave her a small nod.

I was okay.

Dinner was loud. Messy. Filled with overlapping conversations and second helpings and Sam complaining about the sauce being too spicy—which it wasn't.

Afterward, Lily insisted on doing the dishes to get out of homework. Sam tried to help but mostly just splashed water on the floor. Mom shooed them both away after five minutes.

Uncle David sat in the armchair with a newspaper, flipping through it like he was still pretending to be off-duty. I curled up on the couch with a blanket and let myself relax into the rhythm of home.

It wasn't perfect.

The shadows hadn't vanished completely.

But tonight, they didn't feel so heavy.

Tonight, the walls weren't closing in.

They were holding us together.

Later that night, after the dishes were done and the house had settled into its evening hush, I found myself sitting on the front steps with a mug of hot cocoa in my hands. The air was crisp, and the stars were barely visible behind a thin veil of clouds. I pulled my hoodie tighter around me and took a slow sip, letting the warmth sink in.

Uncle David sat beside me, his own cup steaming gently in the cold.

Neither of us said much at first. We didn't have to. Sometimes silence said more than words could.

"It's nice," I murmured eventually. "Being home. Having things feel kind of normal again."

He nodded. "You've come a long way, Emily."

I looked down at the mug in my hands. "Only because you helped me."

He didn't respond right away. Just watched the snow glint under the porch light, his expression thoughtful.

"I'm glad I was here," he said finally. "I wish I could stay longer."

I nodded slowly, biting the inside of my cheek. "Me too."

I knew he had a life to get back to. A home of his own. A job that wasn't just chasing down shadows for me. But still... it stung. After everything—every night he stayed up watching surveillance, every quiet word when I needed grounding, every moment he stood between us and the unknown—letting him go felt like losing a shield I didn't know I still needed.

"I hate that part," I whispered. "When the people who helped you the most have to go back to their own lives. Like they're chapters in your story, but you're not in theirs anymore."

Uncle David turned to look at me. "You'll always be in mine."

His voice was steady, but softer than usual.

"I'll still check in," he added. "Probably too much. You'll get sick of hearing from me."

I smiled a little. "Not possible."

He stood slowly, stretching his back with a quiet groan. "I head out tomorrow morning."

I looked away so he wouldn't see the sting in my eyes.

"Don't worry," he added, resting a hand on my shoulder. "You've got a good team here. Family. Friends. And you're stronger than you think."

I nodded, even though the lump in my throat made it hard to say anything.

When he went back inside, I stayed on the steps a little longer.

The wind picked up, rustling the trees at the edge of the yard. It didn't scare me—not the way it used to. It just reminded me that the world was still moving, still changing, whether I was ready or not.

Uncle David was leaving tomorrow.

But he'd been here when it mattered most.

And I'm happy he did.

---

The house was still quiet when I slipped out of bed, the soft glow of the early morning light barely peeking through my window.

I stretched, rubbing the sleep from my eyes as I tiptoed down the hallway. The last thing I wanted was to wake anyone up—not yet. Today was my birthday, and for once, I actually felt excited.

I had a plan.

Brownies.

Not the store-bought kind, not the ones from a box, but real, homemade fudgy, chocolatey, melt-in-your-mouth brownies. My class deserved the good stuff.

I padded into the kitchen and flipped on the light, the warm glow making the space feel cozy. As I started gathering ingredients—flour, sugar, eggs, butter—I realized something.

No cocoa powder.

I frowned, checking the back of the cupboard again. Nothing.

Great. Just great. How was I supposed to make brownies without cocoa?

I was about to give up when my eyes landed on something tucked behind a bag of rice—a few chocolate bars.

A slow grin spread across my face. That would work.

I unwrapped them quickly, breaking them into pieces and tossing them into a saucepan with the butter. As the chocolate slowly melted, the rich, warm smell filled the kitchen. It smelled even better than cocoa powder would have.

I stirred carefully, making sure it didn't burn. The chocolate turned glossy and smooth.

With a little extra confidence, I mixed everything together—sugar, eggs, vanilla, the melted chocolate. The batter was thick and rich, like pure chocolate heaven. I poured it into a pan, smoothing out the top before sliding it into the oven.

I set the timer and leaned against the counter, exhaling slowly.

This year felt different.

A few months ago, I wouldn't have even thought about doing something like this. I would have spent the day quietly, not wanting to draw attention to myself. But things were different now.

I had friends. I had people who cared. I wasn't just surviving anymore—I was living.

I closed my eyes for a second, letting the scent of chocolate fill the air.

Today was going to be a good day.

The soft sound of footsteps padding across the floor broke the quiet moment. I turned to see Lily, her hair a messy tangle from sleep, rubbing her eyes as she stepped into the kitchen.

"Emily? What are you doing?" she mumbled, her voice still thick with sleep.

I smiled. "Making brownies for my class."

Lily's face lit up instantly. "Brownies? Ooooh, can I have one?"

I hesitated. "They're for school."

Her expression immediately fell into a dramatic pout. "But it's your birthday! Shouldn't I get a birthday brownie?"

I laughed softly, shaking my head. "Sorry, Lily. I have to make sure there are enough for everyone in my class."

She crossed her arms, grumbling under her breath, but didn't push it further. Instead, she slumped into a chair at the table, resting her head on her arms.

A few minutes later, Sam wandered in, still looking half-asleep. He yawned as he ran a hand through his messy hair. "Why is it so early, and why does it smell like chocolate?"

"Because I'm making brownies for my class," I explained again.

"Oh." He blinked at me, then at Lily, who was still pouting at the table. "Let me guess—she's mad she can't have one?"

"Yep."

Lily groaned dramatically. "This is the worst birthday ever."

"It's not even your birthday."

"Exactly! And now I don't even get a brownie!"

Sam rolled his eyes but didn't argue, instead grabbing a glass from the cabinet and filling it with water. "Well, happy birthday, I guess."

I smiled. "Thanks."

Just as I was about to check on the brownies, Mom walked in, her robe tied loosely around her waist. She paused, taking in the scene—the ingredients scattered on the counter, Lily's exaggerated sulking, Sam sipping his water like this was a perfectly normal morning.

"Well, I guess I don't need to ask what's going on," she said with a sleepy smile.

I wiped my hands on a towel. "I'm making brownies for my class."

Mom nodded approvingly. "That's a great idea, sweetheart. You're making them from scratch?"

"Yeah. We were out of cocoa powder, so I melted some chocolate bars instead."

Mom's eyes lit up. "Even better. Those are going to be amazing."

Lily groaned. "Yeah, yeah, but I don't get any."

Mom glanced at the oven before turning back to Lily with a knowing smile. "Emily said they're for her class."

Lily huffed. "Worst. Birthday. Ever."

Mom chuckled and turned to me. "Happy birthday, Emily."

I smiled, feeling warmth settle in my chest. "Thanks, Mom."

The oven timer dinged, signaling that the brownies were ready. I pulled them out carefully, setting them on the counter to cool. The scent of chocolate filled the air, rich and warm.

I walked into school, holding the container of brownies carefully as I made my way toward my classroom. This was supposed to be a good day. I was excited to share them with everyone, to feel like today was special.

But before I even reached the classroom door, I felt the sudden jerk of the container being ripped from my hands.

I barely had time to react before I saw him—Trevor.

He grinned wickedly as he sprinted down the hallway, holding my brownies like a prize he had just stolen from a treasure chest.

"HEY!" I shouted, running after him, but he was already shoving brownies into his mouth as he ran, crumbs flying in every direction.

"Mmm, these are actually kinda good, Blake!" he said with his mouth full, his voice muffled by chocolate.

Students turned their heads, watching the chaos unfold. Some looked amused, others shocked.

"Trevor, give them back!" I yelled, but he just laughed, stuffing another brownie into his mouth like some kind of wild animal.

My fists clenched as rage boiled in my chest. I had woken up early, worked hard to make these, and he was just... ruining it.

Jasmine and Mia rushed up beside me, their faces mirroring my anger.

"Are you kidding me?!" Jasmine snapped. "You're disgusting, Trevor!"

Mia glared. "Seriously, do you even have the ability to act like a decent human being?"

Trevor just laughed through his chewing, enjoying every bit of the attention he was getting.

My birthday was already off to a terrible start.

Tears burned my eyes before I could stop them. I had worked so hard, poured so much effort into making those brownies special, and now Trevor was just ruining everything. My hands clenched into fists at my sides, my whole body trembling with frustration and hurt.

Trevor's grin faltered when he noticed my tears. Maybe he hadn't expected me to cry—maybe he thought I'd yell or chase him, that I'd fight back like I sometimes did. But I couldn't. Not this time.

"Are you serious, Trevor?" Jasmine's voice cut through the noise like a blade. "You just had to ruin her birthday, huh?"

Mia stepped forward, her glare sharper than I'd ever seen it. "You're a pathetic bully. What, do you think you're funny? You think stealing someone's birthday treat makes you cool?"

Trevor's smirk returned, though it wasn't as confident as before. "Relax, it's just brownies," he scoffed, though his voice lacked its usual bite.

"No, it's not just brownies," Jasmine snapped. "It's about respect. Something you clearly don't have."

I sniffled, wiping my face with my sleeve. My stomach twisted with embarrassment. I hadn't meant to cry in front of everyone. Now, more students had gathered, whispering, watching, waiting to see what would happen next.

"Hey! What's going on here?"

A sharp voice made everyone freeze. I turned to see Ms. Martin, one of the eighth-grade teachers, striding toward us, her sharp eyes scanning the scene. She looked at Trevor, who still had chocolate smeared on his fingers, then at me, my face blotchy from crying.

Trevor immediately tried to play it off, shrugging. "Nothing. Just a misunderstanding."

Ms. Martin folded her arms. "A misunderstanding, huh? Looks to me like you stole something that wasn't yours."

"It was just a joke," Trevor muttered, shifting uncomfortably.

Ms. Martin wasn't having it. "Principal's office. Now."

Trevor groaned. "Seriously? Over brownies?"

"NOW."

He scowled but didn't argue. As he stalked away, he shot me a glare, but I didn't care anymore.

Ms. Martin turned to me, her expression softening. "Emily, are you okay?"

I nodded, though my throat felt tight. "He—he took my brownies. I made them for my class."

Her eyes flashed with sympathy. "That was really thoughtful of you. I'm sorry that happened." She glanced around. "Did he eat all of them?"

I shook my head, my hands trembling as I lifted the container. A few were still inside, though some were crumbled and smushed from Trevor's rough handling.

Ms. Martin sighed. "I'll talk to the cafeteria staff. Maybe we can find a way to replace what you lost."

I swallowed hard. "Okay... Thanks."

Jasmine and Mia were still at my side, glaring at Trevor's retreating back.

Jasmine bumped my shoulder gently. "Hey. Don't let that jerk ruin your birthday. You still have some brownies left, and you still have us."

Mia nodded. "Yeah. We'll still make today a good day, okay?"

A small smile tugged at my lips despite everything. "Okay."

The bell rang, signaling the start of the day, and I took a deep breath. Maybe it hadn't started perfectly, but it wasn't over yet.

I wouldn't let Trevor take that away from me.

As we walked into the classroom, the groans started immediately.

A test.

I hadn't even known we had one today. From the looks on my classmates' faces, I wasn't the only one caught off guard.

Jasmine slumped into her chair. "You've got to be kidding me."

Mia sighed as she grabbed a pencil from her bag. "Happy birthday, Emily. Here's a pop quiz as a gift."

I let out a small laugh, shaking my head. "Yeah, real great timing."

Before I could even sit down, the door swung open, and Trevor walked in, dragging his feet. He still had chocolate smudged on his fingers, and he looked irritated. Probably because Ms. Martin had made him go to the office.

Our teacher, Mr. Dawson, glanced up from his desk. "Trevor, nice of you to finally join us. Take your seat."

Trevor slumped into his chair at the back of the room, not even trying to look interested.

Mr. Dawson stood and clapped his hands together. "Alright, everyone. I hope you studied because today's quiz is not multiple choice."

More groans filled the room. I sighed and pulled out my pencil.

"Eyes on your own paper," Mr. Dawson said as he started passing out the tests. "And remember—no talking, no leaving your seat, and absolutely no bathroom breaks during the test."

I focused on my paper, scanning the first question. It didn't seem too bad, but I still wasn't thrilled about having a test on my birthday.

A few minutes passed in silence. The only sounds were the scratch of pencils and the occasional sigh of frustration.

Then, out of nowhere, Trevor groaned loudly. "Ughhh."

Mr. Dawson looked up sharply. "Trevor. Quiet."

Trevor shifted in his seat, looking uncomfortable. "I need to go to the bathroom."

A few students snickered, but Mr. Dawson's expression didn't change. "You know the rule. No leaving during a test."

Trevor gritted his teeth. "But I really gotta go."

Mr. Dawson folded his arms. "Then maybe you should have gone before class started."

Trevor fidgeted, his leg bouncing under the desk. His face was starting to turn red.

Jasmine leaned over and whispered, "This is karma."

Mia smirked. "Instant justice."

Trevor clenched his jaw, shifting in his seat again. "Come on, Mr. Dawson, I really have to—"

"No." Mr. Dawson's voice was firm. "If you leave, you fail the test."

A few students gasped quietly. Trevor looked torn between arguing and suffering in silence.

I bit my lip, watching as he squirmed.

For the first time ever, Trevor actually looked nervous.

And honestly? It was kind of satisfying.

The test was getting harder. My pencil hovered over the next question, but my brain just wasn't cooperating. I let out a quiet sigh.

This stunk.

Oh wait... that wasn't the test.

Something actually stunk.

A foul, awful, nose-wrinkling stench was creeping through the air, and it was coming from Trevor's direction.

A few students gagged.

"Oh my gosh," Jasmine muttered, covering her nose.

Mia's eyes widened in horror. "No. No way."

Then it hit me.

Trevor had really needed to go to the bathroom.

And Mr. Dawson hadn't let him.

"Oh... oh no," I whispered, eyes going wide.

The realization spread like wildfire across the classroom. One by one, heads turned toward Trevor, who sat frozen in his seat, his face a deep shade of red.

A low, horrified murmur rippled through the students.

"Did he...?"

"No way."

"Dude, what is that smell?"

Trevor ducked his head, refusing to make eye contact with anyone. His usual cocky smirk was gone. He looked absolutely mortified.

Mr. Dawson, still oblivious to the growing horror in the room, sighed. "Alright, settle down and—"

Then he smelled it.

His nose scrunched, and his expression flickered with confusion, then concern. "What in the world—?"

A kid in the front gagged. "Oh gross."

Trevor suddenly shoved his chair back, grabbing his backpack with shaking hands. "I—I need to go."

Mr. Dawson, finally piecing it together, sighed heavily. "Trevor..."

"I need to go." Trevor's voice was barely above a whisper, his face completely red now. He didn't wait for permission—he just bolted for the door, practically tripping over his own feet in his desperation to escape.

The second he was gone, the classroom erupted.

Laughter. Gagging. People dramatically fanning the air.

"Oh man, I knew karma was real," Jasmine wheezed.

Mia had her face buried in her sleeve, trying not to laugh. "I can't—this is the best day ever."

Even I couldn't help it. After everything he had done—stealing my brownies, ruining my morning—this was justice.

It was disgusting justice, but still.

And just like that, my birthday suddenly didn't seem so bad.

Mr. Dawson sighed heavily and marched over to the nearest window, shoving it open as fast as possible. A gust of fresh air rushed in, but it wasn't enough to clear the disaster that Trevor had left behind.

"Alright, everyone—quiet down!" he said, though the strain in his voice made it clear he was just as horrified as the rest of us. "Focus on your test!"

But there was no focusing now.

Jasmine had her head buried in her arms, shaking with silent laughter. Mia had completely turned her chair around, refusing to breathe in the same direction as Trevor's desk. Other students were openly gagging or whispering, their faces twisted in disgust.

"I can still smell it," someone groaned.

Another window creaked open as Mr. Dawson rushed to let in more air. He pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath—through his mouth, obviously. "This test is still happening, people. I don't care if—"

He stopped mid-sentence when Trevor's backpack, forgotten in his panic, fell over and hit the floor with a thud.

Silence.

Everyone stared at it, as if the bag itself had committed a crime.

Jasmine whispered, "If it starts leaking, I'm dropping out."

Mia slapped a hand over her mouth, shaking with laughter.

Mr. Dawson exhaled through gritted teeth. "Alright. Everyone, let's refocus. We're moving on. Now."

Easier said than done.

It took another five minutes, two more open windows, and an entire bottle of air freshener from the supply closet before things finally settled down.

And as for Trevor?

He didn't come back.

When lunch finally came, I had the surprise of my life.

I walked into the cafeteria, still buzzing from the incident in class. Word had spread fast, and by now, nearly the whole school knew what had happened to Trevor. I couldn't go five steps without hearing someone whisper about it.

But that wasn't the surprise.

No, the real surprise came when I got to my usual lunch table and found something sitting there.

A brand-new container of brownies.

I froze, blinking at it like I was seeing things.

Jasmine and Mia walked up beside me, their trays in hand.

"Uh... what's this?" Mia asked, eyeing the container.

I reached out cautiously, lifting the lid. The smell of warm, fudgy chocolate filled the air. These weren't store-bought. They were homemade.

There was a sticky note on top.

Sorry about earlier. Happy Birthday. – Ms. Martin

My heart swelled.

"She made me brownies?" I whispered.

Jasmine grinned. "Wow. That's actually kinda sweet."

Mia nudged me. "Looks like today's turning around, huh?"

I smiled, warmth spreading in my chest. Ms. Martin hadn't had to do this. She didn't owe me anything. But she did it anyway.

I sat down, the day's stress melting away just a little.

Maybe my birthday hadn't been perfect.

But sitting there, surrounded by friends, with fresh brownies in front of me...

It still felt pretty special.

We never saw Trevor the rest of the day. Not even during gym class.

That was when I knew something was up.

Trevor never missed gym. He lived for it—showing off, acting like he was better than everyone else, pushing people around when the teachers weren't looking. But today? Nowhere to be found.

Jasmine leaned in as we stretched before warm-ups. "Do you think he went home?"

Mia smirked. "Probably. Would you stick around after what happened?"

I thought about it. If I had done something that humiliating, I'd probably have asked my mom to move us to another state. Maybe even another country.

"Maybe he's hiding in the bathroom," I muttered. "Trying to figure out how to show his face again."

Jasmine snorted. "Or maybe he can't show his face again. His parents probably picked him up."

Mia nodded. "Yeah, he might be grounded for, like, a year."

That made sense. Teachers didn't love Trevor, but his parents? They had to be mortified. I wouldn't be surprised if they came storming into the school, demanding to take him home before anyone else could talk about what happened.

Whatever the case, Trevor was gone.

And honestly?

It was the best birthday gift I could've asked for.

As the final bell rang, I grabbed my things and headed outside with Jasmine and Mia, feeling lighter than I had in days. Today had started out rough, but it had turned around. No Trevor. Good brownies. And I got to spend my birthday with my friends.

But the second I spotted Mom's car in the pickup line, something felt off.

Mom wasn't just waiting in the usual way—she was leaning out of the driver's seat, scanning the crowd with wide, frantic eyes. The moment she saw me, she threw open the car door and waved me over so fast it nearly smacked Sam in the face.

"Emily! Come here!"

Sam, Lily, and I exchanged glances before jogging over. The second I reached the car, Mom grabbed my arms, looking me over like she expected me to be sick or something.

"Uh... Mom?" I frowned. "What's wrong?"

She didn't answer right away. Instead, she asked—no, demanded:

"Did you eat any brownies at school today?"

I blinked, thrown off by the intensity in her voice. "Uh... yeah? The ones Ms. Martin gave me."

Mom's face paled. "Not the ones you made?"

I shook my head slowly. "No... Trevor stole those."

Mom let out a sharp breath and pressed a hand to her chest. "Oh thank goodness."

Lily perked up from her seat in the back, looking far too amused. "Why? What was wrong with them?"

Mom ran a hand through her hair, looking deeply stressed. "Emily, where did you get the chocolate for those brownies?"

I hesitated. "Uh... I found some bars in the cupboard."

Mom groaned, squeezing her eyes shut. "Those weren't regular chocolate bars, sweetheart. Those were chocolate laxatives!"

The world seemed to stop for a second.

I just stared at her.

Sam choked on air. Lily howled with laughter.

I opened my mouth. Shut it. Opened it again. Nothing came out.

Mom gave me a look. "Tell me you did not eat one."

I shook my head quickly. "N-no! I just ate the ones Ms. Martin made, I swear!"

Mom visibly relaxed, slumping back in her seat. "Oh, thank God."

Lily, still laughing, clutched her stomach dramatically. "OH MY GOSH— I HEARD TREVOR ATE, LIKE, ALMOST ALL OF THEM!"

That set Sam off. He wheezed, gripping the edge of the car door for support. "No wonder he disappeared!"

I just sat there, staring at my hands, my entire life flashing before my eyes.

I had unknowingly baked laxative brownies. And Trevor—who had stolen them—had eaten them.

That explained everything.

"Oh. My. Gosh," I whispered. "I poisoned Trevor."

Sam doubled over laughing. "Not poisoned! Just... very inconveniently sick."

Mom pinched the bridge of her nose. "I knew I should've labeled that chocolate. This is why I can't have nice things."

Lily wiped tears from her eyes. "This is officially the best birthday ever."

I just sank into my seat, staring at the dashboard in stunned silence.

I had accidentally gotten revenge without even trying.

Best. Birthday. Ever.

---

By the time we got home, the whole Trevor situation was already becoming my favorite inside joke. Sam and Lily kept bringing it up, making me laugh even though I still couldn't believe it had actually happened.

But now, I could finally focus on something way more important—my birthday party.

The house smelled amazing the second we walked in. The rich, buttery scent of cake filled the air, and my stomach growled loudly.

"Mom, did you make a cake?" I asked, grinning.

She smiled over her shoulder as she adjusted something on the kitchen table. "Of course! What's a birthday without cake?"

Lily leaned in with a smirk. "Did you check the ingredients first? You sure you didn't accidentally bake a prank cake?"

Mom groaned. "I triple-checked everything, thank you very much."

I laughed as I set my backpack down and peeked into the kitchen. The table was decorated with a bright Happy Birthday banner, and a stack of wrapped presents sat near the edge. Streamers hung from the ceiling, and the cake—chocolate, covered in thick frosting—had eight candles waiting to be lit.

I felt warmth spread in my chest.

This was my party. My home. And I wasn't alone.

Jasmine and Mia were coming over soon, and Mom had even made my favorite food for dinner—homemade mac and cheese with crispy, buttery breadcrumbs on top.

I couldn't wait.

Lily was already bouncing excitedly. "Can we do presents first? Please?"

Mom chuckled. "Dinner first, then cake, then presents."

Lily groaned dramatically, but I didn't mind. Right now, I was just happy.

For the first time in a long time, my birthday actually felt special.

And nothing—not even Trevor—could ruin it.

By the time dinner was on the table, my stomach was practically screaming at me. Mom had gone all out—homemade mac and cheese with crispy breadcrumbs, roasted green beans, and buttery biscuits on the side. It smelled so good I was ready to forget everything else and just devour my plate.

Jasmine and Mia had already arrived, and we were all crowded around the table, laughing and talking as we ate. Lily was going on about something dramatic, as usual, when she suddenly pointed her fork at me.

"So, Emily," she said. "Since your birthday's today, how old are you now? fourteen?"

I paused mid-bite, then swallowed my food before answering. "Actually... no."

Lily frowned. "Huh?"

I smirked. "Technically, I'm only three."

Jasmine nearly choked on her drink. "Wait, what?"

Mia blinked. "You're messing with us, right?"

I shook my head. "Nope. I was born on February 29th—Leap Day. So technically, I only have a real birthday once every four years."

Lily's eyes went huge. "Wait. What?!"

Sam snickered. "Yeah, she's actually three years old. She's a baby."

Jasmine and Mia lost it, bursting into laughter.

"You're literally the youngest person I know!" Mia wheezed.

"Aw, should we get you a toddler cake?" Jasmine teased. "Maybe some finger paints?"

Lily looked personally offended. "How come I'm just now finding this out?!"

I shrugged. "It's not that big of a deal. It just means that since this isn't a leap year, I have to celebrate on the 28th instead."

Mia shook her head. "Nah, this is huge. We need to throw you a 'third birthday' party next year when Leap Day actually happens again."

"Oh, definitely," Jasmine agreed. "With balloons. And one of those giant number candles. You only turn four once."

I rolled my eyes but couldn't help laughing. "Yeah, yeah, very funny."

Lily huffed, still glaring at me like I'd betrayed her. "I can't believe you've been three years old this whole time."

Sam smirked. "And you just figured it out. Some sister you are."

Lily shoved a biscuit at him, and the table erupted into chaos again.

Just when I thought the night couldn't get any better, Mom walked in from the living room with a smirk on her face.

"Emily, there's one more surprise for you."

I blinked, my fork hovering over my plate. "Huh?"

Before I could even guess what it was, someone stepped into the kitchen behind her.

Lexi.

The whole room went silent.

Jasmine and Mia's eyes went wide, and I felt my stomach do a weird little flip.

Lexi looked nervous. She shifted on her feet, her hands tucked into the sleeves of her hoodie like she wasn't sure if she should be here or not.

"Um... hey," she said quietly.

I swallowed. "Hey."

Mom looked between us, then gave me a reassuring smile. "Lexi wanted to come wish you a happy birthday."

Lexi nodded, glancing at the others before looking back at me. "I, uh... I know we weren't exactly friends before. And I know I was awful to you for a long time. But..." She hesitated, then let out a breath. "I just wanted to say happy birthday. And... I hope you don't hate me."

I stared at her, my emotions twisting into something I couldn't quite name. A few months ago, this would have been unimaginable. Lexi, standing here, trying to make things right.

But now?

I thought about how she had stepped away from Tasha. How she had tried, in her own way, to do better. And I thought about how I had changed, too.

I took a breath and managed a small smile. "Thanks, Lexi."

She looked surprised for a second, then gave a relieved nod. "Yeah. No problem."

Lily, who had been completely silent this whole time, finally leaned toward me and whispered, "Okay, first you tell me you're three years old, and now this?"

I snorted. "Crazy day, huh?"

Lily shook her head. "Wild."

Jasmine clapped her hands together. "Alright! This birthday just keeps getting more interesting. But let's not forget the most important thing—" She pointed dramatically at the cake. "We still have candles to light, people!"

Mia grinned. "And cake to eat."

I smiled as everyone gathered around, the tension melting away. Mom lit the candles, the warm glow flickering over the frosting.

As everyone sang, I looked around at the faces surrounding me—my family, my friends, even someone I never expected to be here.

A few months ago, I never would have believed this was possible.

But today?

Today, I was just happy.

And when I blew out the candles, I knew exactly what I was wishing for.

Lily still looked completely lost, her brow furrowed in deep concentration as she tried to wrap her head around it.

"So... how old are you really?" she asked again, squinting at me like I was trying to trick her.

I laughed, shaking my head. "I'm fourteen, silly."

"But you said you're only two—no, wait, three—ugh, I don't get it!" She threw her hands in the air.

I grinned, deciding to break it down for her. "Okay, so I was born on February 29th, 2028, which was a Leap Year. But Leap Years only happen every four years, so my actual birthday doesn't show up on the calendar most years."

Lily blinked. "Wait... what?"

Jasmine smirked. "So technically, Emily has only had three real birthdays—2032, 2036, and 2040. That's why we were joking that she's turning three today."

Lily gasped like the universe had just personally betrayed her. "WHAT?!"

Sam, who had been silently watching, smirked. "Tough break, Lily. You've got an ancient big sister who's secretly a toddler."

Lily groaned, burying her face in her hands. "This is so confusing! So are you old or young?! Pick one!"

I laughed. "I'm fourteen—my age still goes up like normal! I just don't get an official birthday every year."

Lily let out a dramatic sigh. "Ugh. That is so weird."

Mom chuckled from the other side of the table.

Jasmine nudged me. "So, what happens next Leap Year? Are you gonna have a real birthday party like a real four-year-old?"

Mia smirked. "We should throw you a toddler-themed party. Get you a little princess cake. Maybe some party hats."

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn't help but laugh. "Yeah, yeah, very funny."

Lily crossed her arms, still pouting. "Well, if you're three, that means I'm older than you now."

Sam snorted. "Sure, Lily. Whatever helps you sleep at night."

She scowled, but before she could argue, Mom started lighting the candles on my cake.

"Alright, alright—enough teasing," she said with a smile. "It's still Emily's fourteenth birthday, and that means it's time for cake."

Everyone cheered, and as the room filled with the glow of the candles, I felt that warmth in my chest again.

No matter what day I was born, or how many birthdays I'd technically had, this one was mine.

I went to my room to write in my journal about my day so it was still fresh in my mind, and after I finished, I closed it with a satisfied sigh. Today had been wild, hilarious, and weirdly perfect all at the same time. But the night wasn't over yet.

As soon as I stepped out of my room, I heard Lily's excited voice from the living room.

"Come on, Emily! We're picking a game!"

I walked in to find everyone gathered around the coffee table, a few different board games spread out in front of them. Lily was bouncing on her heels, Sam was lounging on the couch like he couldn't care less, and Jasmine and Mia were arguing over which game to play. Lexi sat awkwardly at the edge of the couch, looking like she wasn't sure if she was really included in all of this.

"What's the game?" I asked, plopping down onto the floor next to Lily.

"Monopoly!" she announced proudly.

Sam groaned. "No. Absolutely not."

Jasmine raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Because Monopoly ruins friendships," he said, dead serious. "It destroys families. If you want this night to end in rage and betrayal, sure, let's play Monopoly."

Lily pouted. "But it's Emily's birthday! She should pick!"

I smirked, considering my options. I loved Monopoly, but Sam did have a point. And honestly? I wasn't in the mood for a three-hour screaming match over fake money.

"How about The Game of Life instead?" I suggested. "Still competitive, but less chance of anyone flipping the board."

Sam exhaled in relief. "Thank you."

Lily nodded enthusiastically. "Ooooh, yeah! I wanna get the best job and be super rich!"

Jasmine grinned. "I'm making it my mission to have, like, twelve kids and fill up my little car."

Mia rolled her eyes. "Because that's the real American dream."

We set up the game, placing the tiny plastic cars at the starting point. Lexi hesitated before finally scooting closer, and I gave her a small smile, letting her know she was included.

Once we started playing, chaos immediately took over.

Lily somehow ended up in the most debt possible within the first five rounds. "How am I broke already?!" she whined, staring at her empty pile of money.

Sam, of course, was playing it as logically as possible. "You made terrible investments, Lily."

Mia cracked up. "Said like a true businessman."

Jasmine stuck to her goal and ended up with a car full of plastic babies. "I have six kids and no money, but I have love," she declared dramatically.

Lexi, surprisingly, was actually winning. She had a high-paying job and the most money out of all of us. "Huh," she muttered, staring at her pile of cash. "This is weird. I've never been good at this game before."

"Beginner's luck," I teased.

Then, my turn came. I spun the wheel and landed on a space that let me steal money from another player.

I smirked. "Lexi, I think you're a little too rich. Time to redistribute some wealth."

Lexi gasped in fake outrage. "No! Not my hard-earned money!"

I cackled, grabbing a few bills from her pile. Lily cheered. "Finally! A win for the little guys!"

Sam shook his head. "This is exactly why Monopoly is dangerous."

The game lasted over an hour, full of laughter, groaning, and a few dramatic moments where Lily insisted the game was rigged against her. In the end, Lexi still won, and I came in second.

"That was actually fun," Lexi admitted, leaning back against the couch. "I haven't played a board game in forever."

Jasmine stretched. "Yeah, and nobody flipped the board. I'd say that's a win."

Lily pouted at her empty bank. "Except for me."

Sam ruffled her hair. "You'll make a financial comeback someday, kid."

I leaned back with a happy sigh, taking it all in. This was my family. These were my friends.

And this? This was the best way to end my birthday.

---

The morning started off surprisingly normal.

After the absolute chaos of my birthday over a week ago, I was expecting something weird to happen the second I walked into school. But everything seemed fine. People were chatting in the hallways, Jasmine and Mia were waiting at my locker, and for once, there was no sign of Trevor.

At least, not yet.

I was grabbing my books when I heard the first whispers.

"He's back."

I froze, my fingers tightening around the edge of my locker door.

Jasmine and Mia immediately exchanged a look—one of those silent, wide-eyed glances that said we all know exactly who they're talking about.

Mia groaned under her breath. "Oh, great."

Jasmine sighed dramatically. "And here I was, hoping he transferred schools."

I exhaled slowly, shutting my locker. "Well... let's get this over with."

Because if Trevor was back, that meant chaos was about to follow.

I turned my head slightly and spotted him down the hall, standing near the office with his arms crossed. And, of course, he was already causing a scene.

It wasn't because of what happened last week.

Nope.

Trevor was throwing a fit over his hat.

A bright red baseball cap sat on his head, embroidered with bold white letters:

MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN

Even from where I stood, I could see the tension in Principal Peterson's face as he gestured at Trevor to take it off.

"This is ridiculous," Trevor grumbled loud enough for half the hallway to hear. "You're violating my rights."

Principal Peterson stayed calm. "Trevor, the school dress code clearly states that students aren't allowed to wear hats indoors. It has nothing to do with what it says."

"But you let people wear other stuff all the time!" Trevor shot back. "This is because I'm conservative, isn't it? You just don't like my hat!"

A few kids nearby exchanged amused looks. Some snickered under their breath.

Jasmine sighed. "Wow. He was out for one week and came back worse."

Mia rolled her eyes. "He just has to be the center of attention."

Principal Peterson took a deep breath, keeping his patience. "Trevor, this is not about politics. Nobody is allowed to wear hats in the building. That's the rule."

Trevor scowled, gripping the brim of his cap like he was about to start an actual protest. "So I have to take my hat off, but I bet if I walked in wearing, like, a—" He struggled to think of something, then blurted, "A pride flag hoodie, you wouldn't say anything!"

That got more murmurs from the crowd. Some people laughed. A few others rolled their eyes.

Principal Peterson stayed firm. "The rule applies to everyone, Trevor. If another student walked in wearing a hat, they'd have to take it off, too. Now, I'm asking you one more time—remove the hat."

Trevor clenched his jaw, looking around as if expecting people to back him up.

But nobody did.

Even the kids who usually laughed at his jokes or egged him on were staying quiet, watching the scene unfold.

Slowly, Trevor's face started to turn red—whether from anger or embarrassment, I couldn't tell.

I almost laughed. It was so obvious that he just wanted to argue. If he actually cared about his "rights," he would've fought about the dress code weeks ago.

Finally, after what felt like forever, Trevor yanked the hat off his head and stuffed it into his backpack with a dramatic huff.

Principal Peterson gave him a nod. "Thank you. Now, get to class."

Trevor stomped off, muttering something under his breath.

The second he was gone, the tension in the hallway melted into quiet laughter and whispered jokes.

Jasmine turned to me. "Well, that was entertaining."

Mia smirked. "Guess he couldn't handle two humiliations in a row."

I grinned, shaking my head.

Trevor was back.

But after today?

He wasn't winning anything.

After the whole hat incident, I thought maybe Trevor would finally quiet down.

Nope.

Not even close.

By the time we got to science class, he was still grumbling under his breath, muttering complaints about Principal Peterson, "woke schools," and something about "liberal brainwashing."

I tuned him out.

Science was my favorite class. I actually looked forward to it every day. While some people thought it was nerdy or boring, I loved learning how things worked. And according to Fox 9 News, girls could enjoy science just as much as anyone else. Even if I was gender-fluid, that didn't change the fact that I loved this stuff.

Unfortunately, someone was ruining it.

"This is so stupid," Trevor muttered, slumping in his chair as Mr. Kettleton, our teacher, set up the experiment for the day. "When am I ever gonna need to know this in real life?"

Mr. Kettleton, who had clearly had enough of Trevor in general, sighed and kept his focus on the whiteboard. "If you paid attention, Trevor, you might actually find this useful."

Trevor rolled his eyes, but before he could say anything else, Mr. Kettleton clapped his hands together.

"Alright, class! Today, we're learning about chemical reactions. We'll be doing a small experiment with baking soda and vinegar to see how acid-base reactions work."

I perked up immediately. This was going to be fun.

Jasmine and Mia, sitting beside me, shared a look. Jasmine smirked. "You're way too excited about this."

I grinned. "Because it's cool!"

Trevor groaned. "Ugh, who cares? Everyone already knows what happens when you mix baking soda and vinegar. It fizzes. Wow."

Mr. Kettleton didn't even look up as he set out the materials. "Then maybe you'll really enjoy our next unit—balancing chemical equations."

Trevor groaned louder. "Oh, come on."

Ignoring him, Mr. Kettleton continued. "You'll each work in pairs. Grab a tray, get your materials, and follow the instructions on your worksheet. And remember—do not add extra vinegar unless you want a mess."

Naturally, the second Mr. Kettleton said that, Trevor smirked.

And that was when I knew he was about to do something stupid.

We split into pairs, and I got teamed up with Mia while Jasmine worked with a kid named Ryan. Trevor got stuck with Kevin, one of the only kids who tolerated him for more than five minutes.

As everyone started measuring out the baking soda, I saw Trevor grinning at Kevin.

"Dude," he whispered. "Let's put way more vinegar in."

Kevin hesitated. "Uh... I don't think we're supposed to—"

"Who cares? It'll be funny."

I knew this was going to end badly.

Mia, who was scooping baking soda into our beaker, muttered, "This is about to be so good."

I smirked. "Oh yeah."

Sure enough, Trevor dumped almost the entire bottle of vinegar into their beaker.

At first, it fizzed like normal.

Then—

FOOOOOSH!

A giant eruption of foam exploded from the beaker, spilling over the table and cascading onto the floor. It didn't stop there—the reaction kept bubbling over, spreading onto their worksheets, their chairs, and—

Straight into Trevor's lap.

"FUCK!" he shouted at full volume.

The room went dead silent.

Mia choked on her laughter. Jasmine had to turn away, shaking with silent wheezing.

Mr. Kettleton slowly turned around, arms crossed. "Trevor."

Trevor, still dripping with vinegar foam, sat frozen, realizing exactly what he had just done.

"...Oops?"

A few students lost it, laughter breaking out across the room.

Mr. Kettleton pinched the bridge of his nose. "Go clean yourself up, Trevor. And detention for the language."

Trevor groaned, muttering under his breath as he stood up, his jeans soaked with vinegar. He stomped toward the door, leaving behind a wet trail as he went.

As soon as he was gone, Jasmine leaned over. "Best. Science class. Ever."

Mia grinned. "Oh, definitely. That was worth sitting through Trevor's whining."

I just laughed, shaking my head.

Maybe Trevor would remember something from today's lesson after all.

By the time lunch rolled around, the entire school had heard about Trevor's latest humiliation.

I barely made it to the cafeteria before someone from another class ran up to me. "Did Trevor really scream a cuss word in science?!"

I smirked. "Yep. And he got soaked in vinegar foam."

The kid howled with laughter before running off to spread the news even further.

By the time I reached our usual lunch table, Jasmine and Mia were already there, laughing so hard they were practically crying.

Jasmine waved me over. "Emily. Emily. Oh my gosh. I just walked past Trevor's table—he looks so mad. I don't think I've ever seen him eat so fast. He's literally inhaling his food so he can leave faster."

Mia wiped tears from her eyes. "He's probably afraid someone's gonna pour vinegar on him again."

I sat down, setting my tray down with a grin. "Serves him right. I mean, what did he think was gonna happen? You dump a whole bottle of vinegar into the beaker, and suddenly it's the Fourth of July in your lap."

Jasmine snorted. "His face when it happened—priceless."

Mia smirked. "Oh, 100%. That was worth sitting through his whining all class."

Just then, a loud clatter came from the other side of the cafeteria.

Trevor had slammed his tray down and stormed out, leaving his barely-eaten food behind. The whole cafeteria went quiet for a split second before breaking into a low murmur of whispers and laughter.

Jasmine smirked. "Welp. There he goes."

Mia sipped her drink. "So much for his strong and fearless comeback."

I took a bite of my sandwich, shaking my head. "That was the fastest I've ever seen him leave."

We all laughed, enjoying the moment. But then Jasmine, still smiling, turned to me with a curious look.

"So," she said, "since science is your favorite class and all, do you ever think about doing something with it? Like, in the future?"

I blinked, caught off guard. "Oh. Uh..."

Mia raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, actually, I've never asked—what do you want to be when you grow up?"

I hesitated, chewing my lip. "I... don't know. I mean, I love science, but I never really thought about doing anything with it."

Jasmine nodded. "Well, you don't have to decide yet, but I could totally see you as a scientist or an engineer or something."

Mia smirked. "Maybe you'll be the one inventing the next big thing."

I laughed. "What, like an even bigger vinegar explosion?"

Mia grinned. "Hey, gotta start somewhere."

I smiled but couldn't shake the feeling their question had left behind.

What did I want to be?

I hadn't really thought that far ahead. Most of my life had been about getting through the day—surviving school, dealing with drama, trying to fit in. But now? I was starting to feel... safer. More stable. Maybe I could actually think about the future now.

Jasmine nudged me. "You don't have to know right now. But I do think you'd be amazing at something science-y."

I smiled. "Thanks."

Mia smirked. "Okay, but real talk—do you think we'll all still be friends when we're, like, old?"

Jasmine tapped her chin. "Define old."

Mia thought for a second. "Like... thirty."

Jasmine gasped. "THAT'S ANCIENT."

I lost it. "Guys, my mom is thirty-five."

Jasmine whipped her head toward me in horror. "Oh my gosh. Your mom is ancient."

Mia shook her head, laughing. "This conversation took a wild turn."

Jasmine smirked. "But to answer your question—yeah, I think we'll still be friends. Imagine us all in our thirties, sitting in some coffee shop, talking about our cringey middle school years."

Mia grinned. "And we'll say, 'Remember that time Trevor pooped his pants and screamed in science class?'"

Jasmine was laughing so hard she slammed her hand on the table.

I wiped away tears of laughter. "Okay, okay, now I have to stay friends with you guys forever just so we can make fun of Trevor in twenty years."

Mia grinned. "Deal."

We all clinked our drinks together like we were sealing a contract.

And in that moment, with laughter filling the air and my best friends surrounding me, I knew—

This was the kind of lunch I'd remember forever.

By the end of the school day, I was exhausted.

As I walked toward Mom's car, weaving through the crowd of students heading toward the buses, something caught my eye.

Trevor.

And, of course, he was wearing that red hat again.

MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN—bold, obnoxious, and very on-brand for him.

I sighed, shaking my head. After all the drama this morning, I wasn't surprised he put it back on the second he was outside the building. I could even hear him grumbling to some kid near him.

"They can't tell me what to do out here. It's my right to wear it—"

I rolled my eyes and picked up my pace. I was not about to deal with Trevor anymore today.

Mom's car was parked near the front of the pickup line, and as soon as I slid into the passenger seat, she smiled at me. "Hey, sweetheart. How was school?"

I let out a long sigh. "Oh, you would not believe the day I had."

Mom chuckled, pulling out of the parking lot. "That bad?"

"No—hilarious. But also exhausting."

I glanced out the window and, sure enough, Trevor was still standing near the curb, hat firmly in place, talking way too loudly about freedom of speech to someone who clearly didn't care.

Mom must've noticed me staring. "What's up?"

I sighed. "It's Trevor. Again."

Mom raised an eyebrow. "What did he do this time?"

"Well, this morning he got in trouble for wearing that red 'MAGA' hat in school. Principal Peterson told him to take it off because of the dress code, but Trevor acted like it was some kind of personal attack."

Mom hummed, her hands gripping the steering wheel. "Sounds about right."

"And now he's wearing it again outside, making a big deal about it." I rolled my eyes. "Like, nobody cares, but he just has to act like he's being persecuted."

Mom sighed. "People like Trevor... they don't actually care about the rules, they just like to argue. And when they don't get their way, they act like they're the victim."

I nodded, slumping back in my seat. "Yeah. And he's been even worse since he came back today."

Mom glanced at me. "Wait—came back? Where was he?"

I tried to hold back my laughter, but the second I saw Mom's confused expression, I lost it. I started laughing so hard I could barely breathe.

"Oh my gosh, Mom, you don't even know—"

And just like that, I launched into the entire story about Trevor's glorious return.

"How he showed up acting like nothing happened, how he threw a fit over his stupid red hat, and—oh my gosh—science class!" I gasped between giggles. "Mom, he drenched himself in vinegar foam and then screamed 'SHIT' in front of Mr. Kettleton."

Mom, who had been calmly driving, suddenly snorted.

I kept going.

"Like, imagine him sitting there, all smug, thinking he's so clever, and then BOOM—instant karma, right in his lap."

By the time I finished, Mom was full-on crying with laughter.

"Oh... oh no," she gasped, wiping her eyes. "That poor teacher."

"Right?!" I giggled. "Mr. Kettleton just stood there, like, 'I have seen things.'"

Mom shook her head, still laughing. "Well... I guess Trevor had a very eventful return."

I sighed, finally catching my breath. "Yep. And now he's back to making everything about him."

Mom gave me a knowing look. "Well, I wouldn't be surprised if he keeps pushing it—kids like Trevor don't know how to stop."

I groaned. "Ugh, great. That means more drama tomorrow."

Mom chuckled. "You'll handle it. You always do."

I smiled, leaning my head against the window as we drove home.

Mom was right.

Trevor might be the worst, but I wasn't about to let him ruin my day. Not after the absolute goldmine of entertainment he had provided today.

And honestly?

I almost couldn't wait to see what ridiculous thing he'd do next.

As Mom pulled out of the parking lot, I glanced out the window one last time. Trevor was still lingering near the curb, hat firmly back on his head, probably waiting for his mom to pick him up.

Just when I thought I'd seen enough Trevor-related drama for the day, the front doors to the school swung open.

Out walked Mr. Kettleton.

Even from the car, I could see the exhaustion on his face. His shoulders sagged like a man who had seen too much, and I knew exactly why.

Trevor, still oblivious, was busy rambling to some other kid about "standing up for his beliefs" or whatever nonsense he was on about today. But the second he noticed Mr. Kettleton walking straight toward him, his entire body tensed.

Mr. Kettleton didn't even have to raise his voice.

"Trevor," he called, his tone firm, "don't forget—you have detention."

For a second, Trevor just stood there, like he was weighing his options.

And then?

He bolted.

Hat and all, Trevor spun on his heel and took off like his life depended on it.

"HEY!" Mr. Kettleton shouted, his voice echoing through the parking lot. "GET BACK HERE!"

But Trevor was gone—full-on sprinting across the lot, weaving between buses, probably hoping he could make it to freedom before his mom showed up.

Inside the car, I lost it.

I was laughing so hard I could barely breathe. "Oh—oh my gosh—he ran away! From detention!"

Mom, trying not to laugh but failing, sighed. "Seriously?"

Jasmine and Mia, who were walking nearby, also saw the whole thing. Jasmine had her hands on her knees, wheezing. "Oh my—he actually ran!"

Mia just shook her head. "Dude. I don't even have words anymore."

I wiped away tears, still giggling. "What does he think's gonna happen?! That Mr. Kettleton is gonna chase him home?"

Mom sighed dramatically, shaking her head as she pulled onto the street. "Well... that's a problem for tomorrow."

I grinned, my stomach still hurting from laughing.

Oh, Trevor.

He never learns.

And honestly?

At this point, I hope he never does.

---

The next day, Lunch started off normal.

For once, the cafeteria wasn't a war zone. People were actually sitting, eating, and minding their own business. No fights. No food flying through the air. No Trevor doing something stupid.

Yet.

Jasmine, Mia, and I had just sat down when we heard a loud, dramatic scoff from the food line.

We turned just in time to see Trevor holding up his lunch tray like it was a biohazard.

"Oh, come on!" he shouted loud enough for half the cafeteria to hear. "What is this garbage?"

The lunch lady, Ms. Patty, wasn't even phased. "It's meatloaf, kid. Take it or leave it."

Trevor recoiled like she had just offered him poison. "Meatloaf? This looks like someone ran over a raccoon and put it on my tray!"

Jasmine snorted. "Well, he's not wrong."

Mia smirked. "Yeah, but why is he acting like this is new? We've been suffering through this food for years."

I shook my head. "Because Trevor always needs a cause to fight for."

And right on cue, Trevor did the most Trevor thing imaginable.

He climbed onto the lunch table.

The entire cafeteria went silent.

"FELLOW STUDENTS!" he bellowed, throwing his arms wide like he was delivering the speech of the century. "This school has been poisoning us with disgusting, low-quality meals for too long! It's time to take a stand!"

Jasmine dropped her fork. "Oh my gosh."

Mia covered her face, already laughing. "He's not doing this right now."

Oh, but he was.

Trevor pointed dramatically at the tray in his hands. "This is not food! This is a crime against humanity! We, as proud Americans, deserve better than this!"

A few kids cheered, but most of the cafeteria just stared—some recording, some too shocked to react.

I sighed. "This is so embarrassing."

Trevor wasn't done.

"I demand that we—"

And then, without warning, Ms. Patty—the unshakable lunch lady—scooped a giant lump of mystery meat onto his tray.

SLAP.

Right in the middle of his rant.

Trevor froze. His entire body visibly stiffened.

The cafeteria went silent again.

Jasmine bit her fist to keep from laughing. Mia was shaking in her seat.

Ms. Patty didn't even blink. "There. Now eat it or move along."

Trevor looked down at his tray, at the grayish-brown slab of cafeteria sadness sitting there.

His face twisted in disgust.

"This is an outrage!" he cried, dramatically lifting the tray above his head.

"Trevor, don't—" I started.

But it was too late.

Trevor slammed the tray onto the table.

Meatloaf and mashed potatoes EXPLODED.

And then—

Trevor stepped in it.

Slipped.

And FELL.

It happened in slow motion.

One second, he was standing tall like a revolutionary leader. The next, his foot slid straight out from under him, and he went soaring through the air like a cartoon character slipping on a banana peel.

Then—

THUD.

Trevor landed flat on his back, covered in mystery meat, mashed potatoes, and cafeteria shame.

The entire cafeteria ERUPTED.

People were howling with laughter. A kid at another table fell off his seat from laughing so hard. Phones were out instantly, capturing the exact moment Trevor became a meme.

Jasmine and Mia?

DEAD.

Jasmine had tears streaming down her face, gasping for air.

Mia was banging the table, wheezing.

I could barely hold myself together. "He—he wiped out in his own protest—"

Trevor groaned from the floor.

Ms. Patty, completely unfazed, picked up his discarded tray and dropped another scoop of meatloaf onto it.

"Pick it up when you're ready," she said, walking away like nothing happened.

Trevor just laid there, staring at the ceiling, his life choices flashing before his eyes.

I wiped away tears of laughter.

As the cafeteria chaos settled (well, as much as it could after witnessing Trevor's tragic downfall), Lexi walked in.

She scanned the room, eyes narrowing at the sight of Trevor still lying motionless on the floor, half-covered in mashed potatoes. Kids were still dying of laughter, and at least three people had their phones pointed directly at him.

Lexi blinked, then slowly turned to us, completely puzzled. "Okay... what did I miss?"

Jasmine, still wiping tears from her eyes, just shook her head. "Lexi. You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

Lexi raised an eyebrow and sat down next to us, her curiosity growing. "Try me."

Mia, still giggling uncontrollably, took a deep breath and started, "Alright, soooooo... Trevor decided to stage a full-on revolution over the cafeteria food."

Lexi blinked again. "Excuse me?"

Jasmine, barely holding it together, continued, "Yeah, he literally climbed onto a table and started ranting about how 'real Americans deserve better meals.'"

Lexi looked deeply concerned. "You're joking."

I grinned, shaking my head. "Nope. He was shouting like some kind of political leader. And then..." I took a deep breath, pausing for dramatic effect.

"Ms. Patty shut him down."

Lexi's eyes widened. "The lunch lady?"

Mia nodded, still laughing. "Dude, she didn't even react. She just slapped a big scoop of mystery meat on his tray in the middle of his speech."

Lexi gasped, staring at me. "No."

"Oh, yes." I nodded. "And then, of course, Trevor had to be Trevor and tried to make a scene by slamming his tray on the table—"

Lexi leaned in. "And?"

Jasmine lost it again, barely able to say it through her laughter. "AND THEN HE SLIPPED ON HIS OWN FOOD AND FELL FLAT ON HIS BACK!"

Lexi choked on air.

She stared at me, then at Mia, then back at Trevor, who was still lying there like he had personally been betrayed by the cafeteria floor.

Then, she BURST OUT LAUGHING.

"Oh my—oh my GOSH, you guys—" she could barely speak, her face turning red from laughing so hard. "I missed THAT?!"

I wiped away a tear of pure joy. "We will never see something this funny again in our lifetime."

Lexi leaned on the table for support, still wheezing. "Please, please tell me someone got it on video."

Mia grinned, holding up her phone. "Oh, don't worry. The internet already knows."

Lexi groaned between laughs, shaking her head. "This is better than the brownies."

I smirked, glancing back at Trevor. He had finally started slowly sitting up, looking like he had just been through a war.

Jasmine, still giggling, sighed dramatically. "What's next? Is Trevor gonna start a protest against gravity?"

Lexi snorted. "Well, it did personally attack him today."

We all lost it again.

Meanwhile, Trevor groaned, wiping mashed potatoes off his face, and muttered, "I hate this school."

After Trevor's catastrophic failure at lunch, I figured he would lay low for the rest of the day.

But, of course, I forgot one very important fact.

Trevor has never learned a single lesson in his life.

So when we walked into science class later that afternoon, I had a feeling something stupid was coming.

And I was right.

Mr. Kettleton stood at the front of the classroom, writing the words Sir Isaac Newton and the Laws of Motion on the board.

The second he did, Jasmine's face lit up.

She turned to me, barely able to whisper through her laughter. "No way. There is NO WAY we're learning about gravity today."

Mia smirked. "You think Trevor's gonna—?"

She didn't even get to finish.

Because Trevor raised his hand.

Oh no.

"Mr. Kettleton," Trevor said dramatically, folding his arms. "I just wanna say, before we start, that I think gravity is a scam."

The entire class froze.

Mr. Kettleton slowly turned around, blinking. "...Excuse me?"

Trevor leaned back in his chair like some kind of intellectual mastermind. "Yeah. Gravity is just something they tell us is real. But how do we actually know it exists? Like, what if it's all just, I don't know, big government propaganda?"

Jasmine was dying. Mia buried her face in her hands.

I sat there, stunned into silence, trying to process the sheer stupidity I had just witnessed.

Mr. Kettleton, a man who had been through too much, closed his eyes for a long moment before sighing. "Trevor. Have you ever dropped something and watched it fall?"

Trevor shrugged. "Sure. But that doesn't prove gravity is real. Maybe things fall because... I don't know... that's just how they work."

"THAT'S GRAVITY," Mr. Kettleton said, exasperated.

"But what if," Trevor continued, doubling down on his nonsense, "we just believe in gravity because we've been told to? Like, what if I actually have the power to resist it, and I just don't realize it?"

The class erupted into whispers. People were recording. I had no doubt this was going viral.

Jasmine leaned over. "This is it. This is the greatest day of my life."

Mia wheezed. "I—I can't believe this is happening."

Mr. Kettleton massaged his temples. "Trevor. I need you to think very hard about what you just said."

Trevor grinned. "I have. And I think it's time we take a stand against gravity."

Mia choked. "He's actually doing it. He's protesting gravity."

"Think about it!" Trevor stood up, addressing the class like he was giving an inspirational speech. "How do we know gravity is really keeping us down? What if we're just accepting it? We need to fight back! We need to—"

And then.

It happened.

Trevor stepped backward.

His foot missed the edge of his chair.

And, as if the universe itself wanted to prove him wrong,

Gravity struck.

HARD.

Trevor WIPED OUT.

One second, he was standing there, challenging the laws of physics.

The next, he was on the floor, arms flailing, chair clattering beside him, his entire rebellion against gravity ending in DEFEAT.

Silence.

Then—

The room EXPLODED into laughter.

Mia was screaming. Jasmine had collapsed onto her desk. People were crying.

I, for once in my life, was completely speechless.

Trevor, on the floor, dazed, groaned, "Owwww..."

And then—without thinking—the words just slipped out of my mouth.

"So, uh... you still think gravity isn't real?"

The class LOST IT.

I hadn't even meant to embarrass him, but Trevor's entire face turned bright red. He scrambled to his feet, glaring at me like I had just personally ruined his life.

"You," he growled, pointing at me like a villain in a bad movie, "I will get revenge."

Jasmine LOST IT AGAIN. "OH MY GOSH—HE THINKS HE'S A SUPER VILLAIN NOW."

Mia wiped away tears of laughter. "What's he gonna do? Sue gravity?!"

Trevor grabbed his backpack and stomped out of the room, his face still burning with humiliation.

Mr. Kettleton let out a long, exhausted sigh. "I need a vacation."

I couldn't believe what he said.

Trevor had lost to gravity, embarrassed himself in front of the entire school, and now, apparently, had a personal vendetta against me.

Honestly?

I could not wait to see what ridiculous thing he tried next.

---

The next day, between second and third period, I was heading toward math when it happened.

I should've known the peace wouldn't last.

I was walking down the hall, minding my own business, when I felt it—the unmistakable sensation of someone watching me. Not in a friendly way. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled, and before I could even turn around, I heard his voice.

"Well look who it is," Trevor sneered behind me. "The confused little freak."

I froze in my tracks.

It had been weeks since he said anything that direct. Ever since the science class explosion and his full-on war with gravity, he'd been too busy embarrassing himself to remember I existed.

But I guess the humiliation wore off.

Slowly, I turned around to face him.

Trevor stood there with that same stupid smirk he always wore when he thought he was being clever. A couple of his usual tag-alongs lingered nearby, snickering like trained seals. They always laughed too loud, even when nothing was funny.

"Surprised you're still showing your face," Trevor said, stepping closer. "Figured you'd be hiding after you ran your mouth yesterday."

I didn't answer. Not because I couldn't—but because I knew he wanted a reaction.

He stepped even closer, noticing the clothes I was wearing. "What even are you, anyway? Are you a boy today? Kinda hard to keep track."

My heart pounded.

I could hear the words. I could feel the weight of them. The way he said it—like I was something broken. Like not fitting into his tiny little box made me less than him.

"Does it bother you that much?" I asked quietly, forcing myself to meet his eyes. "That I don't need your approval?"

His jaw twitched.

He hadn't expected me to say anything.

But before he could come up with a comeback, the bell rang—sharp, loud, and somehow perfect.

I turned away without another word, walking to class like my chest wasn't on fire.

I didn't cry. Not then. Not in front of him.

But my hands were shaking as I sat down at my desk. Jasmine and Mia weren't in this class with me, and for the first time in a while, I felt... alone.

Not because I didn't have friends with me, but because Trevor reminded me how easy it was to feel like an outsider in a school full of people who didn't get it.

Still, I wasn't going to let him win.

Not this time.

And definitely not without a fight.

At lunch, I sat in my usual spot—tray untouched, staring at a carton of chocolate milk like it might solve all my problems.

It didn't.

The cafeteria was as loud and chaotic as ever, but it all felt distant. Like I was underwater.

I didn't even notice Mia and Jasmine until they slid into their seats beside me.

Mia raised an eyebrow. "Hey. You good?"

I forced a smile. "Yeah. Fine."

Jasmine gave me a look. "You say that like someone who's very much not fine."

I hesitated, then exhaled. "It's nothing. Just—Trevor."

That was all it took.

Mia groaned, already rolling her eyes. "Ugh. What now?"

Jasmine narrowed her eyes. "What did he say?"

I picked at the corner of my napkin, not sure I even wanted to repeat it. "He... started in on me again. In the hallway. Said I was 'confused.' That I don't know what I am."

Mia's expression darkened. "That little—"

"He's just mad because he faceplanted in mashed potatoes," Jasmine snapped. "He's looking for someone to take it out on."

I shrugged, my voice quiet. "Yeah, well, apparently I'm an easy target."

"No," Mia said firmly. "You're not. You're just someone he doesn't understand, and instead of being a decent human about it, he's being a coward."

Jasmine leaned forward. "Seriously, we've got your back. Always. If he says something again, you tell us. We'll make sure he eats cafeteria meatloaf again, and this time it won't be an accident."

I cracked a tiny smile at that. "You planning a food-based revenge arc?"

Jasmine grinned. "Absolutely. I've already got mashed potato airstrikes in the works."

Mia smirked. "Operation Gravy Bomb is a go."

I laughed—a real one this time—and felt some of the weight in my chest start to lift.

They couldn't fix everything. Trevor wasn't going to magically stop being awful.

But I had people.

And sometimes, that was enough.

I picked up my fork and took a bite of something that vaguely resembled lasagna. "Okay. But if we're planning cafeteria-based warfare, I'm bringing the pudding cups."

Jasmine raised her juice box like a toast. "To the resistance."

Mia clinked hers against it. "And to making sure Trevor slips on karma every single day."

I smiled, clinking mine too.

Let him come for me.

I wasn't alone.

Gym class. Dodgeball. Again.

I still didn't understand why our teacher, Coach, loved this game so much. Maybe he enjoyed watching us all suffer. Maybe he had a deep, personal grudge against students and took it out through organized violence. Either way, dodgeball day was basically a free-for-all of chaos, bruises, and questionable survival instincts.

And, of course, Trevor thrived in it.

The second teams were picked, he was already puffing himself up like some dodgeball god, stretching dramatically like he was about to play in the Olympics. "Alright, losers," he announced to his team, cracking his knuckles. "Just stay out of my way. I got this."

I rolled my eyes. Jasmine, standing next to me, smirked. "Oh, this is gonna be good."

Mia snickered. "Oh yeah. The last time he said that, he tripped over his own shoelaces."

And, because the universe apparently loved us today, it turned out Trevor had not learned from his past mistakes.

The game started with the usual chaos—balls flying everywhere, kids ducking and diving like their lives depended on it. I managed to avoid getting hit early on, hanging toward the back while the more aggressive players went at it.

Trevor, on the other hand, was way too into it.

He was chucking dodgeballs like he had something to prove, aiming for the biggest kids first, trying to show off. "BOOM! You're out!" he shouted after hitting some guy named Greg in the leg. "Too slow!"

Coach blew the whistle. "Trevor, stop taunting. Just play the game."

Trevor ignored him, flexing his arms like he was some kind of gym class champion.

And then, it happened.

One of the kids on the other team, Marcus—who, unlike Trevor, actually was good at dodgeball—locked onto him. With one perfectly aimed throw, the ball whipped through the air straight toward Trevor's chest.

Trevor saw it coming.

He could have dodged. He could have caught it.

But instead, in the most Trevor move imaginable...

He screamed.

Like, actual shrieking.

Not a manly yell. Not an angry grunt.

A full, high-pitched shriek.

Then—WHAM!

The ball nailed him dead center, knocking him backward so hard that he tripped over his own feet and went crashing to the floor in a flailing heap.

Silence.

Then—

The gym exploded with laughter.

Even Coach looked like he was holding back a grin.

Jasmine had to lean on Mia for support. Mia was clutching her stomach, wheezing.

I was too stunned to even react for a second.

Trevor, still sprawled on the floor, groaned. "Ughhh..."

Coach sighed. "Trevor. You're out."

Trevor lifted his head, glaring at Marcus. "You cheated."

Marcus raised an eyebrow. "Dude. It's dodgeball."

Trevor groaned again, rolling onto his back like he had just suffered a great personal tragedy.

Meanwhile, Jasmine wiped tears from her eyes, still laughing. "This might be better than the meatloaf incident."

Mia shook her head, grinning. "Nah. But it's a close second."

I smirked, crossing my arms. "Guess gravity won again."

Trevor shot me a death glare as he dragged himself up and stomped toward the sidelines.

I just smiled.

Gym class wasn't always my favorite.

But today?

Today was a masterpiece.

After gym, I was still grinning as I headed to the locker room with Jasmine and Mia.

"You have to admit," Mia said, pulling open her locker, "this might be the greatest week in history."

Jasmine snorted. "We're witnessing Trevor's slow and painful downfall, one humiliation at a time."

I smirked, grabbing my extra shirt. "And the best part? He does it all to himself."

Mia nodded. "First, the science disaster. Then, the meatloaf incident. Now he screams like a five-year-old and eats the gym floor? I swear, if he keeps this up, we're gonna need to make a highlight reel."

Jasmine gasped dramatically. "OH MY GOSH. We should set it to dramatic music."

I laughed, shaking my head. "You two are evil."

Mia grinned. "Hey, if the universe is handing us free entertainment, who are we to refuse?"

The locker room was its usual mess—girls chatting, lockers slamming, the faint smell of sweat and body spray filling the air.

But just as I was pulling on my hoodie, I felt it again.

That prickling sensation.

Like I was being watched.

I turned my head slightly—and sure enough, across the room, two girls were whispering and glancing my way.

My stomach clenched.

I didn't recognize them, but I knew that look. The kind people gave when they thought they were being subtle, but weren't.

"Ugh." Jasmine must've noticed too. "Really? What's their problem?"

Mia's eyes narrowed. "Don't tell me Trevor's little tantrum squad is starting something."

I sighed, shutting my locker a little harder than necessary. "I don't know. But I'm so not in the mood."

Jasmine crossed her arms. "Want me to go over there and ask them if they have something to say?"

I shook my head. "No. It's not worth it."

Mia leaned against her locker. "If it gets worse, tell us. 'Cause if anyone thinks they're gonna mess with you just because Trevor's mad, they have another thing coming."

I gave her a small, grateful smile.

Jasmine smirked. "Exactly. We'll take them out. Dodgeball style."

I laughed. "So, what? You're gonna pelt them with gym equipment?"

Jasmine grinned. "Hey, if the shoe fits."

Mia gave a dramatic sigh. "Ah, yes. The art of dodgeball warfare. A time-honored tradition."

The tension eased a little, but I still felt that unease lingering in the back of my mind.

Because I knew this wasn't over.

Trevor wasn't done.

And something told me... this was only the beginning.

After school, I stepped outside, letting out a long breath as the crisp air hit my face.

Mom's car was already parked near the front of the pickup line, Lily and Sam sitting in the backseat. I spotted Sam on their phone, completely zoned out, while Lily was staring out the window, probably daydreaming about whatever book she was currently obsessed with.

As soon as I opened the passenger door and slid inside, Mom smiled at me. "Hey, sweetheart. How was your day?"

I hesitated for half a second before forcing a smile. "It was... interesting."

Lily glanced up. "Interesting bad or interesting good?"

I snorted. "A little bit of both."

Sam finally looked up. "What happened?"

I leaned back in my seat. "Well, for starters, Trevor made an absolute fool of himself in dodgeball."

Lily gasped dramatically. "Tell me everything."

Mom, already pulling out of the parking lot, sighed. "I don't even need to hear this to know it's going to be ridiculous."

"Oh, it was," I assured her. "He was acting like some kind of dodgeball champion—bragging, flexing, all of it—and then Marcus drilled him in the chest."

Sam's eyebrows shot up. "Wait—Marcus? That guy's insane at dodgeball."

"Exactly," I said. "Trevor totally could've dodged, but instead he just screamed at the top of his lungs and got knocked on his butt."

Lily wheezed.

Sam grinned. "Did anyone get it on video?"

"I really hope so." I smirked. "He basically flopped to the ground like a cartoon character."

Lily giggled. "That's beautiful."

Mom shook her head, amused. "Well, at least you got some entertainment today."

"Yeah," I said. "But..."

Mom must've caught something in my tone, because she glanced at me. "But?"

I hesitated, gripping my hoodie sleeve.

I hadn't told Jasmine and Mia, but something about today had left a bad feeling in my stomach.

Trevor had always been a jerk, but something was... different.

Like he was really looking for a reason to start something.

"He was worse than usual today," I finally admitted. "In the hallway, he—he started saying stuff. About me. About being 'confused' and not knowing what I am."

Silence.

Mom's hands tightened on the steering wheel.

Lily looked furious. "He what?"

Sam sighed heavily. "God, he's such a loser."

I let out a short, humorless laugh. "Yeah, tell me about it."

Mom exhaled through her nose. "Emily, if this keeps happening, you need to tell a teacher."

"I know," I muttered. "I just... don't want to make it worse."

"He's the one making it worse," Lily pointed out. "You're just existing."

Sam nodded. "Exactly. You shouldn't have to put up with his garbage."

I swallowed hard, staring out the window as buildings blurred past.

I wanted to believe this was just Trevor being his usual obnoxious self. That maybe, if I ignored him long enough, he'd get bored and move on.

But deep down...

I wasn't sure he would this time.

And that scared me more than I wanted to admit.

---

It was Saturday.

I woke up to the smell of breakfast.

Bacon, definitely. Maybe pancakes too. Something buttery. Something magical.

I buried my face deeper into the pillow for a second, soaking in that warm, sleepy feeling that only came with Saturday mornings. No alarms. No rushing to catch the bus. No Trevor.

I love weekends.

Eventually, I rolled out of bed, feet hitting the floor with a soft thud. The house was quiet, except for the low hum of the ceiling fan and the distant sound of someone flipping something in a skillet.

I threw on my hoodie and padded into the hallway, yawning as I followed the smell of heaven straight to the kitchen.

Mom stood at the stove, her hair up in a messy bun, flipping pancakes like some kind of breakfast wizard. Lily was already at the table, halfway through a glass of orange juice, and Sam was sitting on the counter, scrolling through their phone.

"Morning, sleepyhead," Mom said with a smile. "I was about to come wake you."

"You didn't have to," I mumbled, sliding into my usual seat. "This smells amazing."

"Pancakes with chocolate chips," she said. "And bacon. Because I figured we all needed a good start to the weekend."

Sam glanced up from his phone. "You especially."

I gave him a tired smile. "Yeah... it's been a week."

Lily leaned her elbows on the table. "Are we still talking about Trevor's gravity protest or the meatloaf incident?"

"Honestly?" I said, grabbing a fork, "all of the above."

Mom slid a plate in front of me, still warm. "Well, no school today. No drama. Just rest. And maybe a movie later?"

I perked up. "With popcorn?"

Mom grinned. "Obviously."

For the first time in days, everything felt... okay. Peaceful. Safe.

But as I picked up my fork, Sam's phone buzzed. He frowned, glanced at the screen, and blinked.

"Uh... Emily?" he said slowly. "You might wanna see this."

I froze, pancake halfway to my mouth. "...See what?"

Sam turned the screen toward me.

It was a photo.

Of me.

From yesterday's gym class.

I was in the background, blurry but recognizable. The caption, written in big bold letters, read:

**@magawillneverdie:"Thisis what a confused freak looks like."
#FridayFreak#TheyThemOrWhatever #MakeUpYourMind**

My stomach dropped.

I felt the blood drain from my face.

Mom snatched the phone out of Sam's hands. "Where did this come from?"

"Someone posted it on Instagram," Sam said, voice tight. "It's... going around."

Lily looked horrified. "That's—no, that's not okay. Who did this?"

We all knew who.

Trevor.

My hands started to shake.

So much for a peaceful weekend.

I went over to the couch, heart still pounding, and sank into the cushions. My hands were shaking as I pulled out my phone and opened Instagram.

I typed Trevor's instagram name @magawillneverdie into the search bar.

Nothing.

No account. No posts. No trace.

He might have blocked me.

Or maybe he posted it from a different account—one meant just to stir up drama without getting caught.

The pit in my stomach twisted tighter.

I scrolled through the hashtags. #FridayFreak had a handful of posts, mostly random junk. But there it was—my photo. Reposted. Commented on. Laughed at by people who didn't even know me.

One of the comments read:

**"LMAO isthis even a boy or a girl??"**

Another:

**"Broreally thinks they can pick both."**

And another:

**"We needto bring back uniforms. This is what happens when you let people beweird."**

I swallowed hard, blinking fast.

Mom must've noticed, because she walked over and sat beside me. "Sweetheart..." Her voice was soft, careful.

I shoved my phone into the couch cushions. "Why does he care so much about me? I'm not doing anything to him."

Sam stood in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed. "Because he's insecure. Guys like that... they can't handle anything that doesn't fit in their tiny little boxes."

Lily was pacing now. "We have to report it. To the school. To Instagram. To someone."

"I don't know," I muttered. "What if it just makes it worse?"

Mom gently reached over and took my hand. "Emily. You didn't do anything wrong. This isn't your fault. And we are not going to let him get away with this."

"But he's smart about it," I said, my voice cracking. "He didn't tag me. He blocked me. He's hiding behind his phone like a coward. And everyone else is just... laughing."

Mom's eyes darkened. "Then we'll go above him. Principal Peterson. The district if we have to. I'll talk to them first thing Monday morning."

Sam came and sat on the other side of me. "I'll report the post right now. And I'll get my friends to report it too. We'll bury it."

Lily nodded fiercely. "Me too."

I stared at both of them, the tightness in my chest loosening just a little. My family... they weren't just saying they had my back. They were ready to go to war.

I took a shaky breath. "Thanks, guys."

Mom pulled me into a hug. "You don't have to fight this alone, baby. We're in this together."

And even though I was still scared, still humiliated, still angry...

A small part of me knew—

That mattered more than anything.

As I sat there, still curled up on the couch, my phone buzzed from where I'd shoved it into the cushions. I hesitated before pulling it out.

**Mia: Emily, have you seen Instagram?!**

**Jasmine: Dude, we are PISSED. Call us NOW.**

I let out a slow breath, my fingers tightening around the phone. They had seen it.

Of course, they had.

Mom rubbed my back gently. "Jasmine and Mia?"

I nodded. "Yeah."

She gave me a reassuring smile. "Go talk to them. I'll be here when you're ready."

I stood up, walking down the hall to my room before calling them. The phone barely rang twice before they picked up.

"EMILY." Jasmine's voice was furious. "What the actual hell?!"

Mia cut in. "This is beyond messed up. That little weasel is getting away with it because he blocked you."

"I know," I said quietly.

There was a pause.

Jasmine's voice softened. "Are you okay?"

I swallowed hard. "I don't know."

Mia let out a sharp breath. "We're gonna handle this. Everyone is already talking about it, but not in the way Trevor wants. People are calling him out. Even Lexi posted, telling him to shut up."

I blinked. "Lexi?"

"Yeah," Jasmine said. "She literally commented, 'You're so obsessed with Emily it's embarrassing. Move on.'"

I exhaled, a mix of relief and nerves. If people were standing up against it... maybe I wasn't as alone as I thought.

"But don't worry," Mia added. "We're not just letting this slide. We're reporting it, and we're getting other people to report it too."

Jasmine hummed. "Also... you could make a post yourself. Not to argue with him, but just... to remind people that you're you. And you don't owe anyone an explanation."

I hesitated. "I don't know."

Mia was quiet for a moment. "Well, whatever you decide, we've got your back. And we are not letting Trevor get the last word."

I smiled a little. "Thanks, guys."

Jasmine's tone turned lighter. "Of course. Now, do you need us to send Sam to break his phone?"

Mia cackled. "Or, hear me out—we start a better hashtag and make Trevor completely irrelevant."

I actually laughed. "You two are the best."

"Duh," Jasmine said. "And don't forget it."

As I hung up, I stared at my phone for a long moment.

I could post something.

Something that wasn't defensive or angry—something that just said, I exist, and I'm not going anywhere.

The thought was scary.

But maybe... it was also kind of freeing.

I stared at the "new post" button for a long time.

My fingers hovered over the keyboard, my heart pounding a little. I didn't want to post some angry rant. I didn't want to fight fire with fire.

But I also wasn't going to sit here and let Trevor define me.

So I opened the camera.

I took a new selfie—nothing dramatic. Just me, in my hoodie, messy hair, half a smile. The kind of picture that said, yeah, I'm still here. Still me.

And then I typed the caption.

**"Update: still gender-fluid. Still awesome. Still dodging Trevor's nonsense better than dodgeballs."
#SorryNotSorry #ExistLoudly #GravityStillWins**

I stared at it one last time, my thumb hovering over the post button.

Then I hit share.

And just like that, it was out there.

Not angry. Not defensive. Just me—making it clear that I wasn't going anywhere.

Within minutes, the likes started trickling in. Then comments.

**@notjasmine: YESSSSSSSS. QUEEN ENERGY.**
**@mia.lol: Dodgeball AND dignity. We love to see it.**
**@lexi_0405: Honestly iconic.**
**@marcusdballs: (Some kid from math class I barely knew) You just made my whole weekend. Trevor WISHES he had this level of chill.**

I grinned.

It wasn't about winning. It wasn't about being louder than Trevor.

It was about being louder than his hate.

I set my phone down on the coffee table and leaned back into the couch, letting the tension drain from my shoulders.

Mom walked in a moment later, drying her hands on a dish towel. "Everything okay?"

I nodded slowly. "Yeah... I posted something."

Her eyebrows lifted. "Really?"

"Yeah. Just... me. Nothing mean. Nothing petty." I shrugged. "Just a reminder that I exist. And I'm not hiding."

Mom came over and sat beside me, her eyes scanning my face like she was trying to read the part I didn't say out loud.

"You're braver than you think, you know that?"

I gave a half-smile. "I wasn't trying to be brave. I just... didn't want his voice to be louder than mine."

Mom pulled me into a side-hug and kissed the top of my head. "That's exactly what brave looks like."

I rested my head on her shoulder and exhaled.

Somewhere else in town, meanwhile...

Trevor was in his room, scrolling through Instagram on his burner account. The one he used when he didn't want people knowing it was him creeping.

He'd expected to see more of his post spreading around. More laughs. More people piling on Emily.

But what he found instead?

Was her post.

Her face.
Her smile.
That caption.

And hundreds of likes. Comments flooding in. People laughing—but not at her.

At him.

Trevor's eye twitched. He clicked on the comments.

@lexi_0405: She's living rent-free in your head, dude. Move on.
@marcusdballs: She's literally cooler than you'll ever be.
@notjasmine: #GravityStillWins might be the best thing I've ever read.

Trevor's face turned red. He slammed his phone face down on his desk, muttering to himself.

"She thinks this is funny? Fine. Let's see how funny it is on Monday..."

He didn't know it yet, but his tantrum was only digging him deeper.

Because I wasn't backing down.

Not anymore.

Sunday went by with nothing posted on Instagram. Which was a relief.

Monday started off way too early, like always, but this time I didn't wake up dreading the school day.

Not because I was suddenly excited about math class or anything (I'm not that wild), but because for once, I had set the tone. My post was still getting likes. Still getting supportive comments. People were actually smiling at me in the hallway.

Lexi even gave me a high-five near the vending machines.

That had never happened before.

Trevor was nowhere in sight—which wasn't exactly surprising. After all, it's hard to come back from falling flat on your face in the name of an anti-gravity protest.

But what was surprising?

Was what happened during second period.

My phone buzzed.

Then buzzed again.

Then again.

I slipped it out of my pocket during a bathroom break and checked it.

Notifications.

Tons of them.

@patriot_truth_bomb commented on your post.

3 new replies to your post.

Jasmine tagged you in a comment.

I frowned and tapped on it.

There it was.

A brand-new comment on my photo. From a very suspicious-looking account with an eagle avatar, two American flags in the bio, and the handle @patriot_truth_bomb.

The comment?

"You're just confused and desperate forattention. Everyone sees it. Grow up."

I stared at the screen, deadpan.

Really, Trevor?

Because everyone knew it was him. The grammar. The tone. The burner account name that screamed "I just learned about politics yesterday."

I hadn't even had time to process it before Jasmine immediately commented back:

@notjasmine:Trevor. You'reliterally commenting from your own alt account. This is embarrassing.

Mia followed it up:

@mia.lol:Bro forgot to switchaccounts.

A few seconds later, Lexi joined in:

@lexi_0405:This is the saddest thing I've seen since Trevor fell in mashed potatoes.

And then the likes and laughing emojis started rolling in.

I didn't even hesitate.

BLOCKED
Gone.

The second I hit that button, the whole post felt lighter. Like I'd just swatted a gnat.

Back in class, I sat down, tucked my phone away, and couldn't stop the small smile on my face.

Trevor had tried to fight back.

And failed.

Publicly. Spectacularly.

Mia texted me a second later:
**"You win. Again."**
Then a follow-up:
**"He really made a whole fake account just to lose harder."**

I stifled a laugh behind my textbook. Jasmine, across the room, caught my eye and gave me a thumbs-up.

Trevor could keep trying.

But if he thought he was gonna win this war?

He was very bad at math.

By the time lunch rolled around, the whole school had seen the comment.

Like, everyone.

You couldn't walk five feet without hearing someone snort-laughing or whispering, "Did you see Trevor's alt account?" It was like watching a meme be born in real time. There were even rumors that someone was making a T-shirt that said #PatriotTruthBomb—which I really, really hoped was true.

I slid into my usual spot at the lunch table, still feeling the afterglow of victory.

Jasmine was already there, practically vibrating with joy. "Please tell me you saw the edit someone made."

I blinked. "What edit?"

Mia slid her phone across the table. "This."

It was a screenshot of Trevor's burner account comment—you're just confused and desperate for attention—but underneath it, someone had added a fake Wikipedia caption:

**"PatriotTruthBomb: A failed psychological operation executed by one middle school boy in2042.Widely regarded as the saddest attempt at a clapback in recorded history."**

I wheezed. "Oh my gosh."

Jasmine wiped tears from her eyes. "He's gonna need witness protection by eighth period."

And just then, as if summoned by the cringey spirits of bad decisions...

Trevor walked into the cafeteria.

Wearing his signature red hat. Again.

And strutting like he'd won something.

We all watched him weave through the tables, trying to act cool, despite the fact that half the room was already snickering. He finally reached the middle of the cafeteria and clapped his hands together.

"Alright!" he said, loud enough for everyone to hear. "Let's just get this out of the way."

Jasmine muttered, "Oh no."

Mia whispered, "This is gonna be amazing."

Trevor puffed out his chest. "Yes, that was my comment. Yes, that was my account. And YES, I posted it on purpose."

The room went silent for a beat—then a wave of confused laughter rippled through the cafeteria.

Trevor held up a hand like he was some kind of motivational speaker. "It was all part of the plan. See, I knew people would freak out. I wanted to expose how obsessed you all are with me. I'm playing 4D chess, while the rest of you are still playing checkers."

Jasmine snorted. "He doesn't even know how to play chess."

Trevor pointed dramatically toward our table. "You think you're so clever, Emily. But guess what? You fell right into my trap."

I blinked. "Your trap... was getting humiliated by your own sock puppet account?"

He faltered. "It wasn't a sock puppet, it was... it was a test."

The entire cafeteria burst out laughing.

Even the lunch monitors were chuckling.

Someone at a nearby table yelled, "Yo, Trevor, how's that 4D chess going? You losing in every dimension?"

Mia leaned over and whispered, "You think if we throw a dodgeball at him right now, it'll reset the timeline?"

Trevor, now visibly red in the face, turned on his heel and stormed off—again. Hat tilted, pride shattered.

And just like that, lunch returned to normal.

Well... as normal as it ever gets around here.

Jasmine picked up her sandwich and sighed happily. "I love this school."

I smiled, taking a bite of my pizza. "Me too. Especially on days like this."

Because Trevor could keep trying.

He could post, yell, grandstand, and scream.

But at the end of the day?

He was his own worst enemy.

And honestly?

I was just here for the show.

---

The next day, everything felt... quieter.

Not in a bad way. Just... calmer. Like the whole school had finally taken a breath.

No new drama. No Trevor sightings (which was honestly a gift). And for once, the air didn't feel like it was humming with tension every time I walked down the hallway.

By third period, I was starting to think the universe might actually be giving me a break.

Then I walked into English.

Mrs. Dunlap, who usually started class with something boring like grammar warmups or vocabulary lists, was standing at the front of the room with a small stack of papers in her hand and an actual smile on her face. That alone was suspicious.

"Good morning, everyone," she said, sounding almost... excited? "Today, we're starting a new assignment—one that's a little more personal."

That got everyone's attention.

Jasmine leaned over and whispered, "Oh no. It's gonna be poetry, isn't it?"

Mia whispered back, "If we have to write about nature, I'm dropping out."

Mrs. Dunlap held up the top paper. "You'll be writing a personal essay. I want to know about you. Not your grades. Not your test scores. Not your GPA. You."

She began passing out the prompt as she talked. "You can write about a moment that changed you, something you believe in, or what it means to be yourself in a world that doesn't always make that easy."

I stared at the page when she placed it in front of me.

It was titled:
**"This Is Me: A Personal Reflection"**

My stomach flipped.

Mrs. Dunlap continued, "It's not for a grade. You don't even have to share it with the class. But I hope you'll take it seriously. Because your story matters. All of yours."

I glanced at Jasmine and Mia. They both looked kind of surprised... but not in a bad way.

And for a second, I just sat there.

Because this assignment? This wasn't about revenge or comebacks or Trevor.

This was about me.

I stared at the paper on my desk.

**This Is Me: A Personal Reflection.**

Six words, and somehow they felt heavier than an entire math textbook.

Around me, the classroom was filled with the sound of scribbling pens and the occasional sigh. Some kids were already writing paragraphs. Others were just doodling or pretending to think really hard so they didn't have to start yet.

I picked up my pen.

Set it down.

Picked it up again.

What was I supposed to write?

What moment changed me? What did I believe in?

I thought about writing something easy. Something safe. Like all the funny things Trevor is doing these days, but that wasn't what the prompt was really asking for.

It was asking for me.

And the truth was...

I wasn't even sure how to explain myself sometimes.

I tapped the end of my pen against my notebook, staring at the blank page.

What was it like being gender-fluid?

It wasn't something I could sum up in one sentence. Or explain with charts and diagrams, even though my science brain really wanted to try.

It was like... being a puzzle where the picture changes sometimes. Not broken. Not incomplete. Just different, depending on the day. Some days I felt more like a girl. Other days, more like a boy. And most days... just me. Somewhere in the middle. All of it, and none of it, and still completely real.

I chewed my lip, my fingers tightening around the pen.

It wasn't that I was ashamed.

It was that trying to explain it to people—people like Trevor—always ended the same way.

Blank stares. Dumb jokes. "Are you a boy or a girl?"
"Make up your mind."
"Pick a side."
As if I was just confused.
As if they got to decide who I was.

But I wasn't confused.

I knew who I was.

Even if it didn't fit into their little boxes.

My eyes drifted back to the paper, and slowly, I started writing.

Not fast. Not polished. Not even sure where I was going.

But I knew what I wanted to say.

And this time, I was going to say it my way.

**This Is Me
By Emily Blake

I don't always know what to write when people ask me to "be real."

Mostly because the second I do, people start acting weird. They either tell me I'm brave (which is kind, but kind of exhausting), or they ask a million questions like I'm some sort of science experiment.

Which is ironic, because I like science experiments. I just don't like being one.

I'm gender-fluid. That means, depending on the day, I might feel more like a girl, more like a boy, or somewhere in between. Some days I wear a hoodie and jeans and feel like me. Some days I wear nail polish and feel like me. Some days I wear neither and still feel like me.

The weird part is, I'm not confused about it. But the world sure is.

I've had people tell me I'm just doing it for attention. That I should "pick a side." That I'll grow out of it. (Spoiler alert: that's not how it works.)

I've been laughed at. I've been whispered about. I've been called things I'm not going to write here because I'm pretty sure this assignment is still technically school-appropriate.

But I've also had friends who stood by me. Who didn't ask me to explain it like I owed them a PowerPoint presentation. Friends who just said, "Cool. Want to sit with us at lunch?"

I've learned that being yourself doesn't always come with applause. Sometimes it comes with eye-rolls or Instagram posts meant to hurt you. But I've also learned that being true to yourself feels better than hiding.

I'm not perfect. I still get scared. I still feel like I'm too much and not enough at the same time. But I'm learning to take up space. To exist loudly. To laugh at things that used to break me.

This is me.
Messy. Loud. Quiet. Kind of sarcastic. Still figuring stuff out.
Still here.
And, honestly?
That's more than enough.**

It took a couple of days before Mrs. Dunlap handed the essays back.

She didn't grade them—just wrote a short note on each one and gave them back quietly at the end of class.

I wasn't expecting much.

Maybe a "Thank you for sharing" or a polite "Well written." I didn't even care if she said anything, honestly. Just knowing I wrote it felt like enough.

But when she reached my desk, she didn't say a word right away. She just placed the paper in front of me with both hands, looked me in the eyes, and gave a small nod.

Like she knew.

I glanced down at the paper.

No grade, like she promised.

But written at the bottom, in careful cursive, was this:

Emily—
This is one of the mosthonest, powerful essays I've read in all my years of teaching.Thank you for trusting me with your voice.
Never stopbeing you. The world needs more people like you.
–Mrs. Dunlap

I stared at the words for a second, like maybe they'd disappear if I blinked too fast.

No one had ever said that to me before. That the world needed me.

Not a version of me. Not a "toned-down" version. Just... me.

I swallowed hard and slipped the paper into my binder before I could start tearing up in the middle of class. Jasmine gave me a curious look from across the room, but I just shook my head and smiled.

Mrs. Dunlap didn't say anything else, and she didn't have to.

That little note said everything.

I kept my head down for the rest of class.

Tried to focus on whatever worksheet we were doing. Tried to look busy. Tried not to think about the note burning a hole in my binder.

But the words kept echoing in my head.

It wasn't even a long message.

But it hit harder than I expected.

Because most of the time, when I told people who I was—when I showed them—they either got awkward, or confused, or turned it into a joke.

But not her.

Mrs. Dunlap just... saw me.

And she didn't try to fix me. Or question me. Or turn it into a lesson for the rest of the class.

She just heard me.

And that—that was the part that got me.

I could feel it building in my chest, the tightness behind my ribs. Like all the feelings I'd been holding in—every insult, every whisper in the hallway, every second of pretending I was okay when I wasn't—were crowding up behind my eyes.

I blinked fast, willing them away.

Not here. Not in class.

But a single tear slipped down anyway, trailing across my cheek before I could stop it.

I wiped it quickly, hoping no one noticed.

Of course, Jasmine noticed.

She didn't say anything. She didn't gasp or point it out or whisper dramatically.

She just gently nudged her foot against mine under the table.

A quiet "hey, I'm here," without saying a word.

And somehow, that made me feel even more like crying.

But not in a bad way.

In a safe way.

After the bell rang, I didn't move right away.

Most of the class rushed out like they always did—backpacks swinging, chairs scraping, people shouting about vending machine snacks and hallway drama.

But I stayed in my seat, fingers still resting on the edge of my binder. The essay was tucked inside like a secret.

Jasmine and Mia waited near the door, like they knew I wasn't done yet.

Finally, I stood, slinging my backpack over one shoulder and walking slowly toward them. I didn't say anything until we were out in the hallway.

Then, without looking up, I mumbled, "Hey... can I show you something?"

Jasmine tilted her head. "Of course."

Mia smiled softly. "Always."

I pulled the essay from my binder, the paper now slightly creased from being clutched so tightly. I didn't even unfold it all the way—just held it out to them like it was something fragile.

They both looked surprised for a second. Then Jasmine gently took it from my hands.

We stepped off to the side, near the lockers, where the hallway was quieter. Jasmine read it first, her eyes scanning quickly, then slowing down. Mia leaned in beside her, reading over her shoulder.

No one said anything for a full minute.

I stood there, feeling like my heart was beating somewhere up in my throat.

Then Jasmine looked up.

Her eyes were shining.

She didn't say "wow" or "that's deep" or anything cliché.

She just said, "Emily... this is so you."

Mia nodded, smiling in that way she only does when something actually hits her heart. "It's perfect. Seriously. Like... I don't even have words."

Jasmine handed the paper back, but not before tapping the corner of the page. "That part about not being confused? That hit so hard."

Mia sniffed and nudged my arm. "I'm totally fine. I'm not crying, you're crying."

I laughed, wiping at my own eyes. "Shut up."

But I was smiling.

Because they got it.

Not just the words—but me.

And maybe not everyone in the world would understand. Maybe Trevor and people like him would never get it.

But Jasmine and Mia?

They did.

And that was enough.

That night, the house was calm.

Sam was upstairs with his headphones on, sketching in his notebook like he always did when he needed to focus. Lily was curled up in the corner of the living room with her latest library book, feet tucked under a blanket, completely lost in whatever fantasy world she'd disappeared into.

I was at the kitchen table, alone.

The lights were low, the air smelled faintly like chamomile tea, and my essay sat in front of me, folded neatly but worn at the edges from how many times I'd held it.

I still wasn't sure why I brought it downstairs.

Maybe I just wanted someone else to read it. Someone who knew me longer than Jasmine and Mia. Someone who'd seen the hard days, the quiet nights, the moments I didn't talk about out loud.

Mom walked in a few minutes later, drying her hands with a dish towel. Her hair was messy from the wind, her sleeves rolled up, a tired softness in her eyes like the day had taken a lot out of her.

She spotted me at the table and smiled gently. "Hey, Emily. You okay?"

I hesitated. Then nodded. "Yeah. Just... thinking."

She came over, sat across from me, and rested her arms on the table.

I didn't say anything at first. Just slid the paper across the surface toward her.

She looked at it, then at me. "What's this?"

"It's an essay," I said quietly. "From English class. We were supposed to write something personal."

She picked it up slowly, unfolded it, and started reading.

I watched her face, every little movement. Her brow furrowed near the top, then softened. Her mouth twitched at one of the jokes. By the time she got to the end, her eyes looked glassy.

She didn't speak right away.

But when she did, her voice was barely above a whisper.

"Emily... this is beautiful."

I swallowed hard. "You think so?"

She nodded. "It's honest. It's strong. It's you."

I looked down at my hands in my lap. "It felt kind of scary. But... good."

Mom reached across the table and took my hand. "I know it's not always easy. I know some people say things they shouldn't, and the world doesn't always know how to catch up. But I need you to know something, okay?"

I looked up.

"You are not broken. You're not confusing. You are exactly who you're supposed to be."

I blinked fast, trying not to cry again.

"Thanks," I whispered.

She smiled, brushing a strand of hair from my face. "Thank you for letting me see you. All of you."

And in that quiet kitchen, with the lights dim and the world finally still, I felt something settle in my chest.

Like maybe I wasn't just surviving.

I was becoming.

---

The week after I turned in my essay was... weirdly normal.

No Instagram drama. No hallway whispering. No Trevor launching himself into orbit via gravity protest.

Just school. Classes. Life.

Which obviously meant something had to go wrong soon.

And, right on schedule, it happened in history class.

Mr. Langford had just finished droning on about the American Revolution, and I was counting the seconds until the bell rang, when he suddenly got this bright, dangerous look in his eyes.

"I've got a surprise for you all," he said, like that sentence ever leads to anything good.

Groans immediately echoed around the room.

Mr. Langford grinned like a man who lived for teenage suffering. "No, no—it's not a quiz. We're going to play a review game."

A few students perked up.

Then he said the words:

"History Jeopardy."

Half the class actually cheered. I just sighed.

Mr. Langford split us into teams—randomly, of course—and the moment he called out the names, I knew karma had a twisted sense of humor.

"Emily, Trevor, Marcus, and Rina—you're Team 2."

Trevor, from the other side of the room, let out an exaggerated groan. "Seriously?!"

"Believe me," I muttered, "I'm not thrilled either."

We all moved into our team huddles. Marcus just wanted to win. Rina didn't care. I just wanted to get it over with.

Trevor, on the other hand, immediately took over.

"I'll do the answering," he announced. "I'm, like, amazing at this stuff."

"Are you, though?" I said under my breath.

Trevor glared. "I literally watched a whole documentary about the Revolutionary War on YouTube last night."

"Oh, wow. A whole YouTube documentary? Impressive."

Trevor rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Just let me handle it."

Fine by me.

The game started. Mr. Langford asked questions, teams buzzed in, and somehow we didn't completely crash and burn during the first round.

Then came the question that changed everything.

"Team 2," Mr. Langford said. "Your turn to choose."

Trevor stepped up like he was on actual Jeopardy. "We'll take Founding Fathers for 400."

Mr. Langford read the clue:

This founding father was known for his experimentswith electricity, his writing, and his iconic kite and key story.

Trevor slammed the buzzer. "GEORGE WASHINGTON!"

Silence.

I blinked. "Wait... what?"

Mr. Langford raised an eyebrow. "Incorrect. Anyone else?"

From across the room, Jasmine hit her buzzer. "Ben Franklin."

"Correct."

The class laughed.

But Trevor wasn't done.

"Wait—what? Are you sure? I thought Washington did the lightning stuff."

"No," I said, trying not to laugh, "he was busy being the first president, not getting electrocuted by kites."

Someone in the back howled.

Trevor's face turned bright red. "That's not even what I meant!"

Mr. Langford moved on, but the damage was done.

By the end of class, people were whispering, "George Washington and the electric kite," and making buzzing sounds whenever Trevor walked by.

I hadn't meant to embarrass him.

But, y'know.

It was kind of hard not to.

Especially when he made it that easy.

As we left the classroom, Trevor shoved past me. "You think you're so smart."

I raised an eyebrow. "No. You thought you were smart. I just read the textbook."

Trevor clenched his jaw. "You'll regret that."

"Okay, George." I gave him a little wave. "Watch out for storm clouds."

Behind me, Jasmine and Mia lost it.

And just like that—

I was back on Trevor's enemy list.

Again.

It didn't take long.

By lunch, Trevor was already plotting.

I could feel it the second I walked into the cafeteria. He was sitting at his usual table, whispering something to Kevin and a few of his tag-along friends. They all looked at me, then started laughing.

So subtle. So clever.

Mia raised an eyebrow as we passed by. "He's up to something."

Jasmine snorted. "Oh, good. I was worried we'd make it a full day without another Trevor meltdown."

We sat down at our usual table, and I unwrapped my sandwich, pretending I didn't notice Trevor watching me like some cartoon villain waiting for his evil plan to kick in.

Then it happened.

Trevor stood up on top of his bench. Not the table this time—growth, I guess. He cleared his throat dramatically and held up a sheet of paper.

"Attention, students of Jefferson Middle!" he declared, his voice ringing across the cafeteria.

"Oh no," I muttered.

Mia whispered, "Here it comes..."

"I have written a poem," Trevor announced, "dedicated to a certain someone who thinks they're smarter than everyone else. Someone who thinks mocking true patriots is funny."

Jasmine choked on her juice. "Is this really happening?!"

Trevor raised the paper and began to read, in a tone so serious he might as well have been reading Shakespeare:

"There once was a girl who thought she was wise,
Withher little fake smile and two different lies.
She thinks she'sclever, a real smarty-pants,
But deep down inside, she's juststuck in a trance!"

The cafeteria went dead silent.

Then someone from across the room shouted, "What is this, a weird slam poem from 2012?!"

Trevor flushed, but kept going.

"She laughs at the brave, she mocks the strong,
Butdon't worry—her jokes won't last long.
For justice willrise, and I will not fall—
Because I'm the realhero of this school hall!"

You could hear a pin drop.

Then...

From another table, someone slow clapped.

Slow.

Loud.

Sarcastic.

Then Jasmine stood up, still clapping. "Trevor, wow. That was... deeply embarrassing."

Mia was wiping tears from her eyes. "Is that... is that supposed to rhyme?"

I stood up too, holding my tray like a trophy. "Okay, George Washington. You just wrote a rap battle against yourself."

More laughter.

Trevor's ears were burning.

He crumpled the paper in his hand. "You're all just jealous!"

"Jealous of what?" Jasmine said. "Your ability to rhyme 'pants' with 'trance'?"

Someone shouted, "Do a freestyle next, Trevor!"

Kevin leaned over from his table and said, "Dude, maybe just... stop talking for the rest of lunch?"

Trevor let out a dramatic huff and stomped back down onto the bench. His heroic poetry slam? Instantly forgotten.

Except by everyone.

Because by the time the bell rang, someone had already posted a video of the entire thing, captioned:

"When your villain origin story is a lunchroomlimerick"

Trevor was seething.

Me?

I just took another bite of my sandwich and smiled.

Because I didn't mean to make him look like a fool.

But honestly?

He did all the work for me.

Later as the last bell rang for the day and the halls were packed—shoulder-to-shoulder chaos, backpacks swinging, people shouting over lockers, and at least three teachers trying (and failing) to keep everyone moving.

Jasmine and I walked side by side, weaving through the crowd like pros.

I was mid-rant about our math quiz when I spotted a crumpled piece of paper on the floor near the drinking fountain.

"Oh my gosh," I whispered, nudging Jasmine and pointing. "Is that...?"

She leaned closer, squinting. "No way. That's the poem."

We looked at each other.

And then we lost it.

I couldn't help myself. I grabbed my water bottle and held it like a microphone.

"There once was a girl who thought she was wise," I recited in the most dramatic voice I could muster, "with her little fake smile and two different lies!"

Jasmine nearly doubled over. "Two lies? Just two? Someone's feeling generous."

"She mocks the brave! She mocks the strong!" I added, doing a fake gasp. "But don't worry, because Trevor's rhyming is so wrong!"

Jasmine wheezed. "You're going to make me choke."

We were both laughing so hard we had to stop walking.

And that's when I saw him.

Trevor.

Standing just a little further down the hallway, near the stairwell, pretending to dig through his locker like he wasn't very obviously listening.

His shoulders were stiff. His jaw was clenched. His knuckles were white on the locker handle.

He didn't turn around.

He didn't say anything.

But I saw the way his eyes flicked toward me—just once—before he slammed his locker shut and stalked down the hall like a storm cloud in sneakers.

Jasmine noticed too.

"Uh-oh," she murmured. "You think he heard you?"

"Oh, he definitely heard me," I said, still catching my breath.

Jasmine bit her lip. "Do you think he's gonna do something?"

I shrugged. "It's Trevor. He'll probably write another poem. This time with three lies."

But as I watched him disappear into the crowd, a little chill crept down my spine.

Because Trevor might've stayed quiet...

But he didn't walk away like someone who was done.

He walked away like someone planning something.

And that?

Didn't sit right with me.

Mom was outside like always waiting for me. I made it to the car, before Lily and Sam. I see them running behind me.

I opened the car door and slid into the front seat, tossing my backpack at my feet. Mom smiled at me like she always did, eyes kind and calm behind the windshield.

"Hey, sweetheart," she said. "Good day?"

I started to answer, but before I could say a word, the back doors flew open and Lily and Sam practically launched themselves into the car.

"We made it!" Lily gasped, dramatically throwing herself across the seat.

Sam flopped in beside her, a little out of breath. "She sprinted like it was a track meet," he said, nodding at Lily. "Nearly knocked over a sixth grader."

Lily didn't even deny it. "I earned this seat."

Mom chuckled as she pulled out of the pickup lane. "Alright, gladiators. Seat belts."

As we rolled out of the parking lot, I stared out the window, watching students scatter across the sidewalk like ants. But I couldn't stop thinking about the look on Trevor's face.

Quiet.

Focused.

Dangerous in a way I wasn't used to from him.

Not loud. Not obnoxious.

Just... cold.

Mom noticed my silence. "You okay, Em?"

I nodded slowly. "Yeah. Just... tired."

She gave me a look—the kind of look that said she didn't totally buy it, but wasn't going to push right now.

Lily, still catching her breath, glanced at me. "Did something happen?"

I hesitated.

"Not really," I said. "Just Trevor being Trevor."

Sam groaned. "Again? Can't he like... fall into a sinkhole or something already?"

"Sam," Mom warned, but she was smiling.

Still... I couldn't shake the feeling that something was coming.

Trevor wasn't finished.

Not by a long shot.

The house felt too small tonight.
Too loud. Too tense. Too off.

I sat at the dinner table, picking at my food while Sam and Lily chattered on about something I couldn't focus on. Mom asked Sam about his art project, and Lily was rambling about a fantasy book she started, but none of it landed.

All I could think about was Trevor.

The way he looked at me in the hallway.
The way he didn't say anything.
The way it felt like silence meant something worse was coming.

I wasn't scared, exactly. Not in the "check the windows, turn on the lights" kind of way.
It was deeper than that.
Like I was bracing for something I couldn't see yet.

I just needed space.
A little air.
Somewhere quiet, where I didn't feel like the walls were pressing in.

"Emily?"

I blinked, looking up.

Mom was watching me, her smile gone. Replaced by that soft, worried look I knew too well.

"You haven't touched your dinner," she said gently.

"I'm not really hungry."

Sam and Lily quieted down. Mom leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. "Is something going on?"

I shook my head. "No. I'm just... tired."

She didn't look convinced.

I pushed back my chair. "I think I need to get some air."

That was when her expression changed.

She straightened up, lips pressing into a firm line. "It's already getting dark, Emily."

"I won't be long."

"You can sit outside on the porch."

"I just... I need to walk. Think."

Mom stood up now, her voice low and serious. "I don't like the idea of you walking around at night. Not with how things have been lately."

"I'll stay close," I said. "I won't go far."

"Emily—"

"I just need ten minutes, okay?"

We stared at each other for a moment—her worry meeting my restlessness.

I knew she was just trying to protect me. But I also knew if I stayed in this house one more second, I'd explode.

Finally, she exhaled through her nose and sat back down. "Ten minutes. Phone on. You text me if you're not back in fifteen."

"I will."

I grabbed my jacket and slipped outside before she could change her mind.

The door clicked shut behind me.

---

I chose to share this chapter now because it deals with difficult—but deeply important—realities. Like many others, I am a survivor of sexual assault, and writing this is one way I process, heal, and raise awareness.

If you've experienced something similar, please know that you are not alone. This chapter was written with care and empathy, for those who have been through it, are going through it, or know someone who has. My heart is with you.

I've included support resources at the end of the chapter for anyone who might need them. Your safety, your healing, and your voice matter.

---

Chapter Twenty-Eight

I always liked walking around in the park at night. Mom said it wasn't safe, but I went anyway. The dark felt easier somehow—like the shadows could swallow the parts of me that didn't fit. That night, the air was thick with the scent of wet leaves and distant rain, a refreshing promise that the world could wash away the grime of the day. The swing creaked beneath my hands, cold and rough against my palms, as I kicked off the ground, soaring high enough to catch the flicker of streetlights beyond the trees. For a fleeting moment, I let myself believe I could float away—untethered from names and pronouns, from Trevor's laugh that sliced through the cafeteria like a knife.

"Hey, nobody."

I looked back.
Speak of the devil.

"You think you can humiliate me and just walk away?" he hissed. "I don't forget, and I sure as hell don't forgive."
He wasn't just here to scare me. He wanted payback.

"Leave me alone," I managed, but my voice sounded small, like it belonged to someone else entirely, someone who didn't know the weight of fear pressing down on her chest.
He laughed—a harsh, brittle sound that sent a chill down my spine. "No one cares, Emily. Not your teachers, not your family. You think they're proud of some freak who can't even pick a side?" His voice cracked with spite. "People like you make me sick—pretending there's something brave about being broken. You think this is courage? It's disgusting."

I turned to leave, desperate to escape the suffocating weight of his presence, but his hand shot out, gripping my wrist so tight it burned.
"Let go!" I cried out, panic rising like bile in my throat.

"Or what?" He yanked me toward the trees, his nails digging into my skin. My heart pounded, I wanted to scream, run or even fight, but my body froze, paralyzed by fear. The world moved in a slow motion—the slide's rusted metal, the mulch under my shoes, the stars blinking as if they didn't want to watch.

Then he shoved me down, the impact jarring. My head hit the ground, and for a moment, the pain was all I knew—a sharp, blinding pain that coursed through me. But then his weight pinned me, suffocating me, his hands everywhere, his voice a low snarl: "You can't even decide what you are, can you? Maybe I can help you figure it out."

He roughly grabbed at my pants, yanking them down along with my underwear. The cold night air hit my most private parts, sending a chill through my body. Tears stung from my eyes as I realized what was about to happen hit me like a freight train.

"I'm not... I don't..." I stammered, my voice trembled with fear. "Please, don't do this!"

But my pleas fell on deaf ears. Trevor smirked, his eyes roaming over my exposed body. "We'll see about that."

As he forced himself on me, violating me in the most intimate way possible, I felt a part of my soul shatter. The pain was unbearable, both physical and emotional. I wanted to scream, to fight back, but my body refused to cooperate.

In that moment, I felt utterly alone, betrayed by my own flesh and blood. I was trapped between genders, trapped between identities, and now trapped under the weight of Trevor's cruelty. As the world around me faded to black, I prayed for it all to end.

I woke up in pain. I must have been lying there for hours—or minutes, maybe—until the cold bit through my bones. My body felt wrong, foreign and violated. I sat up slowly, the gravel sticking to my palms, each piece a reminder of the horror I had just endured. The night air was thick, suffocating, and I noticed I was completely naked, exposed to the world that had so cruelly turned against me.

My clothes were strewn everywhere, a chaotic testament to the violence that had just taken place. The realization hit me like a slap across the face—I had been raped. My heart raced, a frantic drum echoing in my chest as I fought against the nausea rising within me.

As I sat there, the reality of what had just happened crashed over me like the relentless waves of a storm. I could still feel the echoes of Trevor's laughter ringing in my ears, the cruel taunts that had turned my world upside down. My body ached, and the cold air felt like a thousand knives against my skin, a constant reminder of the violation I had just endured.

I gathered my clothes, hands shaking as I pulled the fabric back over my body, desperately trying to regain some sense of normalcy. The world felt surreal, as if I were trapped in a nightmare I couldn't wake up from. I stumbled to my feet, my heart racing, and the panic began to seep in. I needed to get out of the park, away from the shadows that felt alive, ready to consume me once more.

But as I walked, the weight of my shame and fear pressed down harder. I didn't want to think about what had just happened. I couldn't bear the thought of telling anyone, especially my mom. I could already hear her voice filled with worry, the disappointment in her eyes. I felt so alone, so lost.

But deep down, I knew I couldn't keep this to myself. I needed help, even if the thought terrified me. I remembered how my mom always said that I could come to her about anything. Would she really understand? Would she be able to see past the shame I felt?

As I made my way home, the night sky felt oppressive, the stars dimmed by the weight of my grief. I thought of the swing, how it had once been a place of solace, a momentary escape from the struggles of my identity. Now it felt tainted, a reminder of the monster that lurked in the shadows.

The porch light buzzed on as I climbed the steps, illuminating the darkness that cloaked me. The door swung open before I could touch the knob.

"Emily—?" Mom's voice frayed at the edges. Her eyes darted to my torn jeans, the gravel dust smeared across my palms, the raw scrapes on my knees—searching for signs of the hurt I couldn't speak aloud. I saw the panic in her face, the dread rising behind her eyes, and I hated that I was the reason it was there.

"I'm okay," I said—but the lie cracked as it left my mouth. She didn't believe it. I didn't believe it either.

She stepped forward and pulled me into a hug without warning. I stiffened at first, but her arms only tightened, anchoring me to her, grounding me in the warmth I no longer felt inside. I wanted to disappear into her chest, to vanish completely, but all I could feel was the cold void pressing in around me.

She drew back just enough to see my face. Her hands cradled my cheeks, and I saw her expression crumble. "Emily, what happened? You're hurt."

I didn't answer.

"Emily?" she repeated, softer this time. She was trying not to sound scared, but I could hear it—lurking beneath the calm she forced into her voice.

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. The words wouldn't form. I looked down at my hands instead—at the small flecks of blood dried into my skin, the raw scrapes, the tiny tremble I couldn't stop.

"I just... I need to get you cleaned up, sweetheart," she whispered, as though the volume of her voice might shatter me. She took my hand, so gently, and led me inside.

The house felt wrong—too bright, too warm, too normal. Like I had stepped into someone else's life and didn't know how to act. I followed her to the bathroom in a daze. She opened the cabinet, pulled out the antiseptic, a stack of bandages, tweezers for the grit. Her hands shook slightly as she worked.

I stood by the sink, staring at my reflection in the mirror. I looked... like me. But hollowed out. Gone. I couldn't meet my own eyes. My chest tightened until I couldn't breathe.

"Let me see your knees," Mom said gently, kneeling down.

I sat on the closed toilet lid and let her touch me, clean the blood from my skin. I flinched when the antiseptic hit raw flesh, and she paused, murmuring an apology. I didn't speak. I couldn't.

"Emily..." Her voice cracked again. "Please talk to me. Please tell me what happened."

I stared past her, my lips sealed, my body rigid. I couldn't tell her. I couldn't even think the words. If I did—if I said it out loud—it would be real.

"You're safe now," she said, like she could make it true just by saying it. "Whatever it is, I promise I can handle it. You don't have to be afraid."

But I was. I was so afraid. Not just of Trevor, or what he did—but of what it meant. Of what people would think. Of how I'd see myself if I let it all out.

"Emily..." She brushed a strand of hair from my face, her eyes begging me to let her in. "You don't have to carry this alone. Whatever it is... I'm here."

Tears welled in my eyes, hot and heavy, but still I didn't speak. I couldn't.

She sighed softly and wrapped her arms around me again. I didn't fight it this time. I let her hold me. I let the silence stretch between us like a wound that wouldn't close.

And still, I said nothing.

---

Author's Note:
If this chapter brought up difficult emotions for you, please know that you are not alone.

In the United States:
You can contact RAINN (Rape, Abuse & Incest National Network) for 24/7 confidential support by calling 1-800-656-HOPE (4673) or visiting rainn.org to chat with a trained counselor.

Please note: RAINN connects callers to local providers, and experiences may vary. Some centers may not be affirming to trans or LGBTQ+ individuals, depending on the location. If you're LGBTQ+ and looking for a community-affirming resource, you may also consider contacting:

The Trevor Project
24/7 support for LGBTQ+ youth in crisis
Call: 1-866-488-7386
Text: START to 678-678
Web: thetrevorproject.org

Trans Lifeline
Peer support run by and for trans people
Call in U.S.: 877-565-8860
Web: translifeline.org

Internationally:
RAINN provides a list of global sexual assault resources at rainn.org/international-sexual-assault-resources.
Additionally, the RINJ Foundation offers international advocacy and support: rinj.org

Your story matters. Your healing matters. Take care of yourself and reach out when you're ready.

---

The days passed quickly, each one feeling heavier than the last. I found myself retreating further into the comfort of my room, avoiding the world outside.

Mom was patient—gently checking in on me, never pushing, but I could see the worry etched into her face. I wanted to reassure her, to tell her I was okay, but the truth felt like a locked door I couldn't find the key to.

And then, there was something else. Something worse.

A nagging thought I couldn't shake.

I had missed my period.

It was still too soon to know for sure, but the possibility of being pregnant loomed over me like a storm cloud, dark and suffocating.

I didn't know how to process it. What would it mean for my life? For my future?

What if I was?

That afternoon, I sat curled up on my bed, staring at my journal, the pages blank, waiting for the words I couldn't say out loud.

I picked up my pen.

"I'm scared."

The words spilled onto the paper, and suddenly, I couldn't stop.

I wrote about the moment it happened, the chaos that followed, the shame, the fear. And then, almost without thinking, I wrote—

"What if I'm pregnant? I can't even take care of myself right now."

The pen shook in my hand.

Tears blurred the ink.

I felt like I was losing control, like this was a nightmare I couldn't wake up from.

I didn't realize how much time had passed until my phone buzzed beside me.

**Jasmine: We're coming over.**

**Mia: No arguments. Open the door.**

I hesitated.

Part of me didn't want to see anyone—didn't want to deal with their worry, their questions.

But another part of me—the part that didn't want to be alone with my thoughts anymore—reached for my phone and typed back:

**Me: Okay.**

Fifteen minutes later, the familiar sound of Jasmine's impatient knock echoed through the house.

I shuffled to the door, opening it just enough to see their faces.

Mia's soft concern. Jasmine's barely-contained frustration.

And something else—something I hadn't realized I needed.

Relief.

Like they were just glad to see me.

Jasmine didn't even hesitate. "Okay, we're not doing this anymore." She pushed the door open wider, stepping inside before I could argue. "You've been avoiding us, and I get it, but you're not shutting us out. Not happening."

Mia followed, quieter, but no less determined. She set a bag of snacks on my desk like it was some kind of peace offering. "We figured you probably haven't eaten much. And even if you don't wanna talk, we're here."

I swallowed hard, stepping aside to let them in.

They settled onto my bed, waiting.

I sat down slowly, my hands twisting together in my lap.

I wanted to say something.

But the words felt too big.

Jasmine sighed. "Emily... please. You don't have to tell us everything. But at least tell us what's been going on."

I hesitated. Struggled.

And then—

"I think I might be pregnant."

The words came out before I could stop them.

Mia's breath hitched.

Jasmine's eyes widened.

The room fell into stunned silence.

Then—

"Wait, what?" Jasmine's voice was low, sharp with disbelief.

I felt my throat close up, but I forced myself to keep going. "I—I missed my period." My hands shook as I gripped the blanket beneath me. "I don't know for sure yet, but... I can't stop thinking about it."

Mia exhaled slowly, eyes filled with something I couldn't place. "Emily..."

I braced myself for the questions, the panic, the pity.

But instead, Jasmine took a steadying breath and said, "Okay."

I blinked. "Okay?"

She nodded. "Yeah. Okay. We can deal with this. We'll figure it out."

Mia placed a gentle hand over mine. "You don't have to go through this alone, Em. No matter what happens, we're here."

I felt my chest tighten.

Not from fear.

Not from panic.

But from relief.

That evening, I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the flyer Mia had pulled out of her bag.

Survivors of Trauma Support Group – Tuesday & Thursday at 7PM.

Jasmine had nudged it toward me earlier. "You don't have to go alone. If you want, we'll wait outside for you."

I had stared at it for a long time, the words blurring together, my thoughts spiraling.

Now, as the clock ticked closer to seven, I felt my stomach twist with nerves.

I wasn't sure if I could do this.

But I wanted to try.

Taking a deep breath, I grabbed my favorite sweater and walked downstairs.

Mom was in the kitchen, sipping tea when she saw me. Her eyes flicked to my coat, her brow furrowing slightly. "Going somewhere?"

I hesitated, then nodded. "I—I want to go to a support group."

Her eyes widened slightly. "Oh, Emily, that's... That's wonderful."

She stood, stepping closer. "Do you want me to go with you?"

I shook my head. "I think I need to do this alone."

Mom didn't push. She just wrapped me in a hug and whispered, "I'm so proud of you."

Mia and Jasmine waited outside while I stepped into the community center, my heart pounding.

The room was warm, welcoming. A circle of chairs. A few quiet conversations. A woman—probably the facilitator—smiling at me from across the room.

I exhaled shakily.

And then, for the first time, I spoke my truth.

"Hi. I'm Emily." My voice shook, but I pushed through. "This is my first time here."

"Welcome, Emily," the facilitator said, her voice soothing, steady. "You're in a safe space."

I wasn't ready to tell my full story. Not yet.

But I looked around the room, saw faces filled with quiet understanding.

As I sat in the circle, I kept my hands folded tightly in my lap, my fingers twisting together as the group began to share their stories.

Some spoke easily, their words flowing like water, as if they had told their story a hundred times before. Others hesitated, their voices trembling, but still, they spoke.

I listened, my heartbeat pounding in my ears.

The stories were different—some had happened years ago, others more recent—but the emotions were all the same. Fear. Pain. Shame.

But also—

Strength.

A woman in her thirties talked about how long it took her to trust again, about the years she spent blaming herself before realizing that what happened wasn't her fault.

Another person—an older guy, maybe in his forties—talked about how the world tells men to just "get over it", but how trauma doesn't care about gender.

I listened. I nodded.

But I still couldn't speak.

Then—

A voice, small and hesitant, broke the silence.

"U-Um... I'm Ellie."

I turned my head toward the girl across the circle.

She looked older than me—maybe sixteen, seventeen at most. Her hands gripped the sleeves of her hoodie, her fingers tugging at the fabric like she wanted to disappear inside it.

Her eyes darted around the room before finally landing on the floor.

"I, uh..." She swallowed hard. "I've never talked about this before. Not really."

I froze.

I knew that feeling.

That fear.

That weight of having too much to say, but no idea how to say it.

Ellie took a shaky breath. "I just... I keep wondering if it even matters. If talking about it will change anything."

I clenched my hands tighter in my lap.

She was voicing every thought I'd been too afraid to admit.

The facilitator, a woman named Rebecca, nodded kindly. "It matters, Ellie. Whether you talk today or six months from now, your voice deserves to be heard."

Ellie gave a small, uncertain nod but didn't say anything else.

I wanted to tell her I understood.

I wanted to tell her I felt the same way.

But the words caught in my throat.

Instead, when Ellie finally lifted her gaze, our eyes met.

And without thinking—without even fully realizing what I was doing—I gave her a small, hesitant nod.

A silent, me too.

Her shoulders relaxed just slightly.

Maybe, like me, she wasn't ready to talk.

But maybe she needed to know she wasn't alone.

And in that moment, sitting in that circle of strangers, I realized—

Neither was I.

The group continued to share their stories, but my focus kept drifting back to Ellie.

She had barely spoken, but her words stuck with me.

"I keep wondering if it even matters."

I knew that feeling. The fear that no one would believe me. That talking about it would just make it more real.

But something about the way Ellie had looked at me—the hesitation, the doubt—I recognized it.

Because it was my own reflection.

And for the first time since stepping into this room, I felt something shift inside me.

I had come here just to listen. To sit in silence, to absorb the stories of others and pretend I wasn't just as broken as they were.

But Ellie had spoken.

Even though she was scared.

Even though she didn't know if she could.

And suddenly, I realized—

Maybe I could too.

Rebecca, the facilitator, glanced around the room, her expression warm and patient. "Would anyone else like to share?"

The room was quiet.

I could feel my pulse in my throat.

My heart pounded.

I opened my mouth.

No words came out.

My hands shook in my lap. I clenched them into fists, willing them to be still.

Ellie was staring at the floor again.

Like she wished she had said more.

Like she wished she had the courage to keep going.

I took a deep breath.

And then—before I could talk myself out of it—I heard my own voice, soft, hesitant.

"...I'm scared."

The words hung in the air, barely above a whisper.

I felt everyone's eyes on me. Not in a bad way. Not in a way that made me feel exposed.

Just waiting.

Just listening.

So I swallowed the lump in my throat and kept going.

"I don't know how to... move forward." My voice wobbled, but I didn't stop. "It's like, I keep waking up and expecting to feel normal again, but I don't. And I don't know if I ever will."

A woman across from me nodded in understanding. Someone else murmured, "I felt that way too."

I kept going, heart racing, hands trembling.

"I'm scared of what comes next. I don't know if I'll ever be able to tell my parents. I don't know if I'll ever feel like myself again." My voice cracked on the last word.

I bit my lip, trying to keep the tears from spilling over.

And then—

Ellie looked at me.

This time, she was the one nodding.

And I knew.

Even though I had only said a few words, even though I had barely scratched the surface—

It mattered.

I mattered.

And for the first time, I started to believe it.

Rebecca smiled, her expression kind and knowing. "Thank you for sharing, Emily. That was very brave."

Brave.

I didn't feel brave.

But as the conversation shifted, as others continued to share, I felt something else.

Something I hadn't felt in a long time.

Hope.

The meeting wrapped up slowly, people exchanging quiet words and soft smiles as they stood from their chairs. Some lingered, talking to each other like old friends. Others, like Ellie and me, moved cautiously, unsure of where to go from here.

I glanced at her one last time as I grabbed my coat. She was staring down at her sleeves, tugging on the fabric again, deep in thought.

I wanted to say something—anything.

Maybe thank you for helping me find the courage to speak.

Maybe you're not alone.

But the words stuck, and before I could find them, she turned and slipped out the door.

I let out a slow breath, gripping my coat tighter as I stepped into the cool evening air.

And there, waiting just outside, were Jasmine and Mia.

Jasmine was pacing, arms crossed over her chest like she had way too much energy and nowhere to put it. The second she saw me, she froze, her eyes narrowing like she was scanning for damage.

Mia, on the other hand, was leaning against a railing, watching calmly but carefully.

The moment I stepped closer, Jasmine pounced.

"Okay, spill."

I blinked. "What?"

Jasmine threw her arms in the air. "What do you mean 'what'? We've been standing out here for an hour, dying to know what happened in there. Did it help? Did it suck? Did you cry? Do we need to fight anyone? Why is your face doing that thing where you look all... emotional?"

Mia rolled her eyes. "Jas. Let her breathe."

I let out a soft laugh, shaking my head. "It was... good."

Jasmine stared at me like I had just spoken a foreign language. "Good?"

Mia's expression softened. "You mean that?"

I hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah. I mean, it was hard. And scary. But I'm... I'm glad I went."

Jasmine crossed her arms, clearly not satisfied. "Okay, but did you talk? Or were you just sitting there the whole time, listening to sad people?"

Mia sighed heavily. "Jasmine, oh my gosh—"

"No, it's fine," I cut in, smiling slightly. "I actually... did talk. A little."

Jasmine's eyes widened. "Wait. You talked? Like, with words?"

I rolled my eyes. "That is how talking works."

Mia grinned. "Wow. Big moment."

Jasmine nodded seriously. "Okay, I'm proud. That takes guts."

I felt my chest tighten, but this time, it wasn't from fear or pain.

It was something else.

Something lighter.

"I told them I was scared," I admitted quietly. "And that I don't know what comes next. That I don't know if I'll ever feel normal again."

Jasmine's playful energy dimmed just slightly, but not in a bad way.

She just... looked at me.

Really looked at me.

"Em..." she murmured, her voice softer now. "That's huge."

Mia nodded. "Yeah. You did something really brave today."

I let out a slow breath. "I don't know if it was brave. I just... I needed to say it."

Jasmine nudged me with her elbow. "Same thing."

I smiled, and for the first time in a long time, it didn't feel forced.

As we walked toward the car, Jasmine suddenly spun on her heel, walking backward so she could face me.

"So, are you gonna go back?"

I hesitated.

Mia raised an eyebrow. "No pressure. Just... how do you feel about it?"

I thought about Ellie. About the moment our eyes met, about the small, silent me too.

I thought about my own voice, shaking but real.

I thought about the weight in my chest, the one that had been crushing me for weeks, and how, for the first time... it felt a little lighter.

"...Yeah."

Jasmine's face lit up. "Yeah? Like actually?"

I nodded. "Yeah. I think I want to go back."

Mia smiled. "Good."

Jasmine grinned. "I knew you'd be a therapy girl."

I laughed, shaking my head. "It's a support group, Jas."

"Same thing," she said, flipping her hair dramatically.

Mia sighed. "You have literally never been to either."

"Details."

I shook my head, smiling as they bickered, but deep down, I felt something new.

Something solid.

For weeks, I had felt like I was drowning.

Like I was alone in a sea of silence and fear.

But now?

Now, I had something to hold onto.

A group of people who understood.

A place where I could speak—when I was ready.

And two best friends who weren't going anywhere.

For the first time in weeks, I felt a little bit like myself again.

And for now—

That was enough.

---

The days kept passing, and my mind kept racing.

I told myself it was just stress. That everything—the trauma, the anxiety, the sleepless nights—was throwing my body out of sync.

But deep down, I knew.

Something wasn't right.

It hit me for real on a Wednesday morning, a couple of weeks later.

I'd been keeping track—circling the days in my planner, counting and recounting like maybe I'd made a mistake. But no matter how many times I checked, the numbers stayed the same.

It should've started by now.

Two weeks ago, actually.

The realization sank into my chest like ice, cold and heavy and suffocating.

I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the calendar like I could will the dates to change. My hands shook as I turned the pages back, then forward, over and over again.

No.

This couldn't be happening.

I wasn't ready for this.

I couldn't handle this.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to breathe. Trying to think.

Maybe it's nothing. Maybe it's just late. Maybe my body's just... scared, like the rest of me.

But what if it wasn't?

What if I was—

I couldn't even finish the thought. The word loomed at the edge of my mind, too big, too terrifying to fully let in.

I didn't want it to be true.

I wasn't sure I could survive it if it was.

That afternoon, I sat on my bed with my knees pulled tight to my chest, staring at the tiny paper bag on my nightstand.

Inside it was a pregnancy test.

It looked so small. Too small to hold something that could change everything.

Jasmine and Mia had gone with me to buy it—Mia, calm and methodical, reading every box like we were comparing brands of cereal; Jasmine, shooting daggers at anyone who even looked at us for too long.

But now? They weren't here.

I was alone.

And I had to do this.

I reached for the bag.

Then stopped.

My hands were shaking.

What if it's positive?

What if it's real?

I didn't want to know.

I didn't want to see those two little lines, because the second I did—it would all be real. It wouldn't just be fear or denial or guessing.

It would be truth.

And truth meant choices.

It meant consequences.

It meant no more hiding.

I squeezed my eyes shut, breath coming fast, chest tight. My heart thundered in my ears.

I couldn't do this.

I couldn't.

A knock at the door jolted me upright.

"Emily?"

Mia's voice—soft, careful.

I swallowed hard. "Yeah?"

The door creaked open. Mia peeked in.

Her eyes went to the bag on my nightstand. Then to me.

Without saying anything else, she stepped inside and sat down beside me.

"I can't do it," I whispered.

She didn't argue. She just nodded, like she'd already expected me to say that.

And maybe she did understand.

"You don't have to do it alone," she said quietly. "Jasmine's downstairs. She's stress-eating chips, if that tells you anything."

That pulled the tiniest smile from me. It was small. But it was real.

Mia nudged the bag gently toward me. "We're here. No matter what it says, we're not going anywhere."

I stared at the bag again.

Then at Mia.

Then—

I reached for it.

I took the bag with trembling hands and stood slowly, every movement feeling too loud, too heavy.

Mia didn't say anything. She just stood up beside me and followed as I walked toward the bathroom.

My legs felt like they might give out. My breath came shallow and quick. It was like walking toward a cliff and not knowing how far the drop would be.

Inside the bathroom, I closed the door and locked it behind me.

I stood there for a second, staring at the box in my hands.

This is happening.

I opened it. Pulled out the test. Read the instructions twice, even though Mia had already walked me through them earlier.

Then, with a deep breath and my heart hammering, I did what I had to do.

When I finished, I set it on the edge of the sink.

And waited.

Two minutes.

That's what the box said.

Two minutes felt like a lifetime.

I stared at the stick, afraid to blink. Afraid to look away. Afraid to look too closely.

I could hear Mia pacing softly outside the door, giving me space but still there. I didn't know what I would've done without her.

I glanced at the clock on my phone.

One minute.

My stomach twisted. My fingers dug into the hem of my sweatshirt.

Forty seconds.

Breathe.

Twenty.

Ten.

I squeezed my eyes shut.

Please, no.

Please.

When I opened them, the result was staring back at me.

Two lines.

Positive.

The world tilted.

I backed away from the sink, my knees hitting the edge of the tub. I sank down onto the floor, my arms wrapped around myself, the test still clutched in my shaking hand.

There it was.

The truth.

No more wondering.

No more what-ifs.

Just this.

A knock sounded again. Softer this time.

"Emily?" Mia's voice was quiet, barely more than a whisper. "You okay?"

I couldn't speak.

But I unlocked the door.

Mia stepped in slowly, eyes landing on me, then on the test in my hand.

She didn't need to ask.

She sat down beside me, her arms wrapping around my shoulders without a word.

And for the first time since this nightmare began, I let myself cry.

Not because I was weak.

But because it was real now.

And it was too heavy to carry alone.

Normally, Mom would drive me to school.

But today, I walked with Mia and Jasmine.

It was Monday.

I hadn't been back to school since Wednesday—the day I took the test.

After that, I just... couldn't.

I told Mom I was sick. She didn't argue. She let me stay in bed, bringing me tea and soup I didn't touch, brushing my hair back with that same quiet worry in her eyes. The kind that said she knew something was wrong but didn't know what, and didn't want to push too hard in case she broke me.

I spent the rest of the week curled up in silence, barely speaking, barely sleeping.

And now, somehow, it was Monday.

Mom offered to drive me—twice—but I said I needed the fresh air. I couldn't sit in that car, couldn't handle her worried glances or the silence pressing between us like it knew the truth I hadn't told.

She didn't push. She just looked at me like she always does lately—confused, concerned, trying not to say the wrong thing. She still doesn't know why I've changed.

And I can't tell her.

So I walked.

To myself, I kept repeating it like a mantra.

Nothing's changed. Nothing's changed.

That I could wake up, go to school, and pretend everything was normal. That I could still be Emily—the girl who sat with Mia and Jasmine at lunch, who groaned about math homework, who rolled her eyes at Jasmine's terrible jokes.

That I could shove it all down—the fear, the shame, the guilt—and keep moving forward.

But the problem was...

Everything had changed.

And pretending didn't make it any less real.

Jasmine kicked a pebble off the sidewalk as we walked, hands shoved in her hoodie pocket. "Okay, but if I fail that math quiz today, I'm blaming Mr. Carter and his weird obsession with word problems."

"Right?" Mia said, rolling her eyes. "No one cares how fast a train is going if I'm not even on the train."

I smiled—barely. It didn't quite reach my eyes, but it was the best I could do.

They were trying. I knew that. Keeping things light. Normal.

"Did you study at all?" I asked, my voice quieter than usual.

Jasmine scoffed. "Define study."

Mia raised an eyebrow. "Jasmine read the first page of the chapter, then watched a cat video compilation."

"In my defense," Jasmine said, holding up a finger, "it was educational. The cats were solving puzzles."

I let out a small laugh. Not forced. Just... brief.

It felt nice. Safe.

For a moment.

Then a silence settled between us—not awkward, just heavier.

Mia glanced over. "How are you feeling today?"

I hesitated.

Then shrugged. "Okay. I guess."

Jasmine looked over at me. "You sure?"

No. Not even close.

But I nodded anyway.

Mia didn't press. Jasmine didn't, either. They just walked beside me, close enough that I didn't feel like I might fall apart and disappear.

And even though everything inside me still felt cracked and raw, I was grateful for that.

For them.

For not asking me to be okay when I wasn't.

Just walking. Just being there.

And somehow, in the middle of everything that had changed...

That felt like something I could hold onto.

The school day dragged on, and I forced myself to go through the motions.

In the hallways, I smiled at the right times. In class, I took notes like I was actually paying attention. Like I was still a normal student with a normal life.

At lunch, I sat with Jasmine and Mia, listening to them like my world wasn't quietly crumbling underneath me.

"Okay, but tell me why my little cousin thought it would be funny to glue my phone to the table," Jasmine said, shaking her head. "Like, full-on super glue. I had to pry it off with a freaking spatula."

Mia snorted. "I wish I could've seen that."

I laughed, even though I barely registered what they were saying. The sound felt strange in my mouth—hollow.

Jasmine pointed her fork at me. "See, this is why I need you to hang out more. You and Mia are supposed to protect me from my dumb family."

I nodded, chewing on my lip. "Yeah. Totally."

Mia's smile faded as she looked at me a little closer. "You okay?"

My heart skipped.

I forced my expression into something neutral. "Yeah. Just tired."

Jasmine raised an eyebrow. "You've been 'just tired' a lot lately."

I shrugged. "School sucks."

That part, at least, wasn't a lie.

Jasmine seemed to accept it and went back to her story, but Mia kept watching me. Quiet. Careful.

I focused on my food, ignoring the way my stomach twisted at the smell. I hadn't really had an appetite since... well, since I found out.

Mia leaned in a little closer, her voice just above a whisper. "Are you feeling okay? Like... physically?"

I nodded quickly, not trusting my voice.

Jasmine caught the look between us and, for once, didn't say anything. She just kept her voice loud and cheerful, pulling attention away from us.

It was their unspoken way of protecting me—shielding me with their presence, their laughter, their carefully placed silences.

They hadn't told anyone. They wouldn't.

No one else at school knew.

And for now, that mattered more than anything.

I picked up my fork again and poked at my food, my stomach churning. I didn't eat much, but I stayed.

Because even when I couldn't talk about it, even when the weight in my chest felt unbearable

By the time I got home, I was drained.

Pretending had taken everything out of me. It always did.

Mom was in the kitchen, sorting through the mail. When I walked in, she looked up. Her eyes narrowed just slightly.

"You okay?"

I paused. Just enough to give myself away.

She'd been watching me more lately. I could feel it.

Like she knew. Not the details. But enough to sense the shift. The change in me.

I pulled a smile across my face like a coat I didn't want to wear. "Yeah. Just tired."

She didn't answer right away. Just watched me, the way she does when she's trying to read between the lines.

Then, finally, she nodded. "Alright. Just... let me know if you need anything, okay?"

I could tell she wanted to say more.

But she didn't.

And I wasn't ready.

So I just nodded and headed upstairs, my steps slow, my legs heavy.

I closed the door behind me and sat on the edge of my bed, staring at my hands.

They were shaking.

I could still hear Jasmine and Mia's voices in my head—their laughter, their effort to keep things normal, to keep me steady.

And yet—

I felt so alone.

I curled into myself, pressing my palms gently over my stomach.

It didn't look different.

But it felt different.

Like there was a secret inside me, wrapping itself around my ribs, making it hard to breathe.

I thought about Mom's face in the kitchen.

I thought about the way Mia kept watching me like she could see straight through the silence.

I thought about how, at any moment, this secret could come undone—and everything would fall with it.

And then—

I cried.

Not quiet tears. Not just misty eyes.

Real, aching, body-shaking sobs.

Because for the first time...

It felt real.

---

It had been a few weeks since everything changed.

Since the test.

Since the truth I’d tried so hard to bury finally settled into something I couldn’t ignore.

I’d been spending most of my afternoons at Mia’s house lately. It was quiet there, calm. Her parents worked late, and no one asked questions if I stayed for dinner or curled up on the couch with a blanket and a bowl of popcorn. Mia didn’t push. She didn’t ask. She just let me be—and right now, that was everything.

But today, I was at Jasmine’s house.

I hadn’t been there in a while. Not since I moved in with my new family.

Jasmine’s house had always been one of my favorite places to escape to. It was loud in the best way—full of motion and warmth. Music playing from the radio in the kitchen. The scent of something always cooking or baking. The soft murmur of Jasmine’s mom, Mrs. Carter, talking on the phone while sorting through paperwork at the counter.

It felt alive.

It felt normal.

And for once, I needed to remember what that felt like.

But even here, even surrounded by comfort and noise and people who cared—I couldn’t shake the truth pressing in around me.

There was a life growing inside me.

A living baby.

And as much as I wanted to stay in this suspended moment—this limbo where only Mia and Jasmine knew—deep down, I knew I couldn’t hide forever.

Eventually, my body would change. The secret would show. My mom would know. Everyone would.

I would have to tell them.

And the thought of that made my throat close up and my heart pound.

But pretending was getting harder.

Because no matter how quiet I stayed… time was moving forward.

And this—this little life—wasn’t going to stay a secret much longer.

Mia was already on the couch when I walked in, legs curled beneath her, scrolling through her phone.

“Finally,” Jasmine said, grinning as she flopped down beside her. “I was about to send a search party.”

I rolled my eyes, forcing a smirk. “Sorry. Had to escape my house first.”

Mia looked up. “Your mom still hovering?”

I hesitated for half a second, then nodded. “Yeah.”

Technically, it wasn’t a lie. Mom had been watching me more closely lately, always with that soft, questioning look—like she could feel the truth pressing against the surface but didn’t know what to ask.

“Don’t worry,” Jasmine said, stretching dramatically. “You’re safe here. Unless Mom tries to feed you her ‘experimental’ lasagna again.”

From the kitchen, Mrs. Carter scoffed. “Excuse me? That lasagna was amazing—it had flair.”

Mia whispered, “It had raisins.”

I laughed, letting myself relax just a little—for the first time all day.

For now, at least, I could pretend.

Later that afternoon, Jasmine and Mia were still bickering over movie choices—Mia wanted something funny, Jasmine was pushing for explosions—so I stepped outside for some air.

That’s when I saw it.

Or rather—what was left of it.

The burned ruins of my old house.

I hadn’t even thought about it before coming here. Maybe I’d blocked it out, forced myself to forget it was just down the street from Jasmine’s place.

But there it was.

Charred wood, collapsed walls, and weeds growing through the blackened foundation—just a skeleton of what used to be my home.

I froze.

My throat tightened as I stared.

I hadn’t been there when it burned. I had already been placed in the foster home that would eventually become my real home.

I remembered the day I found out about the fire—how weird it had felt. Like someone had pressed the erase button on my past.

Was I supposed to feel sad?

Angry?

Relieved?

Because the truth was… my birth mother had never really been a mother. She was chaos in human form. A storm I had lived through. She hurt me in ways I didn’t want to remember.

But still…

She was gone.

And standing here now, looking at what remained of that house, I felt that hollow feeling creep back in.

I had lost her.

But had I really lost anything?

“Hey.”

I flinched at the voice, spinning around.

Jasmine stood on the porch, arms crossed, but her usual teasing grin was gone. Her expression was calm. Serious.

“You okay?”

I hesitated, turning back toward the ruins. “I… I don’t know.”

She walked closer, standing beside me.

For a long moment, we didn’t speak.

Then, quietly, she said, “I hated that place.”

I glanced at her. “You did?”

She nodded slowly. “Yeah. I hated what she did to you. And I hated that you had to pretend like it didn’t matter.”

I swallowed hard. My hands clenched into fists at my sides.

I never talked about it.

Not the bruises.

Not the fear.

Not the way silence had always felt safer than truth.

People liked neat stories. Happy endings. Not messy, complicated pain.

Jasmine looked at me again, softer this time. “You don’t have to say anything. But you know you don’t have to carry it alone, right?”

I bit the inside of my cheek, blinking fast. “Yeah. I know.”

She nudged my arm lightly. “Good. Now come inside before Mia picks something depressing.”

A small laugh slipped out of me. “Fine. But if it sucks, I’m blaming you.”

“Obviously,” she grinned, already heading back toward the door.

I followed her inside, the warmth of the house meeting me like a quiet hug.

I wasn’t healed.

I wasn’t whole.

But for the first time in a while… I wasn’t carrying everything by myself.

And for now, that was enough.

Back inside, Jasmine collapsed onto the couch with a dramatic sigh.

“Okay, Mia, what cinematic masterpiece have you forced upon us?” she asked, stretching out like she was about to endure a great hardship.

Mia rolled her eyes and held up the remote. “It’s called Birdemic: Shock and Terror.”

There was a long pause.

Jasmine sat up slowly. “…The hell is a Birdemic?”

Mia smirked. “You’ll see.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Wait, I think I’ve heard of this—”

Jasmine groaned as the movie started, revealing the world’s most awkwardly long opening scene of some guy driving in silence for what felt like ten minutes straight.

“Oh, this is already a disaster,” Jasmine muttered.

I couldn’t argue.

The movie dragged on with no birds in sight—just awkward dialogue, weirdly long shots of people walking, and… was that a Microsoft Paint effect?

I side-eyed Mia. “Are you punishing us?”

Mia just grinned, kicking her feet up on the couch. “Shh. Let the story unfold.”

Jasmine groaned louder. “What story? This dude’s been driving since we started! Is this Fast and Featherless? Where are the freaking birds?”

Twenty minutes in, I started counting down the minutes until the birds would actually show up.

But they didn’t.

Thirty minutes.

Still no birds.

Forty-five minutes.

Still. No. Birds.

Jasmine sat up suddenly, pointing at the screen. “Wait. WAIT. I saw a bird. I saw a bird—oh wait, no, that was a car mirror reflection.”

Mia laughed as I covered my face. “This is painful.”

An hour in, Jasmine threw up her hands. “Mia, I swear, if the birds don’t show up in the next five minutes, I’m throwing your TV out the window.”

“They’ll come,” Mia said calmly, like some kind of evil movie-watching mastermind.

And then—

Finally—

With twenty minutes left in the movie—

The birds appeared.

And when I say “appeared,” I mean hovered awkwardly on screen, not moving, with their wings completely still, making random screaming sounds.

I gaped. “They’re not even flapping.”

Jasmine screamed into a pillow.

The characters started running away from the hovering, unmoving birds, flailing their arms as if they were under actual attack.

Jasmine pointed wildly at the screen. “What are they even running from?! The birds are just chilling! They’re literally floating there!”

I had to clamp a hand over my mouth to keep from howling. “Mia. MIA. This is the worst thing I’ve ever seen.”

Mia was grinning, unbothered. “Art.”

Jasmine nearly fell off the couch. “DID THAT GUY JUST SHOOT A BIRD OUT OF THE SKY WITH A COAT HANGER?!”

I wheezed, tears forming in my eyes. “I—I think so—oh my God—”

The next few minutes were pure chaos.

Characters shouting at nothing, birds screaming like they were in agony, and then—just as suddenly as they appeared—the birds just…

Left.

Like that.

No explanation. No reason. Just… gone.

The movie ended.

The credits rolled.

And for a long moment, no one spoke.

Then Jasmine turned to Mia, deadly serious.

“…You’re banned from picking movies.”

Mia burst out laughing. “Oh come on! That was amazing!”

I wiped tears of laughter from my eyes. “That was the worst thing I’ve ever seen.”

Jasmine nodded.

“Yeah. And we’re watching Birdemic 2 next week.”

I laughed so hard I nearly fell off the couch.

Jasmine stared right at Mia. “No we’re not!”

Mia just smirked.

And for the first time, I didn’t feel the weight of my secret.

I just felt… happy.

Even if it was at the expense of the worst movie of all time.

We were still sprawled across Jasmine’s living room after Birdemic, the kind of silence that only follows emotional damage settling over us.

“I feel like I need to bleach my brain,” Jasmine finally muttered, her head buried in a pillow.

“That was cinematic warfare,” I said, groaning. “I don’t think I’ll ever hear a bird chirp the same way again.”

Mia, unfazed, popped another piece of popcorn into her mouth. “You guys just don’t appreciate artistic vision.”

“Vision?” Jasmine lifted her head, eyes wide. “That movie violated my eyes.”

I laughed. “Okay, but she’s right. We need to do something fun. Like… cleanse the soul fun.”

Jasmine sat up suddenly, like she’d just been struck by inspiration. “Dude, you wanna crash the mall?”

Mia blinked. “Crash the mall?”

“Yeah,” Jasmine said, eyes gleaming. “We show up uninvited. We cause chaos. We spend no money and leave an emotional impact that lasts forever.”

“I’m sorry, are we becoming a girl band or a criminal organization?” I asked.

“Both,” Jasmine said without missing a beat. “Think about it. We eat way too much food, try on clothes we’d never actually wear in public, and maybe sneak into that weird massage chair store pretending we’re elite spa critics.”

“Spa critics,” Mia repeated flatly.

“High-end,” Jasmine said, tossing her hair like she was already famous. “We’ll speak in British accents.”

“Oh no,” I said, laughing. “We’re gonna get banned again, aren’t we?”

“Banned is such a harsh word,” Jasmine said with mock offense. “I prefer politely asked never to return.”

Mia shook her head but was already reaching for her jacket. “You’re lucky I’m bored.”

“I’m lucky you love me,” Jasmine said, grabbing her keys. “Let’s go make questionable choices in a public place.”

I stood up, grinning despite myself. “Mall chaos? I'm in.”

“Then it's settled,” Jasmine declared, pointing toward the door like a general leading her troops. “To the battleground!”

We marched out like we had an actual mission.

To everyone else, it was just another afternoon.

To us, it was a rebellion in leggings and hoodies.

The mall wasn’t ready.

We walked in like we owned the place—hoodies up, sunglasses on, zero chill. Jasmine led the way like she was the ringleader of a very stylish, very poorly planned heist. Mia and I followed close behind, already laughing before we’d even made it past the fountain.

“Target first?” Jasmine asked, spinning on her heel.

“I thought we were crashing the mall,” Mia said, smirking. “Target feels a little tame.”

“I’m easing us in,” Jasmine said. “We don’t drop the chaos bomb until the second lap.”

We hit the food court first, because obviously.

Jasmine ordered nachos. Mia got bubble tea. I grabbed a pretzel the size of my face.

“Okay,” Jasmine said, dipping a chip, “step one: we infiltrate. Step two: we humiliate ourselves publicly. Step three: we get kicked out or immortalized.”

“Depends on the security guards,” Mia added, sipping from her oversized straw like she was narrating a spy movie.

I couldn’t stop smiling. Everything felt loud and alive, and even though the ache in my chest never totally disappeared, I could actually breathe again.

We hit the clothing stores next.

We tried on everything that looked even remotely cursed—feathered vests, neon jumpsuits, pants with suspicious zippers in places no zippers should be.

“Why does this dress make me look like a Victorian ghost who works at Hot Topic?” I asked, stepping out of the fitting room.

“I love that for you,” Jasmine said, snapping a photo.

Mia emerged next, wearing cargo pants so big she looked like she could smuggle three toddlers. “These pants have seven pockets. What does anyone need seven pockets for?”

Jasmine grinned. “Vengeance.”

We got scolded once—Mia climbed into one of the window displays and pretended to be a mannequin until an employee gave her the look.

“Worth it,” she whispered as we walked away, all three of us trying not to laugh.

It was when we passed a little accessories boutique near the center of the mall that I heard it.

"Why’d you have to go and make things so complicated…"

Avril’s voice floated through the store’s speakers, faint but clear, mixing with the buzz of shoppers and the clatter of hangers.

I stopped for just a second.

It was the kind of song I’d heard a million times—loud, angsty, catchy. But now? It felt like someone had pulled it straight out of my head and hit play.

Mia glanced over, catching the look on my face. She didn’t say anything—just gave me the softest, knowing smile.

And Jasmine, oblivious as always, was holding up two different sunglasses. “Okay, what says ‘mall menace’ more—sparkly cat-eyes or these ones that look like they were stolen from a Barbie dream funeral?”

I shook the thought off and smiled. “Go with the Barbie ones. They’re cursed.”

“Say no more,” she grinned.

And just like that, I let myself fall back into the moment.

In Claire’s, Jasmine tried on every ridiculous accessory she could find—giant butterfly clips, sparkly sunglasses, fake clip-in colored hair. She posed dramatically in the mirror, flipping her newly “dyed” streak.

“I’m in my rebellious glitter era,” she declared.

“You’ve been in that era since birth,” Mia said.

I sat on one of the chairs near the checkout, watching them with a smile that felt half too big for my face and half like it might fall apart if I let my guard down.

They didn’t ask questions. They didn’t push.

They just kept making me laugh.

And I loved them for that.

Our final act of chaos was pretending to be influencers in Sephora.

Jasmine held up a sparkly highlighter like it was made of gold. “This product changed my life,” she said to no one, in a fake posh accent.

Mia nodded seriously. “Yes, darling. I no longer cry in public.”

I laughed until my stomach hurt.

No one kicked us out. No one stopped us.

And as we walked back through the mall with sore feet and empty wallets (even though we bought nothing), I realized something:

I still didn’t have all the answers.

But in that moment—arms linked with my best friends, the echo of Avril still lingering somewhere behind us, the weight in my chest just a little bit lighter—I didn’t need them.

Not yet.

Because life was complicated.

We were still laughing as we stepped out into the parking lot, the evening air cooling our skin, the sky above streaked in pink and lavender. Jasmine was recounting Mia’s “influencer voice” in Sephora, and Mia kept insisting she could totally get sponsored if she wanted to.

I was halfway through a giggle when my phone buzzed in my pocket.

I pulled it out, still smiling—

And then the smile dropped.

Mom.

My chest tightened.

I froze mid-step.

“Everything okay?” Mia asked, noticing the change in my expression.

I nodded automatically, but my voice didn’t come out right. “Yeah. Just—my mom’s calling.”

Jasmine and Mia fell quiet, both of them watching me now, that easy energy from earlier fading just a little.

I stared at the screen for a second longer before answering. “Hey.”

“Hi, sweetheart,” Mom said, her voice soft. “You doing okay? You didn’t answer my text earlier.”

I blinked. I hadn’t even seen it.

“Oh. Sorry. We were just walking around,” I said, trying to keep my tone light. “The mall.”

“Did you eat?” she asked.

“Yeah.” Sort of.

There was a pause on her end, like she wanted to ask more but wasn’t sure if she should.

“You’ll be home soon?” she finally asked.

“Yeah. Probably in a bit.”

“Okay.” Another pause. “I just miss you.”

My throat tightened. “I know. I miss you too.”

“Okay. Just… be safe, alright?”

“I will.”

We hung up.

I let the phone fall to my side and exhaled, slow and shaky.

“She worry-watching again?” Jasmine asked gently.

I nodded, my fingers curling tighter around the phone. “Yeah.”

No one said anything right away.

Then Mia reached out and nudged my arm. “You okay?”

I swallowed hard. “I think I have to tell her soon.”

They didn’t try to tell me what to do.

They didn’t offer easy answers.

They just stood with me, quiet and steady, as the weight settled back in.

I wasn’t ready.