Prologue
It took exactly seven seconds for my life to unravel.
A single ringtone sliced through the warm background noise: the soft clinking of cups, my friend's muffled laughter, the distant hum of a vacuum cleaner.
Seven seconds. One call. A blink. A single breath.
And then I stood there, phone in hand, lungs full of trapped air. The words I'd heard tangled in my mind like loose threads.
Rest stop. Missing. No trace.
My eyes landed on the sticky cornflake bowls still sitting on the kitchen table. I pushed them aside, numb, as if that could somehow move reality out of the way.
But nothing could change what had happened.
I have no idea how long I sat there. The hours slipped by in silence until, at some point, Tatjana gently shook me.
"Come on, I'll take you home," her mother said softly.
In the car, rain streaked the windows as the city blurred past like a washed-out painting.
Home. A place that no longer existed.
The door was harder to open than usual, almost as if it were warning me. I stepped over the threshold and held my breath.
Everything looked the same. Coats on the rack, a kitchen chair slightly askew, the faint scent of Mom's lemon cleaner in the air.
It was far too quiet. The clock ticked too loudly. And then that chill, sneaking in from the open door.
I searched the hallway.
In a second, Mom will come out of the bathroom. Dad will ask why I look so pale.
But nothing happened.
My mouth went dry. "Mama? Mom?" Silence. Only the sound of my own breathing.
The blinking red light of the security cameras. Dad's weird little hobby I always made fun of. Now, I wished they held an answer.
My grip on the phone tightened as reality finally hit me.
I opened my call log. Mom. Two missed calls. That was all I had left of her.
Then the phone slipped from my hand.
And it was crystal clear: They weren't coming back.
I don't remember how much time passed before the wail of sirens shattered the silence.
A police officer appeared in the doorway. Gaunt face, serious eyes. His voice was calm. Too calm.
"Your aunt is on her way to pick you up."
His expression mirrored my own panic.
I packed. Or maybe I didn't. I moved. Like a machine switched to autopilot. My hands felt strange, as if they didn't belong to me. Stiff.
The officers told me to prepare for a long stay. Tatjana carefully folded my clothes and put them in a suitcase while I stared out the window.
At some point, my body drifted toward the door, but my mind was stuck in the past. I looked at the bookshelf, the abandoned coffee mugs, the family photo above the couch.
One last ridiculous thought flashed through my head: Maybe I should take out the trash.
Then a car pulled up outside.
Hands settled gently on my shoulders. Hands that meant well but couldn't reach me.
My phone buzzed relentlessly in my pocket as the bags were loaded into the trunk.
All that was missing was some dramatic movie soundtrack.
But this wasn't a movie. There was no sudden rescue, no credits rolling.
Only my life, in pieces.
1 – Waking in the Fog
Heavy clouds pressed down on the small town, rain smearing the streetlights into pale streaks on the asphalt as we drove through wet, empty streets. Claire gripped the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles turned white, eyes locked straight ahead. I leaned my head against the window. Seven hours on the road, barely a word spoken.
The houses here looked as if they'd forgotten how to be lived in. Plain, cracked, with stained windows. Somewhere, a motorcycle revved, struggling against the silence. Then nothing again.
I tugged at the frayed threads of my sweater. Maybe if I tried hard enough, I could hold together something that was already broken.
"You'll get used to living with us soon enough," Claire said, sounding like she was reading off a script.
A few minutes later, even softer: "I know this is a lot. But they insisted you come right away. So you can finish school."
I frowned. They? Part of me didn't want to know.
Yeah. Graduation.
The houses grew shabbier, the atmosphere heavier. I already hated it. Remote didn't even begin to cover it. This was the end of the world, after a winding drive through endless forest. On a street corner, a group of teenagers lingered. One of them stared at me a beat too long, sending a chill down my spine. I looked away, trying to shake off the unease settling in my bones. Everything here screamed, Keep out.
"You'll see, Nova. It's not all bad here," Claire tried again, her voice warming a little. "The sea's not far…"
I didn't answer, nodded absentmindedly.
My thoughts spun relentlessly around their faces. How it had all fallen apart so fast.
Movie nights and heated debates with my parents felt like scenes from someone else's dream, growing more distant with every passing mile.
While Claire silently bit her lower lip, a bare tree flashed by outside, its branches splayed out like fingers trying to hold on to something, like me.
We turned onto a narrow street lined with sagging fences and overgrown yards. "Here we are," Claire mumbled, barely audible above the engine.
I climbed out, every muscle protesting. The wind bit through my clothes, sharp and insistent. The house was small and old, the garden wild and tangled. Our gardener Pietro would have fainted at the sight. And this was supposed to be my new home?
Just perfect. The perfect gloomy backdrop for my own personal tragedy.
"Nova!" A bright voice broke through my thoughts. Mia ran up to me, her blond curls a splash of color in the gray world. Her hug was warm, but I couldn't return it. My arms felt frozen.
Mia led me through the house, chattering about every detail like we were on some epic discovery tour. I let her lead me to my new room. A guest room now claimed as my own. At least I had a place to retreat, no need to share.
Later, as I sat on the guest bed unpacking, Mia pulled out one of my old books. "Seriously? Two suitcases and this is what you packed?" She eyed me cautiously, waiting for my reaction.
I forced a smile, but it felt all wrong, like a costume that didn't fit. Those books, my vintage camera, and my sketchpads. These were all I had left of my old life. A tiny anchor. Of course she couldn't understand.
She laughed and shrugged. "No worries. I have enough clothes for both of us." Her voice was cheerful, but I could tell she was trying to fill the silence.
Upstairs in the attic, her room looked exactly like I'd imagined. Bright, chaotic, bursting with life. An explosion of colors, posters of perfume ads and rock bands, three clothes racks, and a mountain of laundry that seemed to shout: I live wild and free.
Mia could be herself, as if nothing was wrong. She picked out outfits for me while I sat on the edge of her bed, a ghost in a world I didn't recognize.
Then Ben appeared in the doorway, his hesitant smile a rare bright spot. "It's wild that you're living with us now."
"Yeah. Wild," I echoed.
Of course my life had to follow the classic restart trope.
Ben's awkwardness was oddly comforting. Some things never changed, no matter how upside-down the rest of the world got. He'd always been the quiet rock, the one who disappeared into video games while chaos raged around him. He looked like Mia with his wild curls and broad mouth, but they couldn't have been more different.
When the silence started to get heavy, Mia cut in:
"Remember Italy? How we joked about living in the same town one day?"
I nodded, feeling like I owed her something nice.
"Yeah, at least there's that. If you end up homeless, there are worse places to land than with you guys." Their faces lit up.
"There's the sharp-tongued Nova we remember," Mia grinned. But there was nothing left of that in me. Only a heavy, exhausted silence, like someone had erased who I used to be.
"Hey, I'm sorry about what, uh…happened with your parents," Ben mumbled.
He must have seen the change in my face.
"Ben!" Mia hissed, whipping around like he'd crossed some forbidden line.
She kept rambling, but my thoughts were already drifting elsewhere.
Soon I'd have to dive into this new reality, as if life kept going. I could've asked why I couldn't stay with Tatjana for a few days. Or at home. To wait a little longer. To hope. But I'd come along, watching myself from the outside. And Claire never asked if I was ready.
Now I was stuck finishing my last year at a new school. Like I'd ever be ready for that in some parallel universe. Great. And I had no idea how I was supposed to make it through.
I can't even cry.
Everything was blocked inside me, like a dam that wouldn't break.
But hey, who needs emotions when you can fake-smile your way through a new school?, I thought bitterly.
And then, lying in bed, the dam finally broke and everything came pouring out. At last. Tomorrow would be dark, and the day after, and every day after that. And still—I'd have to keep going, no matter how empty I felt. The world wouldn't wait.
Maybe they were still alive. Maybe they were out there somewhere. Hurt, but alive. The thought was a straw to cling to, thin and ridiculous. But I couldn't let it go.
***
When I finally opened my eyes after a restless night, the previous day felt unreal like a dream. A second of calm, then reality hit. My memory returned. Merciless. They were gone. Maybe for good. I couldn't force my eyes all the way open. The room was foreign. The wallpaper stained, the window warped. Nothing about this place felt like home. I buried myself under the covers, barely moving. Didn't eat, didn't speak.
Claire would knock sometimes, pace around the room, set down a plate or pour tea like she was following some script.
By evening, she stood in the doorway, arms crossed. "You have to go to school tomorrow, Nova. This can't go on."
No accusation. No warmth, either. Only a tone that said: I don't know what else to do.
I stayed silent. Of course I'd go. It was easier to obey than to feel.
***
Claire's voice pulled me from my fog the next morning. I'd barely moved three feet in twenty-four hours. Even now, I stayed in bed. Maybe if I kept my eyes shut, everything would disappear.
Play dead, Nova.
In my old life, Dad had always told me to keep my head up.
"No matter what happens, Nova, you're a fighter. Don't forget that," he'd say. The words were firm but worried. Now I had to find that strength in myself.
With a dull ache in my stomach, I got dressed.
Pull yourself together. First impressions matter.
Half an hour of chaos later, I was on my way to school. This wasn't a visit, not an exchange year. This was permanent.
Even in daylight, the streets felt grim. Billboards faded and crumbling. The economy here must be tanking.
"Guess the wind never gives up in this place."
Mia arched an eyebrow but didn't answer. The building looked like a fortress. Glass and concrete, cold and unwelcoming. We were greeted by a metal detector. Great, even the school has prison vibes.
Mia glanced at me. "Get used to it."
Ahead of us, a boy with a weird zigzag pattern shaved into his hair and a patched-up jacket was told to open his backpack. The security guard eyed him closely.
When the metal detector beeped, everyone turned to look at a nervous girl in a battered baseball cap. Something heavy settled over me.
I'd never faced anything like this, growing up in one of the city's best neighborhoods. This was a different world.
Welcome to your new life. Metal detector, a bunch of pale country weirdos. Like auditioning for The Walking Dead.
I hated myself for how snarky and stuck-up I sounded, even in my own head. But I couldn't turn it off. Snark was how I coped.
Walking through the detector, I felt not only the chill of the metal but the suspicion in the air. Was everyone here a suspect?
Inside, it was the usual chaos. Voices echoing off high ceilings, students flooding the halls like a tidal wave. Too many, moving too fast. Mia kept waving to people. I trailed along, invisible.
Unfamiliar faces everywhere, all sneaking glances at me, as if they could tell right away I didn't belong. A girl in the corner eyed me like I was some kind of specimen under a microscope.
Bet they don't get many new faces in this dump.
I yanked my cap lower.
"Don't worry, you'll survive," Mia said, nudging me in the ribs. "And lose the face. I know exactly what you're thinking."
I nodded, but her words bounced right off. I followed her through the corridors, trying to disappear. Some students whispered in little clusters, others pressed themselves against the walls, trying to disappear. The air was stale, and the noise made it hard to think straight. A few guys looked like they'd walked out of a mugshot.
I breathed easier once we'd passed.
What am I even doing here?
I kept my eyes fixed on the wall. Not that it mattered. I had bigger problems.
Even though I'd promised myself nothing would get to me today, grief kept creeping in at the edges. Like a thorn under my skin, impossible to ignore.
Eventually, we reached a lounge area with brightly painted benches, the paint peeling off in strips.
"These are my people," Mia announced as we stopped in front of a group. "Theresa, Logan, Selma, and Hannah."
Theresa, sharp-featured with glossy dark hair, looked me up and down, half curious, half skeptical. "So this is the famous cousin?" She lowered her coffee cup, her wine-red nails tapping the lid.
"Yeah. Nova," I answered shortly.
Logan, his brown hair a mess and comic hoodie faded with age, grinned. "City girl, right?"
"Hard to miss," I muttered.
Hannah, petite with a jaw-length blonde bob and thick eyeliner, leaned in. "You're pretty," she said, like it was a fact.
I blinked, caught off guard. "Uh, thanks?"
Theresa snorted. "Don't mind Hannah. She admires anything that's not from Ashport."
Hannah ducked her head, embarrassed. "Not my fault if city people have more presence."
Logan pulled a face. "So what are we then? Small-town mud with legs?"
Mia snorted. "Exactly."
I managed a tiny smile. For the first time since I got here, I didn't feel completely out of place.
By the time I reached the classroom, nerves had twisted my stomach. Math. My least favorite subject, and Mia wasn't in this class. Hannah was, but she didn't seem comfortable either, hiding behind layers of makeup. I sat near the door. The room felt too small. Would the teacher call on me?
Fantastic. A panic attack mixed with incomprehensible math problems. The dream combo.
Mr. Ringold seemed like a decent guy, and I could tell he knew I wanted to stay invisible.
My head was heavy, the lesson only a dull hum.
Sometimes, the room blurred and I thought I saw my parents' silhouettes in the corners. But then I'd blink and be right back in this nightmare without answers.
When the bell rang, I glanced at my notebook:
3 – 2 = 1
Big, elaborate, scribbled without thinking. Yeah. I was the one left over.
***
When the hallway emptied, I squeezed through the crowd toward the exit. Surrounded by strangers, I felt like a bystander in my own life.
Who's that girl, trying so hard to disappear?
Mia found me outside and hooked her arm through mine, dragging me along. Not exactly thrilled, but with no better plan, I let her and her friends pull me toward the skatepark. They seemed excited, and I had no interest in going home alone. What would I even do there? Cry?
I put one foot in front of the other, but I was only half there. An old man with stooped shoulders glared at us from beside his battered car.
Some adults look at teenagers like we're a whole different species. Too loud, too wild, too dangerous. Probably reminds them of what they've lost.
"So, how was your first day?" Mia asked. "Run into any Ashport freaks yet?"
"Glad it's over. And wow, the bomber jacket selection was impressive," I replied. Even I could hear how sour I sounded. What must they think of me?
"I get it!" Logan chimed in sympathetically.
"I wouldn't want to start over from scratch! Exhausting," Theresa agreed.
No kidding. I'd rather be anywhere else.
I couldn't stop the frustration rising in me, so I stopped talking. Theresa's wide eyes were already getting on my nerves. I wasn't sure I even wanted to get to know these people better. My chest tightened as sadness crawled up inside me, heavy and relentless. I was tired of having to be strong. The tears were right there, but I refused to let them fall.
The skatepark was like a scar on the town. Splintered ramps, layers of graffiti. The wind carried the stale smell of cold smoke and wet concrete. Somewhere, a skateboard slapped against the pavement, the sound flat and lonely.
Crumpled cups and cigarette butts filled the cracks in the concrete, traces of people who'd already moved on. My eyes caught on a red symbol. A lightning bolt in a circle, half painted over. Next to it, faded red letters: "They're watching us."
How cute.
"That creepy thing? Yeah, it's everywhere. No one talks about it though," Logan said, noticing where I'd been staring. He shrugged, all casual. His default mode.
Real welcoming. Like the judgy faces of the badly made-up girls nearby. The teens here - saggy clothes, zero fashion sense - blended into the run-down skatepark like another layer of graffiti. A tired place for tired souls. I was too distracted to notice the door behind me creak open. Then—
The background noise shifted. Conversations quieted, skaters came to a halt, as if weighing their next move. Their eyes darted sideways, and without meaning to, I found mine following theirs.
A boy stood in the open doorway of the music shop next to the skatepark. Stocky, with a round face and a look that instantly said, "I'm in charge here." Bulldog. That was the word that popped into my head. He was clearly feeling pretty pleased with himself.
I rolled my eyes mentally.
A few other guys stepped into the light behind him. Tall, dressed in black, hard to pin down. Musicians or troublemakers? Some carried black instrument cases, but that didn't prove anything.
They moved through the park like they owned the place. Calm. Confident. A few people instinctively shifted out of their way. A girl laughed, but the moment one of the guys -shaved head, dark eyes, tattoos snaking up his neck- gave her a brief once-over, she fell silent.
First impression? Somewhere between "dangerous gang" and "wannabe bad boys."
"Careful, that's Zayn," Hannah muttered. She used the tone you save for someone you don't want to cross.
I was about to ask when Mia perked up. Her gaze locked onto a tall boy pulling his hoodie low over his forehead as he walked. Dark, messy hair tumbled over his brow. He glanced up -a quick scan of the scene- but in that fleeting moment, he seemed to size up everything and everyone.
So that was Zayn.
"Who's that?" The words slipped out before I could stop them. Theresa grinned. "Oh, him."
"Oh, him?"
"Zayn Rochester." She shook her head slightly, as if I should have known the name already. "Lead singer of The Guardians."
I waited for her to elaborate.
She leaned in, lowering her voice. "And probably the reason half of Ashport makes stupid decisions."
Of course. It all clicked. The posters in Mia's room, the way the skaters whispered. So, they were a band.
"I heard they robbed a gas station recently," Hannah whispered, her expression making it impossible to tell if she was joking.
"Yeah, cold as ice. With a gun!" Logan added dryly, looking more relaxed than most yoga instructors.
The group stood out sharply against the gray concrete, like dark silhouettes cut from an old photograph.
Besides Bulldog and the guy with the shaved head and Latin looks, there were two more. One was a pierced guy with bleached blond hair, fist-bumping a broad-shouldered, laid-back dude, as if they belonged to some secret society.
Suppressing a snort, I took a sip of Mia's bubble tea and immediately spat it out.
That Zayn guy had tilted his head to the side, a muscle twitching in his jaw. Like he'd picked up on something at the edge of his vision he didn't like.
He leaned against a ramp, took a water bottle from one of the others, and drank. Slowly. Unfazed. But those piercing pale eyes, set deep in his face, never left the park for a second.
A skater stumbled. His gaze shot to the group. Bulldog smirked. Amused or bored, it was hard to tell.
"You think they'll play on Halloween?" asked Selma, who had short hair and a tough-guy stance.
It was obvious. Other groups were whispering about the band too.
Bad boys and B-list local legends. The ultimate cliché combo. No wonder hopelessly romantic girls couldn't help being drawn in.
"If they don't get a better gig or end up in trouble, they'll probably play... at least then some older kids will show up," Logan said.
Someone slapped Bulldog on the back. A short, sharp sound. The pierced guy chewed on a straw, eyes half closed, but alert.
Zayn stood a little apart, but the whole scene seemed to revolve around him. Whether he wanted it or not. Maybe that was exactly why.
A skateboard slid to a stop at his feet. No flinch. No rush. He nudged it aside like it was nothing.
My eyes lingered on his hands. Strong, a little red. Had he punched a wall recently? Or something worse?
And then, out of nowhere, a ridiculous thought.
I wonder what those hands would feel like on my skin?
I frowned. Where the hell had that come from?
Then something else caught my eye. The ring on his finger. He kept spinning it, a small restless movement. Nervous. Didn't quite fit with the unshakeable cool he gave off.
A girl with striking dyed red hair joined the group. Apparently, the guys had been waiting for her. They got moving, heading off.
But at the last second, Zayn paused. He glanced over his shoulder. The tiniest nod, barely there.
I blinked. Was that for me? Or someone behind me?
I drew in a deliberate breath. So what?
A guy with rock band mystique and a flair for the dramatic. The only one who seemed to take him seriously was himself.
After the group had gone, though, the park felt empty. Like something was missing. Then it hit me. Watching them had been a distraction. The way you watch predators claiming their territory.
Now the cold crept back in, and I couldn't wait to head home. That feeling of being stuck while the world kept spinning threatened to swallow me whole again.
"Hey, what's up with you, Novy?" Mia glanced sideways at me, brow furrowed. "You're quiet."
"It's nothing, I..." My thoughts were spinning, and I had no idea what to say. Tell her I couldn't shake the sadness?
Mia raised an eyebrow, as if I were a lost cause, but then she was already back in Halloween planning mode.
For a moment I wondered if I should go as a living nightmare. Would be fitting.
Logan couldn't decide if he was more interested in the conversation or in Hannah. And me? I wanted to crawl into the shoebox guest room and hide.
Somewhere between laughter and makeup tips, loneliness caught up with me again. Surrounded and still invisible.
***
That evening, I ended up completely on my own, thankfully far from my cousin's cheerful comments. As I blew my nose, all stuffed up, I'd never felt so alone, knowing full well I'd brought this isolation on myself.
Dinner had turned into a minor disaster. I'd made it crystal clear: no more talk about my parents. Claire had mentioned my dad offhand, a comment about his favorite childhood food. Unbelievable, how out of place it felt.
Agitated, I'd asked her if there was any update from the police.
"Nothing new. They'll let us know when there is."
Her answer came too quickly. Cold.
"You don't know anything?" I'd demanded, my voice shrill even to my own ears. "Nothing at all? Not even if they had a fight with someone?"
Claire had hesitated. When she spoke, it was like she ironed out every word first. "I... not especially. I wasn't close to your father. Except maybe on family vacations."
A sharp pang went through my chest. She talked about my dad like he was a distant coworker.
"But you're his sister."
She'd shrugged. "David... your parents... always were... are in their own world."
She wasn't wrong. My parents never had many friends. Loners. Reserved people. But we'd always been a unit.
She looked at me, like she wanted to say something, then stopped herself. "Until we know more, we shouldn't jump to conclusions. Maybe... there's a reason they don't want to be found."
I frowned. Her words kept replaying in my head.
"So your solution is to do nothing? Nothing at all?" The words shot out of me, sharp with annoyance.
Claire sighed. "Nova, I understand you want answers. But that's the police's job. They know how to handle this. You should focus on settling in here. Keeping up in school."
I bit back more questions. Now I knew what it felt like to reach for answers through a fog.
I ignored messages and calls from my old friends.
What was I supposed to tell them? That I lived in a town where you had to get your backpack checked at the school entrance, like you were boarding an international flight? Or maybe chat about what would happen to me next? Or listen to all the pitying comments about my parents, which were fishing for details about what had happened to them?
Every mask I'd worn all day had crumbled. Annoyed that I didn't even have a key to this room, I stared out the window, wallowing in self-pity. I couldn't even cry in peace. A handful of lights flickered outside, but they barely made a dent in the darkness.
Exhaustion pulled at me.
That family photo I'd brought with me, propped on my desk, seemed to accuse me. Why aren't you looking for us, Nova?
I would have. I wanted to. But every time I even thought about asking someone, the ground fell away beneath me. Maybe it was easier to pretend there was nothing left to find.
Every answer would tear away my last shred of security. The thought terrified me.
Possibilities of something awful having happened followed me like a shadow. Images flashed through my mind, ones I didn't want to see.
I hope they didn't have to suffer for long.
My eyes fell on my suitcase, still lying unpacked on the floorboards. And of course, I couldn't help myself. My laptop.
I knew I'd regret it, but my fingers were already searching for news articles.
It didn't take long to find something. My parents weren't named, but there were reports everywhere about a missing couple. Their car had been found abandoned at a rest stop. Bloodstains. Wallets and IDs left in the vehicle. Police suspected foul play.
The guest bed creaked as I threw myself onto it. I screamed into my pillow until my throat burned. How was I supposed to deal with all this? When I finally stopped, even the ticking of the clock seemed to mock me.
Forget it, Nova. You can't turn back time. Sobbing, I pounded my fists into the mattress, the questions in my head roaring as loud as my heartbeat. The exhaustion gave me a headache, and I finally drifted off to sleep, fully dressed.
2 – A Home That Isn't One
Outside, in the crisp autumn air, every step away from school felt like a small freedom. On this gray day, the sun broke through the clouds, a warm ray lighting up my face.
A consolation prize from the universe for the mess of the past few days.
I shoved my hands in my pockets and kept moving, one determined step at a time.
The town stretched out before me, empty and aimless. No hustle, no purpose. Even time itself seemed to have come to a standstill here.
Mist hung over the rooftops, blurring the streets. But beyond the last wall, the coastline opened up: wild, rugged, untouched. Unexpectedly beautiful. The wind tugged at my jacket, waves crashed against black rocks. An old staircase led down to the beach, and as I got closer, the wind swept the thoughts from my mind.
But then, totally out of the blue, in the middle of this godforsaken nowhere, something caught my eye on the horizon. A light. Unusual, pulsing, almost like it was trying to say something. I glanced around. Nothing. It flickered in a rhythm, danced above the waves, then vanished as it had appeared. I blinked. A reflection? A boat? Too bright, too lively. It didn't fit this sleepy place. My shoulders tensed, as if my body had sensed something my mind couldn't explain.
Get a grip, Nova. Spooked by fireflies on the horizon!
A memory shot through me. That light looked like the one we saw one night when I was a kid, on a southern coast. I heard my dad's words: "Nothing for you to worry about."
I should have asked Claire if she checked her emails. If she suspected something she wasn't telling me. Anything. But I couldn't, too afraid the answer would make everything worse.
I stepped closer to the surf. Maybe turning a blind eye was easier. Maybe I wasn't ready for the truth, only the theory.
I sighed, swallowed the lump in my throat, and trudged on. Weird place, but then, what wasn't, these days? Driftwood littered the shore, gulls screamed overhead. My mom would have loved it here. For the first time in days, the knot in my chest loosened. Maybe I was more like her than I thought.
I sat on a weathered bench and pulled out my phone, typing The Guardians into the search bar. Videos flickered to life: concert clips, cryptic comments:
"Record sales thanks to their gangster image?"
"Don't mess with Andy." Zayn's face popped up, edited with devil horns. Eyes sparking. Thousands of likes. Tons of pics with pretty girls, sometimes the same one. Close-ups of his neck tattoo that everyone seemed obsessed with.
I frowned, then quietly laughed at myself.
Oh wow, he must have memorized the Bad Boy Handbook. All he's missing is a leather jacket and a motorcycle and he'd be the full cliché.
You had to hand it to them: their marketing was on point. The fanbase practically worshipped them.
When I got back later, there was an odd tension in the air. Claire looked rattled, which didn't fit with her tight bun. Ben and Mia stood awkwardly nearby.
"Sorry, I should have let you know where I was," I admitted, though it felt forced.
Claire sighed. "I want to know you're safe, Nova. It's not smart to wander around alone here."
Her blouse was as precisely pressed as her words. And her frosty concern wore me out.
Maybe I should download one of those tracking apps so they can all keep tabs on me?
"If you come to the beach with me, I'll show you the cool spots. The parties are legendary, unless some killjoy calls the cops again," Mia grinned.
Silence. Like parties were even on my radar right now.
Ben looked like he wanted to apologize for even existing.
Claire studied me. "You like writing, don't you?" She rummaged in her old desk, then handed me a ridiculously garish, lilac notebook and smiled. "Did you know the school paper is looking for new writers?"
Of course. A diary. All I'm missing is hot chocolate therapy.
Part of me wanted to say thank you. The rest instantly put up a wall. Claire meant well, but I didn't need a substitute mom. Not yet.
Claire was neither cold nor warm. More like someone who barely had the energy for feelings. Maybe she couldn't comfort anyone. Maybe she didn't want to. Maybe it was both.
***
The next morning, I decided to check out the school paper. Anything to distract myself. All the overthinking was already leaving new lines on my forehead. As I wandered the halls, my eyes swept over the bulletin boards: posters for the Halloween party, a casting call for the school play. And then a police warning, complete with photos of wanted people. I swallowed hard.
Nothing says school spirit quite like a police bulletin next to the party invites, I joked to myself. Man, what kind of place have I landed in?
Standing outside the office, searching for the right door, I heard a voice behind me:
"Hey! You can't waltz in here like you own the place."
I turned around. Fake-blonde hair with extensions, flawless outfit, judgy stare.
Great, Queen Bee of the high school.
"Sorry, I'm looking for the office."
"Sure you are." She practically dripped with sarcasm. And I had zero energy for pointless drama.
Before I could reply, another girl appeared, the complete opposite. Jet-black hair tipped in cobalt blue caught the hallway light, her clothes unusual, a mischievous gleam in her eyes.
"Sky, don't hassle the new girl because your ego needs more room," she teased.
Sky raised an eyebrow and twirled a strand of hair around her finger, as if she was bored by everyone else's existence. "I've been waiting longer." The blue-haired girl ignored her.
"You're Nova, right? The one everyone's talking about?" she asked, grinning.
I blinked. Everyone's talking about me?
"Everyone watches everyone here. Welcome to the zoo," she said, clearly reading the confusion on my face.
I had to laugh. "Perfect."
She stuck out her hand.
"I'm Raven. If you need survival tips, find me in the library." She winked. "I'm there most of the time."
And then she was gone.
The fashionista shot me one last judgmental look before disappearing into the office.
Then my phone buzzed. A message from Lisa from my old school. At first I didn't want to open it, but curiosity won out.
"Check out what the paper's saying about your parents again."
Jaw clenched, I hesitantly tapped the link.
"Mysterious traces at the crime scene: Did the police miss something?"
I skimmed the article. Supposedly, they'd found substances that couldn't possibly be human. A dry laugh escaped before I could stop it. "Not human?"
My fingers flew across the screen. "Lisa, seriously? They want clicks. Same old crap."
But inside, I was fuming.
The secretary slid a note over to me. "Room 503 for the school paper."
I headed off, note in hand.
Focus on something normal, Nova.
Normal? I wasn't sure that was even on my schedule anymore.
***
The halls were busy and loud, but everything felt muffled as I made my way to my math teacher during break. Maybe he could help me catch up. Or at least give me points for trying. I pushed through the crowd, head down, clutching my backpack. The sounds -laughter, snippets of conversation, sneakers squeaking on linoleum- blurred into one dull background hum.
Then, a break in the noise. Not dramatic silence, a subtle pause. Conversations faded, glances were exchanged, but no one made any sudden moves.
My gaze wandered down the hallway and landed on him.
Zayn.
Here? No way.
He stood there with his broad-shouldered friend, as if it was the most normal thing in the world.
He goes to this school?
The skatepark was one thing. He belonged there, in that rough, half-abandoned sprawl of asphalt and graffiti. But here? Among lockers and textbooks?
Way too close. Only a handful of backpacks and bodies between us.
They didn't say a word, both glued to their phones, but the other students were watching them.
Of course. Any second now, he'll probably start signing autographs.
A guy with a basketball came out of a classroom, laughing with his friend, and accidentally brushed Zayn's shoulder.
No reaction. No flinch. But the boy's laughter died instantly. He took half a step back, like he'd touched something sacred.
I bit down on my lip.
What is this weird energy between them?
And why on earth did I even care? I thought about it: Where does authority even come from? Is it about who's the loudest? Or is it that quiet presence that somehow fills a room?
My heart was pounding.
I should keep moving. Walk right past him and mind my own business. But my feet wouldn't budge.
I shoved my hands deeper into the pockets of my hoodie and shrank back into the shadows behind a cluster of students. Why was I standing here like some groupie on surveillance duty?
Then Zayn started walking. Slow, steady steps. His friend right on his heels. My body reacted before my brain caught up, and I followed them, light on my feet. The hallway seemed to stretch as I got closer to the classroom where he and his friend disappeared.
The door was slightly ajar, and a wave of air drifted out, thick with chalk dust and the stale heat of too many students crammed into one room for too long.
My heartbeat picked up even more.
"Mr. Rochester, I've told you time and time again—you have to follow the rules too!" My math teacher's voice trembled with irritation.
Curious, I peeked in. The teacher sat behind his desk, clutching a sheet of paper so tightly his knuckles were white. His face looked pale, and a thin sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead.
Is he scared?
Zayn stood in front of him, leaning in enough to seem cocky, like he could pin the teacher to the wall by sheer force of will. And yet he looked completely relaxed. His fingers tapped out a slow, bored rhythm on the wood next to the paper. His friend lounged against the wall, grinning, spinning a metal chain between his fingers.
Could anyone be more repulsive?
"This is… outrageous!" the teacher finally burst out. His voice was strained, and too loud, like he was trying to convince himself he still had control.
Zayn smiled. But it wasn't a real smile. There was nothing warm about it.
It was the smile you give when you already know you've won.
"Oh, really?"
His voice was unexpectedly deep and rough. Only two words. Calm. Unbothered.
The bulldog's grin widened. He let out a raspy, guttural laugh. The teacher flinched.
"You… I… those aren't your grades!" he stammered.
Then there was a horrible bang. I jumped. So did the teacher.
The friend's chain had slammed down hard onto the desk. A reminder, in case anyone forgot who was running the show.
Zayn watched. Not a flicker of tension, not even a twitch in his shoulders. That silence was louder than any threat.
"Interesting theory," he murmured at last, eyes empty, his words dripping with irony. He leaned in a bit more. Not much, only a centimeter. But it was enough.
Who does he think he is?
The teacher fumbled desperately for words, his hands twitching over the paper. His eyes darted from Zayn to the door and back again.
"You can't… you can't…!"
The bulldog stepped forward, showing his full size. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. The teacher stood up -a reflex, one last attempt to fight back or maybe to run- but his knees buckled. The chair wobbled and slid away. A dull thud.
He slumped back down, motionless. In shock. Like me.
Somebody has to do something!
His mouth opened, but not a sound came out.
The bulldog snorted in amusement. "Dude, look at him," he snickered. "He's about to die of fright."
Zayn looked at him, as if the teacher no longer existed.
"Shut up," he ordered, his voice slicing through the room.
His fingers found the ring on his right hand. He twisted it, slowly at first, then faster. The bulldog's laughter sputtered out mid-chuckle.
"What?"
Zayn turned slightly, his stare so cold that even his friend froze in surprise.
"I said, shut up."
For a second, the bulldog looked confused, then he put his hands up in surrender. "Chill out, man."
Zayn didn't answer. He stared down at the teacher, who was still clinging to the edge of the desk, gasping for air. He watched him, long and hard, with a calculating look. Like someone weighing exactly how much force it would take to break a person, body or soul.
Then, the tiniest flicker. The briefest furrow in his brow. A microexpression, almost invisible.
Was that… pity?
I prayed no one would notice me. My stomach twisted into knots.
But then Zayn's mouth curled back up again. An automatic gesture, covering up the moment.
"You don't want to find out what I'm capable of," he growled.
An almost harmless sentence. But there was no room for doubt.
Zayn was already moving. A few long strides. He kicked the teacher's toppled chair aside. It scraped across the floor, dragging out the sound. No hesitation.
Is he going to hit him?
The teacher struggled to get back up, but as Zayn passed him, he shoved him aside with his knee, hard enough to send him sprawling.
Then they walked out. Not looking back. As Zayn passed me, he hesitated, only for a heartbeat. I could barely breathe, my pulse racing.
Had he noticed me? I stood frozen till he disappeared down the hallway.
What the hell… Not only king of the skatepark, now he's the school's crime lord?All that's missing is a black throne.
I peeked into the classroom. The teacher was still on the floor. Pale. Shaking. Clutching a crumpled tissue.
The joke playing in my head felt hollow. So this is what shock looks like.
My fingers were digging into the straps of my backpack.
Part of me wanted to step in, to help, but all I could picture was a news story about a girl sent into witness protection. Not the best way to start at a new school.
I left. This was not the time to ask about math problems.
***
The cafeteria was packed, the hum of student chatter blanketing me like white noise. I poked at my food, replaying what I'd witnessed and wondering who I could even tell, when a lunch tray slammed down on the table next to me.
"Hey, Nova."
Mia's brash friend Theresa plopped down beside me, took a bite of her croissant, and looked me over. For a second, I was glad not to be sitting here alone. "Mia said your parents vanished without warning…?"
For a moment, I froze. Could she be any more blunt? I hesitated, but the way she stared right into my eyes, I had to say something.
"That's right."
I pressed my teeth into the inside of my cheek.
"Damn."
I said nothing.
Then she shrugged. "I know it's not the same, but… my parents split up. Total war, for years. Sometimes I'd rather walk the streets at night than deal with it."
I didn't know what to say. Was this her way of trying to connect?
"Sorry. Dumb comparison."
"It's fine," I muttered.
Thankfully, Mia showed up, beaming as always. "Oh, are you talking about me?" She nabbed Theresa's croissant like it was nothing.
"Please, no embarrassing stories, okay?"
"We're discussing Nova's missing parents."
Mia's cheeks flushed pink. "Oh, sorry, Nova. I thought it was alright."
I tried to play it off. This school should make social skills a required class.
I changed the subject. "Hey, what grade are those band guys in anyway? Aren't they older?" I asked, trying to sound casual.
Mia and Theresa exchanged odd glances, like they were keeping something from me. Mia flashed a knowing grin.
Theresa dropped her spoon into her bowl with a clatter and leaned in, lowering her voice. "It's wild how the teachers barely make them take any tests anymore, right?"
Mia's eyes widened. "Theresa!"
"What? Nova's going to find out soon enough anyway." She shrugged.
"It's not like they have time for school," Mia added, sounding like an insider. "Plus, Andy and Zayn are basically top of their class in the early college program." She gave me an impressed look.
Top of the class? That didn't add up. I pictured the teacher, his panicked hands gripping the desk. Maybe the rumors about their grades weren't rumors.
Maybe I need to find myself a hacker if I keep slacking off with this catch-up work.
Mia started raving about The Guardians' new song, her fingers nervously fidgeting with her tray. "I mean, they're geniuses, right? The lyrics… so deep. Sensitive, even." She paused, as if she'd said too much, and quickly sipped her drink.
Sensitive?!
Theresa smirked. "Sure. Or maybe Zayn's working through his daddy issues."
Mia laughed, a bit too loud. "Hey, one doesn't rule out the other, does it?"
I rolled my eyes inwardly. That was my cue to leave.
As I got up with my tray, it hit me: I had nowhere to go. No regular spot, no familiar faces except Mia, who was already caught up in an animated debate with Theresa about concert tickets. I was here, but not part of it. My shoulders tensed. A placeholder in this cafeteria, a temporary topic of gossip until the next big drama came along.
***
When I got home, I'd already decided not to say a word about what happened with the teacher. Coward. My excuse: I had enough problems of my own. Ben looked as fed up as I was when Mia launched into another of her cheerful rants about Halloween costume ideas.
Amazing how she always acts like the sun shines out of her butt.
With mock seriousness, she slid a plate in front of me. "Nova, seriously, you look like a skeleton! Eat something before you pass out." I sighed.
"I mean it, Nova. I know everything sucks right now. But if you need anything… or if you just want to sit there and say nothing… I can do both."
I nodded silently. Maybe that was the best thing anyone could say right now.
But no matter how hard she tried, I couldn't help it. The heavy thoughts kept dragging me down. Studying? Not a chance.
So I decided to call it an early night and numb myself with mindless TV shows. My go-to strategy for not thinking too much. But even as I stared at the screen, my brain wouldn't stop whirring. Theresa, Raven, Sky, Zayn—so many new faces, so many unclear dynamics. My mind felt like an overstuffed hard drive on the verge of crashing.
At least my laptop still worked. And Netflix, too. Even if no one was probably paying the bill anymore.
3 - Strange Observations
Every step toward the school newspaper office echoed in my head. I hated introducing myself all over again. Plus, my mind was still tangled up in last night's dream: blurry images of my mom, vivid and hazy all at once, as if she was trying to tell me something. Maybe it was pointless, distracting myself with little articles for a school paper no one cared about. Still, I had to do something, or I'd lose my mind.
I pushed open the door labeled "Student Gazette," covered in a mess of stickers, and found exactly what I expected inside.
Keyboards clacked, low chatter filled the big room. A few people glanced up, curious, then went back to their work. A boy -definitely the editor-in-chief, with longer hair and oversized silver glasses- looked up from his screen, sizing me up with raised eyebrows.
"You're the new one?"
"Nova," I blurted, stepping forward and offering my hand. He didn't take it.
"Thomas." He gave my purple notebook a skeptical once-over, then looked me up and down like I didn't quite belong here.
"So, what brings you here?"
"Um, I'd like to join. Print or online," I said, keeping it short.
"You sure? We don't do cat memes or interviews with the beauty queens here, if that's your thing."
Great, the usual initiation: Let's see if I hold my notebook right or get kicked out on day one.
"You decide that by the color of my notebook?" I shot back.
Thomas's mouth twitched before forcing a tired smile. "Alright then. Let's see what you've got, newbie."
Score one for me.
Once he finished typing his sentence, he got up and started showing me around, rattling off the basics of newspaper life. He led me over to a cluster of bulletin boards and whiteboards covered in article ideas, the usual school paper stuff. But one board caught my eye right away. "Unexplained Phenomena" was scrawled at the top, surrounded by stories of strange sightings, blurry shadow photos, and creepy lights.
Guess there are some hardcore mystery fans here.
Next to it was a section of real crime articles from the city: robberies, abductions, murders. My pulse quickened. This was way more extreme than I'd expected. Like I'd stumbled into an episode of CSI: Miami.
"Yeah, this town has a serious problem," Thomas remarked when he saw where I was looking.
He gestured to a stack of newspaper clippings with black-and-white photos, tugging a strand of hair out from behind his glasses. So many missing people.
"Tasha Miller, missing since last month."
There was a Polaroid, a blurry face, impossible to make out. It all felt a little too real. A young girl.
Then I spotted a band photo of The Guardians, right in the middle of all this chaos. Faded, but unmistakable: Zayn, the bulldog, the shaved-head guy, the redhead, the pierced one, the wild surfer type. Half in shadow, like they'd never liked the light. Of course. Them again. Figures.
"What do The Guardians have to do with it?" I asked, my voice a little more excited than I meant.
"Rumors."
Why settle for average high school drama when you can be a rock band with a scandal?
A nervous tingle spread through my chest. I skimmed the notes pinned to the board. "Unconfirmed, but…" "No evidence…" "Police not doing anything." My finger traced a newspaper clipping: "Gas station robbery. Suspects unidentified. Witnesses report a group of teens in black hoodies." There was even a phone number for some supposed anonymous source.
I raised an eyebrow. "So, what do you need from me?"
Thomas didn't seem sure I was a good fit. "The Guardians don't like people watching them. Especially not reporters."
Wow, now I'm shaking in my boots.
I stared at the mess of documents. What an exciting chaos. Maybe I was in the wrong place, or exactly where I belonged.
The boy in the beanie in the corner was doodling absently in his notebook, but as soon as The Guardians were mentioned, his pen froze for a split second.
I scanned the room as Thomas nodded toward a corner.
"Sarah's working on the story too—when she has time. Like a few others who gave up quickly."
I followed his gaze. A girl with dark hair sat at a back table, headphones loose around her neck, drumming a pen against her notebook. When she saw us looking, she gave a quick wave and a friendly smile, then went back to work.
When Thomas moved away, the faint smell of his sweat left with him, and I found myself unconsciously breathing easier. As I clicked through folders, I thought this story was perfect for getting my feet wet. No deadline, not too complicated.
Rock band gets a dangerous reputation, Insta rumors fly, everyone has something to talk about, the band sells more tickets, girls go wild, everyone's happy. Check!
Though, I still couldn't shake the memory of what happened with that teacher.
When I searched #TheGuardians on TikTok, the first videos were concert clips. But mixed in were blurry fights in the dark. #Murderers.
"Hey, you."
I looked up. A guy with a perfectly trimmed soccer haircut and darker skin dropped into the chair next to me, grinning crookedly. He looked like he was trying to downplay his roots, even the varsity jacket seemed straight out of a teen movie.
"Heard you're writing about The Guardians. That's bold." Despite his smile, he didn't seem convinced. His foot bounced nervously.
"If you say so."
"Hmm." He introduced himself as Caleb and slid me a crumpled note. The handwriting was rushed, like someone scribbled it in a hurry.
Stay away from Zayn and his crew. The police leave them alone for a reason.
I frowned, biting back a smile. "Who wrote this?"
Caleb shrugged. "No idea. Somebody wanted to leave us a souvenir."
I held up the note. "Sounds like they're the Mafia. What's next, a horse's head in my locker?"
"Would make a statement." Caleb grinned, then leaned in conspiratorially. "I might be able to set up an interview. I know their manager, but so far they've been acting like total divas."
A shiver ran down my spine. Getting to interview the band up close?
As I was about to answer, a slim figure slipped past our table. Sarah. Headphones dangling around her neck, notebook clamped under her arm.
"Interview with The Guardians?" She paused, like she wasn't sure she'd heard right.
"Before you talk to them…" She hesitated, as if deciding whether to say more, giving Caleb a quick look, "let's chat first, okay?" A quick, fleeting smile, gone in an instant. Then she was already walking away before I could say anything.
Caleb raised an eyebrow. "Okay…"
I gave him an amused nod. "Definitely interesting."
Caleb mentioned that sometimes they brought in a talented hacker named "Raven" to dig deeper. "I've met her once." I smiled, remembering the blue tips of her hair. "She's hard to miss."
We both laughed quietly, like we were in on some private joke.
I scribbled in my notebook: Rockband. Rumors. Danger. Wow.
Some horror junkies on TikTok would probably start yelling 'Illuminati!' right about now. Me? I didn't buy that stuff. More likely, a few girls left with the wrong guys. End of story. And yet… my curiosity was hooked. It felt good, after so many days of emotional numbness.
I had to admit, it was perfect: a distraction from my problems, something new to focus on, and a reason to play journalist-spy, all in one.
Making a splash at the school paper with a killer article? Sure, why not. Plus, it gave me a solid excuse to keep an eye on that band. Easily the most interesting thing in this weird little town. Perfect.
Maybe it was easier to chase after other mysteries than to face the biggest one right in front of me. Maybe it was simpler to snoop around after the band than to pester Claire with questions that only hurt.
It would've been easy to call it quits and sink back into my grief. But something in me had changed. There was this new feeling: control. For the first time since my parents disappeared, I was the one making the decisions.
***
The Guardians' posters were plastered all over school, and their upcoming Halloween gig was all anyone could talk about. Rumors swirled: were they going to play, or would they bail at the last minute, like people said they'd done before?
I watched them. The feeling that I had to kept growing stronger every day.
It didn't take me long to figure out where they usually hung out during school: a corner at the back of the hall, right by the old lockers, a little removed from the main buzz. Visible enough to be noticed, but distant enough to keep people out. I made a point of staying nearby, jotting down notes as inconspicuously as I could.
At school, they seemed different from how they did at the skatepark. Less like a gang staking out their turf, more like some exclusive inner circle. Their own tiny universe. They laughed, spoke in low voices, leaned against the walls as if they'd carved out a secret niche in a world they couldn't care less about.
What's with the constant aloof act? Part of their image, or a chronic case of overconfidence?
The bulldog guy and the one with all the piercings were smirking at some inside joke, while Zayn -off to the side, yet still at the center- leaned back against a locker.
Only the ring on his finger wouldn't stay still.
He spun it, sometimes slowly, sometimes faster, his eyes unfocused. Only a tiny twitch in his cheek gave away that something was running through his mind. A thought, a memory, maybe something he wanted to shake but couldn't.
I pulled out my notebook.
Restless. Lost in thought. Distant.
I kept writing as his posture changed. His shoulders tensed, his jaw clenched, as if he was holding himself back from doing something. His chest rose unevenly, like even breathing had become an effort.
So, not always so cool and untouchable after all? Maybe those deep lyrics aren't for show.
That's when I noticed the line of black bars tattooed along the side of his neck, almost like a secret barcode tracing his artery. I had to admit it was hot.
Then it happened. A barely noticeable jolt.
Zayn's hand froze mid-spin. His gaze flickered, a second too long. He pitched forward slightly.
There was a faint scraping sound as his ring slid against the locker's metal.
I held my breath. A brief stumble—then he caught himself, but his breathing was too quick. The others fell silent.
I jotted down: Seems anxious.
Cassidy, the redhead in the band, was the first to react. "Zayn?"
His head jerked up, way too fast.
For a split second, his eyes were glassy, like he wasn't there.
"Zayn, what's going on?" The shaved-head guy reached for his arm, but—
"DON'T TOUCH ME!"
His voice cracked through the hallway like a whip.
Cassidy recoiled. Heads turned. Even Zayn looked startled by himself for a second.
He blinked, his fingers digging into his sleeve, lips pressed tight, as if he was fighting pain. Or something else.
Something he couldn't let slip out.
My stomach knotted up inside, though I wasn't even sure what I was afraid of. But that was the first real crack in his armor.
Then he pushed away from the locker and shoved through the crowd. His movements were sharper than usual, gaze fixed straight ahead.
He barreled right past me. I flinched, and my notebook slipped from my hands.
It fell.
And landed with a THUD.
The dull smack echoed through the hallway, as loud as glass shattering in an empty hall.
Zayn turned his head as he walked, his eyes catching mine, a millisecond too long. His gaze was unfocused. And I forgot to breathe.
A second later, slow, sarcastic clapping started up behind me.
I didn't even need to turn to know who it was.
The bulldog guy stood there, arms crossed, watching me like a bouncer. Amused, but in a way that made my throat tighten.
"Such dedication. Our little fan club's getting more creative by the minute."
My ears burned.
I snatched up my notebook before anyone else could get to it. Behind my back, it felt safe, as if I was hiding something precious.
"Wow, Nova." Mia sidled up, her voice low. "Maybe try being a little less obvious next time, yeah?"
I tried to play it cool, but my smile felt frozen in place.
Ben was at my side in an instant, like always, when things went sideways. I honestly didn't know how I'd have survived these days without him.
I could hear the band snickering behind us.
Why is my heart pounding like I'm in a relay race? I'm just standing here.
I stole a glance in the direction Zayn had left. He was already gone.
But something about the way he'd done it told me he'd noticed my attention. And that this was far from over.
My eyes drifted to the locker he'd been holding onto. His handprint was still visible on the cold metal.
I stood there. For a minute. Maybe longer. Until everyone else went back to their day.
Then I blinked, snapped myself out of it, and tried to make sense of what I'd witnessed, and why it felt so strange.
What was that? Was I supposed to… feel sorry for him?
I couldn't shake the thought. Definitely not. Remember the teacher.
I scribbled down: Zayn Rochester = Mystery. Unpredictable.
***
I didn't sleep that night. Tossed and turned through an endless reel of questions, memories, conversations with myself. So this was how my body handled trauma.
When my alarm went off, it felt like I'd spent the whole night staring at the ceiling. I covered up my dark circles in the mirror. You decide what happens next.
As I headed downstairs, I resolved to pull myself together.
Mia's squeal from the bathroom made him groan. "Can't you ever chill out?"
"Relax, Ben!" She popped out with her hair piled up in some dramatic updo. "Think I can go out like this?"
I gave her a once-over. "It looks better down."
Claire shot me a warning look, but Mia simply smiled to herself and disappeared back into the bathroom. She took forever. Again. I knocked. "Hurry up, princess!"
Mia opened the door a crack, toothpaste smeared on her lip. "Perfection takes time." She adjusted her headband.
"As if anyone in this town could appreciate your Hollywood makeup!" Ben teased.
Claire sighed and flipped through a magazine. "Did you know Ashport used to be pretty important? They even did advanced genetics research here, before everything changed and there were all those protests." She set the magazine aside and muttered, "EvolveRX… then everyone moved away. Before your time. I wasn't here for it either—I was living in Brooksfield."
She sounded almost wistful, like she had fond memories and wished she could have stayed.
The phone rang. As I ducked into the guest bathroom, I heard Claire's anxious voice. "… Coincidence? Who knows? Yeah, of course gangs… I'm worried about the kids…"
Great. Soon I won't even be able to do my makeup in peace without thinking about safety drills.
When I came back out, she looked at me, appraisingly, unusually soft. "I just want you to be careful," she murmured, as if she'd caught herself in the act of worrying.
I took a bite of toast. "I'm always careful."
Her eyes said she didn't buy it.
Later, once I was alone in my room, my phone buzzed. The school paper had posted a new article: "Missing Sarah: Did a party spell disaster?"
My finger hovered. I didn't click.
While I packed my things, Mia was singing in the bathroom and Ben was cursing at his video game. In the middle of all that chaos, I found myself starting to appreciate this crazy family. Even if they could never replace mine.
Replace.
Nothing at the thought. Like my mind had wrapped all my real feelings in cotton wool.
As usual, I forced myself to think about something else, surprisingly effective, these days. I'd been dodging the news, avoiding old contacts, staying as busy as possible. Loud music in the morning. Not a spare minute alone. Even at night, I left podcasts running.
Because if things ever went quiet, the truth hit me like a roadblock: They were never coming back.
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