Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The sound of bike chains filled the street before anything else did. Richie was riding no-hands again, swerving just enough to be annoying about it.

He was talking over everyone, like usual. “I’m telling you, The Goonies is the best movie ever made,” he said, loud enough for half the block to hear.

“Like, name one movie where kids actually do stuff instead of just crying the whole time.” Ronnie groaned from behind him.

“You say that about every movie you watched last.” “That’s because I have good taste.”

“You have one tape,” Will shot back. “And it’s scratched.” Richie twisted around in his seat, almost eating pavement.

“Okay, first of all, it still works. Second, you’re just mad because you don’t like fun.” “I like fun,” Will said, pedaling harder to keep up. “I just don’t like hearing you talk about the same thing every day.” “It’s not every day.”

“It was yesterday,” Ronnie said. “And the day before that.” “And last week,” Will added. Richie huffed.

“Wow. Sorry for having passion.” They rolled past houses with peeling paint and overgrown lawns, the street still damp from the night before. The air smelled like wet concrete and grass. Somewhere down the block, a dog barked once and then stopped.

Lilly rode a little behind them. She always did. Her bike was older, the bell rusted, the seat taped where the leather had split. She pedaled steadily, not slow, not fast, just enough to keep them in sight. Their voices floated back to her in pieces—arguments, laughter, Richie getting louder when no one listened. Matty noticed, like he usually did.

He dropped back until he was riding beside her, their handlebars almost bumping. “You okay?” he asked, not looking at her, like he didn’t want to make it a big deal. Lilly nodded.

“Yeah. I’m fine.” “You sure?” “Yeah,” she repeated, softer this time. Matty accepted it the way he always did. No pushing. No staring. He kicked off again, riding next to her for a few seconds before glancing ahead at the others. Richie was still going.

“All I’m saying is, if we were in The Goonies, we’d already have found treasure by now.” “We live in Derry,” Will said flatly. “The only thing buried here is trash.” Ronnie laughed. “And your dignity.” Richie swerved again. “You’re all just jealous you’re not the main character.” Lilly watched their backs as they rode.

She tightened her grip on the handlebars and kept pedaling, the school coming into view ahead of them—brick walls, wide steps, already crowded with bikes and noise. The bell hadn’t rung yet. They still had time. The hallway hit them all at once. Lockers slammed open and shut.

Someone laughed too loud. Sneakers squeaked against the floor. The smell of floor cleaner mixed with sweat and cheap perfume, sharp enough to make Lilly wrinkle her nose. Richie ditched his bike first and immediately started talking again. “Okay but if The Goonies was set in a school, we’d definitely be the kids who find the secret passage behind the lockers.”

“There are no secret passages,” Will said, shoving his lock into place. “It’s just a school.” “Yet,” Richie replied. Ronnie rolled his eyes and walked off, muttering something about being late. Matty lingered by Lilly while she wrestled with her lock, the metal cold under her fingers.

“You’ve got math first, right?” he asked. She nodded. “Room 112.” “I’ve got history. See you later.” “Yeah.” She watched him go, then turned back to her locker. That was when the noise shifted. Not quieter. Just… redirected.

The Patty Cakes came down the hall like they owned the space. Patty Stanton in front, of course—shoulders back, chin lifted, her steps measured. Elaine and Rhonda flanked her, laughing at something that wasn’t that funny. Marge trailed behind, adjusting her backpack straps, eyes flicking around like she was afraid of being left out.

“Stop, that’s not what she said,” Rhonda giggled. “I’m telling you, that’s exactly what she meant,” Elaine replied. Patty didn’t laugh. She didn’t need to. She listened, eyes forward. Until her gaze shifted. It landed on Lilly.

The moment stretched longer than it should have. Lilly’s fingers froze on her locker handle. She felt suddenly aware of everything—her scuffed shoes, the way her hair wouldn’t sit right, the fact that she was standing there alone. Patty didn’t smile. She didn’t frown. She just looked. Like she was taking inventory.

Lilly met her eyes before she could stop herself. For a second, neither of them moved. Then Patty’s eyebrow lifted, just slightly. Not mean. Not kind.

Curious, maybe. Or assessing. Elaine noticed.

“What?” she asked, following Patty’s gaze. Patty looked away first. “Nothing,” she said, already walking again. The Patty Cakes passed, laughter picking back up like nothing had happened. Marge glanced over her shoulder once, then quickly faced forward again.

Lilly let out a breath. Her locker finally opened with a metallic clank. She shoved her books inside, heart thudding harder than it should have. Across the hall, Patty didn’t look back. But Lilly knew she’d been seen. And somehow, that felt worse than being ignored.

The classroom was dark. Not completely—just enough that faces blurred and corners stretched. The projector hummed at the front, throwing flickering light across the screen. Some documentary. Black-and-white footage. A narrator droning on in a flat, distant voice. Lilly sat frozen in her chair.

The dark always did this to her. Made the room feel smaller. Made her thoughts feel too loud. The sound of the projector pressed against her ears, the whispers behind her slipping into one long, shapeless noise. Her fingers twisted together in her lap. Her chest tightened. Ronnie leaned closer, whispering,

“Hey. You good?” Her voice was low but sharp, like she was already bracing for something. Lilly tried to answer. She couldn’t get the words out. The edges of the room softened. The screen felt too bright now, the shadows between desks too deep. Her breath came too fast, then too slow, like she couldn’t decide which rhythm to keep.

She stood up. The chair legs scraped loudly against the floor. A few heads turned. Someone snorted a quiet laugh. “Lilly—” Ronnie started. Before she could finish, a hand clamped down on Lilly’s forearm.

Not careful. Not gentle. Firm. Possessive.

“Sit down.” Patty Stanton’s voice cut through the dark like a blade. Flat. Annoyed. Loud enough that people nearby heard it clearly. Lilly startled, breath catching. She turned, heart pounding, and there Patty was—half risen from her seat, eyes narrowed, mouth set in a thin line.

Patty’s grip didn’t hurt, but it wasn’t kind either. It was the kind of touch that said you don’t get to do this right now. “What are you doing?” Patty added, sharp and pointed. “Are you trying to get attention?”

A few kids snickered. Lilly’s face burned. Her knees felt weak. “I—” she tried, but the word tangled in her throat. Patty leaned closer, lowering her voice just enough that it felt personal. Dangerous.

“Sit. Down,” she said again, slower this time. “Or do you want everyone staring at you?” That did it. Lilly sank back into her chair, breath shaky, humiliation washing over her in hot waves. Patty didn’t let go right away.

Her hand stayed on Lilly’s arm, thumb digging in slightly, like she was pinning her there. Ronnie bristled immediately. “Hey. Back off.” Patty didn’t even look at her. “Relax,” she muttered. “She’s fine.”

Lilly didn’t feel fine. But the pressure—unwanted, irritating, steady—kept her there. Kept her from bolting. Her breathing slowed despite herself, anger and embarrassment forcing her to focus.

Patty finally released her, straightening like nothing had happened. “Jesus,” Patty muttered, loud enough to sting. “You are so dramatic.” She sat back down.

The film kept playing. The teacher didn’t pause it. No one said anything else. Lilly stared at her hands, which were shaking now for a different reason.

Ronnie leaned closer, furious and protective, whispering, “Are you okay?" Lilly nodded faintly. Across the row, Matty had twisted around in his seat, eyes wide with worry. Lilly forced herself to lift her hand just a little, a weak signal that she was still there.

Patty didn’t look back. But Lilly could feel it anyway—the weight of being controlled, not comforted. Of being stopped not because someone cared, but because Patty Stanton decided she was being inconvenient. And somehow, cruelly, it still worked.

Lilly stayed in her seat for the rest of the film, heart sore, pride bruised, breathing finally steady—angry at herself for needing it, angrier still that it had been Patty who noticed first.

The cafeteria was too loud. Not in a dramatic way—just the constant scrape of trays, the overlapping voices, the sharp burst of laughter that cut through everything else. The smell of fries and ketchup hung heavy in the air. Lilly sat at the end of the table, picking at her food, counting the tiles on the floor between bites. Rich was talking. Of course he was.

“I’m telling you, Goonies is objectively better than E.T.,” he said, jabbing his fork for emphasis. “Like, adventure-wise? No contest.” “That’s not what ‘objectively’ means,” Will shot back immediately.

“And you’re wrong. E.T. actually has feelings.” Rich scoffed. “Yeah, feelings about an alien who looks like a raisin.” Ronnie snorted.

“You’re both idiots.” Matty leaned closer to Lilly, lowering his voice. “You okay?” She nodded, even though her chest still felt tight from earlier. The dark classroom lingered in her head like a bruise you kept pressing without meaning to. Will noticed anyway.

“Hey,” he said, quieter now, more serious. “If that happens again—you know, earlier—you need to say something.” Lilly looked up.

“I didn’t want to stop the class.”

“That’s not the point,” Ronnie said, sharp but not unkind. “You don’t have to disappear to be polite.” Will nodded. “Or just—look at one of us. Or say my name. Anything. Okay?” Lilly swallowed.

The words stuck before she could stop them. “I don’t always know when it’s happening.” The table went quiet for half a second. Matty’s foot nudged hers gently under the table. “Then we’ll notice,” he said.

Simple. Certain. She managed a small smile.

That was when she saw them. Patty Stanton sat two tables over, legs crossed neatly, lunch untouched. Elaine was talking animatedly, Rhonda laughing too loud at something that wasn’t funny. Marge hovered at the edge of the bench, clutching her drink like a prop. Patty wasn’t laughing. She was watching. Not obviously.

Her head was tilted toward Elaine, but her eyes were angled just enough that Lilly knew—knew—she was being looked at. Assessed. Filed away. Lilly’s stomach twisted. The noise in the cafeteria spiked suddenly, like someone had turned the volume up a notch. Trays clattered. Someone yelled. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead.

She stood. “I—I need to go to the bathroom,” Lilly said quickly. Ronnie frowned. “Lills—” “I’ll be right back.” She didn’t wait for an answer. The hallway outside was blessedly quieter, the echo of the cafeteria dulling as she pushed through the doors. Her breath came faster as she walked, sneakers squeaking faintly against the floor.

She didn’t look back. But she could feel it anyway—the weight of eyes on her, the sense that Patty Stanton had noticed her leaving. And this time, Patty didn’t stop her. Lilly locked herself into the bathroom stall, pressing her forehead against the cool metal door, breathing slowly until the noise in her head softened. She told herself it was fine. She told herself she was safe. Still, the thought lingered, unwelcome and persistent:

Patty Stanton was paying attention now.

The bathroom smelled like cheap soap and damp paper towels. Lilly stayed in the stall longer than she needed to, counting her breaths, listening to the muffled sounds of the hallway outside. A toilet flushed somewhere. Footsteps passed. Then quiet again. She pressed her palms to her thighs and waited for the shaking to stop.

You’re fine, she told herself. You always are.

When she finally unlocked the stall and stepped out, the fluorescent lights felt too bright. She avoided the mirror at first, going straight to the sink and turning on the water. The faucet screeched softly. She was scrubbing her hands when she noticed the reflection.

Patty Stanton stood behind her. Arms crossed. Leaning back against the counter. Lilly froze. The water kept running.

“Bathroom break turn into a field trip now?” Patty said, voice dry. Not loud. Not quiet either. Lilly swallowed and shut off the faucet. Her hands were still wet, dripping into the sink.

“I wasn’t—” She stopped. Tried again. “I just needed a minute.” Patty snorted softly. “Sure you did.” Lilly turned halfway, enough to face her without fully committing.

Patty’s expression was unreadable, mouth set in that familiar bored line, eyes sharp and unblinking.

“You do that a lot,” Patty continued. “Disappear.”

“It’s none of your business,” Lilly said, quieter than she meant to. Patty tilted her head.

“It kind of is when you make it everyone’s problem.” Heat crept up Lilly’s neck. “I didn’t ask you to—”

“To what?” Patty interrupted, stepping forward. Just one step. Close enough that Lilly could smell her shampoo—something floral and expensive.

“Grab you earlier?” Lilly’s breath hitched despite herself. “I was stopping you from making a scene,” Patty said. “You’re welcome.”

“I didn’t need you to,” Lilly shot back, even as her voice wavered. Patty’s eyes flicked briefly to Lilly’s hands, still trembling faintly, then back to her face.

“Could’ve fooled me,” she said. There was a beat of silence.

Thick.

Uncomfortable.

Lilly dried her hands on her jeans because she’d forgotten the paper towels existed.

“I’m going back to lunch,” she muttered. Patty didn’t move. “You always get like that in the dark?” Patty asked suddenly. Lilly stiffened.

“What?”

“In class,” Patty clarified. “When the lights were off.”

“That’s not—” Lilly stopped herself. Her chest felt tight again, anger mixing with something more dangerous.

Vulnerability.

“Why do you care?” Patty’s jaw tightened, just barely.

“I don’t,” she said quickly. “I just don’t like a mess.”

She stepped aside then, clearing the path to the door like it was a favor. Like she hadn’t cornered Lilly moments ago. Lilly hesitated, then walked past her. As she reached the door, Patty spoke again.

“Next time,” she said, voice low, edged with warning, “say something before you bolt. It makes you look… weak.” The word landed hard.

Lilly didn’t turn around. But her hand trembled on the door handle as she pushed it open, heart pounding—not just from fear, but from the unsettling realization that Patty Stanton wasn’t just being cruel. She was paying attention. And she didn’t know which part of that scared her more.

Chapter Text

The living room smelled faintly of dust and old upholstery. Lilly sat curled at one end of the couch, knees pulled in, the television humming softly in front of her. It took a moment for the picture to settle—black and white sharpening into focus, the edges flickering slightly.

A movie she didn’t recognize.

Two women sat at a small kitchen table on the screen. Their dresses were plain, hair neatly set, hands folded around coffee cups. They spoke quietly, close enough that their shoulders brushed when one of them laughed.

Lilly felt her stomach tighten.

She shifted, tugging the blanket higher over her legs, eyes still fixed on the screen. The women weren’t doing anything wrong. They talked about ordinary things—work, the heat, how long it had been since they’d last seen each other. One reached across the table and straightened the other’s collar without thinking about it.

The touch lingered.

Lilly swallowed.

Something about the way they looked at each other made her chest feel strange, like she’d missed a step going downstairs. Not pain. Not fear. Just… off-balance. Lilly’s fingers curled into the blanket.

That’s not normal, she thought, uneasy, though she couldn’t say why. No one had ever explained things like this. Girls didn’t look at each other that way. Not on purpose. She considered changing the channel.

She didn’t.

The women stood, moving past each other in the narrow kitchen. Their hands brushed. Both of them stilled, just for a second. Then one stepped away, clearing her throat, the moment slipping back into something harmless.

Lilly let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Her stomach still felt odd.

Warm.

Tight.

Confusing. When the scene ended, she stayed where she was, staring at the screen as the picture faded into the next one. She didn’t know what she’d just watched. She hugged the blanket closer and kept watching.

The morning air was cool, carrying the faint smell of damp pavement and the river nearby. Lilly pushed her bike along the sidewalk, the tires rattling over tiny pebbles. Her hands tightened on the handlebars, a small, familiar comfort in the routine. Matty rode just ahead, glancing back every few steps to make sure she was keeping up.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice low, carrying a quiet steadiness that always helped. “I’m fine,” Lilly said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. The words felt safe to say out loud when he was around.

They wheeled their bikes to the racks outside the school, locking them in place before heading inside.  As they stepped into the classroom, chatter swirled around them. The teacher stood at the front, adjusting glasses and glancing at a clipboard. Lilly’s stomach fluttered slightly with anticipation; she liked science, liked the small sense of control it offered.

“Alright, everyone,” the teacher said, voice crisp.

“Today we’ll be starting the lab assignment. Partners have been assigned.” She began reading names.Lilly’s heart gave a little lift when she heard her own: she was partnered with Matty. Relief and a soft smile bloomed inside her. She glanced over at him, catching his subtle grin.

From the corner of her eye, she faintly heard the teacher announce, “Ronnie and Patty Stanton, you’re partners.” Her stomach twisted slightly.

Patty. Of course.

But Lilly didn’t dwell on it. She had her own work to do, her own partner to focus on.

The students rose, moving toward the shelves where lab coats and safety goggles were stacked. Lilly grabbed a coat, slipping it over her shoulders, and found Matty doing the same.

“Ready?” he asked, holding out a pair of goggles.

“Yeah,” Lilly said, taking them. The metal frames pressed gently against her face, and somehow it made the world feel sharper, more manageable.

Behind them, she could faintly hear Patty and Ronnie chatting, the sound of Patty’s voice clipped and commanding. Lilly let it wash over her, a distant annoyance, but one she could ignore. She had Matty. That was enough.

The lab smelled faintly of chemicals and chalk dust, a sharp tang that made Lilly wrinkle her nose. She tried to focus, lining up beakers and pipettes, but a low, familiar murmur reached her ears.

“Look at her,” Patty Stanton said, her voice sharp, sliding over the clink of glassware. “Are you even measuring that right? Honestly, Bainbridge, I don’t know how anyone can be this slow.”

Lilly’s hands froze for a fraction of a second, heart sinking. She didn’t reply—she didn’t even look up. The words had weight, but Matty was already there, standing a little closer, his presence like a small shield. “She's fine,” he murmured quietly, leaning closer so only Lilly could hear. His fingers brushed her knuckles, steady and brief. “You’re doing it right.”

Patty clicked her tongue, the sound sharp and dismissive, like she’d tasted something sour.

Ronnie didn’t raise her voice. She barely even looked up from the worksheet. “Patty. Let it go.”

Patty scoffed under her breath, twisting the glass rod between her fingers. Her eyes flicked toward Lilly again, quick and assessing, before she turned back to her own table. She didn’t apologize. She didn’t say anything else.

But she stopped talking. The room filled again with the quiet clink of glass and the low hum of concentration.  Even without another word, she could still feel Patty’s attention like a weight—silent now, but far from gone.

Lilly forced herself to focus back on the beakers, guided by Matty’s calm presence. She breathed slowly, lining up measurements again, feeling the warmth of quiet reassurance steady her nerves.

A few tables up front, Will and Rich were moving with efficiency, their hands precise, their voices low and confident as they checked each other’s work. Lilly glanced up briefly, letting herself be inspired by their competence without comparing herself.

The experiment ended with a soft clatter of glass and the scrape of stools against the floor. The teacher moved down the aisles, checking results, nodding here and there. 

“Looks good,” Matty said, glancing at their notes before carefully setting the pen down. “We didn’t mess it up.” Lilly let out a small breath, almost a laugh. “I was worried about the second measurement.”

"You nailed it,” he replied easily.

Around them, chairs shifted, voices rose, the low hum of the room loosening now that the work was done. Students began dismantling their setups, returning equipment to the trays at the side counters.

“I can take it,” Lilly said suddenly, reaching for the beaker rack before Matty could. “You carried everything earlier.” Matty hesitated, then smiled.

“Okay. I’ll grab the goggles.”

Lilly stood, balancing the rack carefully in both hands. The glass clinked softly as she turned from the table, eyes on where she was going, intent on not spilling anything. She took two steps forward.

And then—

A shoulder slammed into her side.

It wasn’t hard enough to knock her over, but it was sharp, sudden. The rack tilted. Time seemed to slow in a horrible, stretching second. Glass shattered against the floor.

The sound cracked through the room—too loud, too final. Beakers exploded into fragments, liquid splashing across the linoleum. Lilly stood frozen, hands still half-curled as if the weight were there.

“Oh my god,” someone whispered.

Patty stood right in front of her, eyes wide for half a second before hardening. “Watch where you’re going,” she snapped, already defensive.

“I—I was,” Lilly said, the words barely making it past her throat. Her face burned. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t think.

Matty was beside her instantly. “You bumped into her,” he said, voice tight. “She was standing still.”

“That’s not what happened,” Patty shot back, stepping closer. “She turned right into me. She wasn’t paying attention.” Ronnie looked between them, jaw set. “Patty,” she said quietly, “you walked straight into her.”

Patty’s head snapped toward her. “Don’t start.”

The teacher had turned at the sound, heels clicking sharply as she crossed the room. Her eyes took in the mess on the floor, the broken apparatus, the cluster of students.

“What happened here?”

No one spoke at first. Lilly’s hands trembled at her sides. Her ears rang. “She dropped it,” Patty said quickly. “I was just walking past.”

“That’s not true,” Matty said, louder now. “She offered to carry it. Patty ran into her on purpose.”

Patty’s face flushed red. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she hissed, grabbing a fistful of Matty’s shirt before anyone could react. “Stay out of it.”

“Patty!” the teacher barked. “Let go. Now.”

Patty released him, breathing hard, eyes still blazing. The room had gone quiet, every student watching.

The teacher’s mouth tightened. “Both of you,” she said, pointing at Patty and Lilly. “Detention. After school.”

Lilly opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She nodded instead, eyes fixed on the shards of glass glittering on the floor like something broken beyond repair. Patty scoffed, folding her arms, already turning away.

Matty looked at Lilly, worry etched into his face, but there was nothing he could do now. The bell rang a moment later, sharp and unforgiving. Lilly bent slowly to help clean up, even as the teacher told her to leave it. Her hands still shook.

She hadn’t meant to drop anything.

She hadn’t meant for any of this to happen. But the pieces were already scattered, and everyone had seen.

Detention was held in a smaller room at the end of the hall, one of the ones that always smelled faintly of old paper and chalk dust. The windows were high and narrow, letting in strips of late afternoon light that cut across the desks in pale bands.

Lilly sat near the middle, a few chairs away from Patty. Close enough to feel her presence. Far enough that she didn’t have to look at her. She opened her notebook and laid her pencil carefully on the page, posture neat, obedient. From the front of the room, it probably looked like she was working.

She wasn’t.

Instead, her pencil traced soft, absent lines in the margins—loops, flowers that didn’t quite make sense, the outline of a bike, then the same shape again. She filled in shadows where there didn’t need to be any, pressing too hard, then too light. It helped her breathe.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Patty’s foot hit the floor in a steady, irritated rhythm.

Lilly’s shoulders tensed with each sound. She kept her eyes down, pretending not to hear it, pretending not to feel every vibration travel up through the soles of her shoes.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

A chair scraped slightly as Patty shifted, then the tapping started again, faster now. Impatient. Angry. Like she had somewhere better to be.

The room was otherwise quiet.  Lilly turned the page in her notebook, more for show than anything else, and started doodling again. 

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Lilly’s grip tightened on the pencil. She forced herself to keep breathing slow, even. In through her nose. Out through her mouth. Just like Will had told her.

She didn’t look at Patty. She didn’t want to give her anything—not a reaction, not a glance, not the satisfaction.

“Could you stop?” she asked quietly.

Her voice didn’t shake. It didn’t rise. It barely carried past the space between them.

Patty blinked.

“What?” she said, flat.

“The chair,” Lilly replied. Same tone. Even. Careful. “It’s loud.” For a second, Patty looked almost confused. Like she’d expected tears. Or yelling. Or nothing at all. Then her mouth tilted into a familiar smirk. “It’s a chair,” she said. “That’s what chairs do.”

Lilly nodded once, like she’d considered this. “Not when they’re still.”

Patty snorted softly.

Then her chair scraped back.

The sound was sharp enough that Lilly flinched before she could stop herself. She looked up just in time to see Patty stand, stretching her arms like detention was nothing more than an 

inconvenience. The teacher had stepped out a few minutes earlier—hall monitor, she’d said—and the room had settled into that uneasy quiet that followed unsupervised time.

Patty glanced at the door. Then at Lilly. A slow smile crept across her face. She walked to the front of the room. “Patty,” Lilly said before she could think better of it, her voice still calm but tighter now. “You’ll get in trouble.”

Patty picked up a piece of chalk from the ledge and turned it over between her fingers. “Relax,” she said lightly. “She’s not coming back for a while.”

She faced the blackboard and began to draw.

The chalk scratched loudly against the surface, the sound grating in the quiet room. At first it was just shapes—loops, crooked stars, something that might’ve been a face if you squinted. 

Lilly watched despite herself.

Her stomach twisted when the drawing started to look familiar. The hair came first. Too big. Too messy. Then the eyes—uneven, exaggerated, one drooping lower than the other. Patty added a long nose, a crooked mouth, freckles that looked more like blotches. It didn’t take long.

Patty stepped back, admiring her work.

“There,” she said, pleased. “That’s you.”

Patty turned, chalk still in hand, and pointed at the board. “I think I got the expression right. You always look like that. Like you’re about to cry or disappear or something.” She laughed at her own joke. Lilly stared at the drawing.

It wasn’t flattering. It wasn’t even really mean in an obvious way. Just wrong. Twisted. Like Patty had taken pieces of her and rearranged them into something ugly.

For a moment, Lilly wasn’t sure what she felt.

Embarrassed, maybe. Or hollow. Or strangely detached, like she was looking at someone else entirely. Patty waited. She was clearly expecting something—anger, tears, a protest.

Lilly didn’t give her any of it.

She looked from the board to Patty, then back again. Her hands rested flat on her notebook. Her breathing stayed slow. Finally, she said, quietly, “That doesn’t look like me.” Patty’s smile faltered, just a fraction.

“It does,” she insisted. “I can tell.”

Lilly didn’t argue. She didn’t defend herself. She just shrugged slightly, like it didn’t matter enough to be worth the effort.

“If you say so,” she replied.

That seemed to annoy Patty more than anything else.

She turned back to the board, adding one last crooked line to the drawing, pressing the chalk too hard until it snapped. The piece broke in her fingers, clattering to the floor. “Whatever,” Patty muttered.

She dropped back into her chair, folding her arms, foot starting up its restless tapping again—but slower now. Less confident. Lilly picked up her pencil.

She didn’t look at the board again.

Chapter Text

The sky had shifted into that dull blue-gray that always came before dinner, the kind that made the streetlights hum to life a little too early. Lilly wheeled her bike out from behind the school, the metal rack cold beneath her fingers. The building loomed quieter now, emptied out, its windows reflecting a tired-looking town.

She checked the time on the clock above the main doors.

Almost six.

Her mother would already be wondering where she was. The thought tugged at her chest, familiar and tight, and she swung a leg over her bike, ready to pedal hard and make up for lost minutes.

That was when she noticed Patty.

She was sitting on the low concrete steps by the side entrance, elbows on her knees, jacket half-zipped despite the cool air. Her foot wasn’t tapping now. Her hands were shoved deep into her pockets, shoulders hunched forward like she was trying to make herself smaller.

Patty Stanton never sat like that.

Lilly slowed without meaning to. She coasted a few feet, then stopped entirely, one foot braced on the ground. She told herself she was just catching her balance. Just adjusting the strap on her bag.

Patty glanced up.

For a second, their eyes met.

Patty looked away first.

Lilly hesitated. Every sensible part of her said go home. This wasn’t her problem. Patty had made it clear—over and over—that she didn’t want Lilly anywhere near her.

Still.

Lilly leaned her bike against the fence and walked a few steps closer, careful, like approaching something skittish.

“Aren’t you… getting picked up?” she asked.

Her voice sounded strange in the open air. Smaller.

Patty didn’t answer right away. She scuffed the toe of her shoe against the step. “Was supposed to be,” she muttered. Lilly waited.

“They were supposed to come before five,” Patty added, sharper now, like she was annoyed at herself for saying anything at all. “But I was in detention. Maybe they thought I rode the school bus home.“

“Oh,” Lilly said.

She didn’t know what else to say. Forgotten felt worse than late. Forgotten felt like something you couldn’t argue with.

Patty pulled her jacket tighter. 

Lilly nodded slowly. She glanced back toward her bike, then at the street stretching out beyond the school, empty except for a passing car and the hum of cicadas starting up in the trees.

“You could… ride with me,” she said before she could stop herself.

Patty’s head snapped up. “What?”

“I mean,” Lilly rushed, heat creeping into her face, “I’m biking home anyway. You could—just—sit on the back. If it’s on the way.” Patty stared at her like she’d suggested something ridiculous.

“Why would you do that?” she asked.

Lilly swallowed. She shrugged, a small, awkward motion. “Because it’s getting late.”

“That’s it?” Patty pressed.

Lilly met her gaze this time. “That’s it.”

For a moment, Patty looked like she might laugh. Or snap. Or say something cruel just to remind Lilly of where they stood.

Instead, her shoulders sagged.

“…Fine,” she said quietly. “Just until Main Street.”

Lilly nodded, relieved she didn’t have to convince her. They didn’t talk as Patty climbed on behind her, hands hovering awkwardly at first before settling lightly on the sides of the seat. The weight was unfamiliar but manageable. Lilly pushed off, pedaling slowly at first, then finding a steady rhythm.

The town rolled past them in muted colors—closed storefronts, porch lights flicking on, the smell of dinner drifting out of open windows. Patty didn’t say anything. She didn’t grip Lilly’s jacket either. She kept her hands careful, distant.

Halfway down the street, she spoke.

“They don’t like it when I’m late,” she said, almost to herself.

Lilly didn’t ask who they were.

“I’m sorry,” she replied instead.

Patty huffed. “You didn’t do anything.”

The words hung between them, oddly fragile.

They rode the rest of the way in silence. When they reached Main Street, Patty tapped Lilly’s shoulder once. “Here’s fine.” Lilly stopped. Patty hopped off quickly, already stepping back, putting space between them again like armor.

“Thanks,” Patty said. She didn’t look at Lilly when she said it. “You’re welcome,” Lilly replied. Patty hesitated, then added, quieter,

“Don’t tell anyone about today.”

Lilly shook her head. “I won’t.” Patty nodded once, satisfied, then turned and walked toward the row of houses lining the street, her back straight again, her steps sharper, like she was putting herself back together piece by piece.

Lilly watched until she disappeared from view. Then she got back on her bike and rode home, the evening air cool against her face, her thoughts louder than the wheels beneath her.

The radio crackled softly on Lilly’s nightstand, the sound thin and warm all at once. A woman’s voice drifted through the static, followed by a song Lilly didn’t know the name of but recognized anyway—the kind that played on weekends, slow and sentimental, meant to fill quiet houses.

Lilly lay on her back, staring at the ceiling where a faint crack ran from one corner to the light fixture. The morning sun slipped in through the curtains, pale and lazy, striping the walls in gold. She hadn’t bothered getting dressed yet. She was still in her nightgown, sheets tangled around her legs, one foot sticking out into the cool air.

She turned the radio knob just a little, not enough to wake the house, just enough to hear the melody more clearly.

Her thoughts drifted without direction. The lab. The broken glass. Patty on the steps outside the school. The way her voice had sounded when she said they don’t like it when I’m late. Lilly rolled onto her side, hugging her pillow, trying not to think about it too much.

The song ended. The announcer’s voice followed, cheerful and smooth, talking about the weather and a sale happening downtown.

“Lilly!” Terri’s voice cut through the quiet from down the hall. Lilly flinched, then sighed. “Yeah?”

“We’re going into town,” Terri called. “Get dressed. We’ll leave in fifteen.”

Lilly groaned, burying her face in the pillow.

“Do I have to?”

“Yes,” Terri replied, entirely unsympathetic. “You need new shoes, and I’m not doing this without you.”

Lilly turned onto her back again, staring at the ceiling. The radio hummed on, filling the room like a companion that didn’t ask questions. Shopping meant Main Street. It meant people. It meant running into classmates if she was unlucky.

“Okay,” she called back, resigned.

She sat up slowly, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. The floor was cold under her feet. She reached over to turn the radio off, then paused, fingers hovering. She left it on.

As she pulled on her sweater and brushed her hair, the music kept playing, steady and familiar. 

Outside, the weekend moved on without hurry, and for the moment, nothing was expected of her beyond getting dressed and following Terri out the door.

Main Street was already busy by the time they parked. Cars angled along the curb, shop windows catching the late-morning sun, people moving in loose clusters with paper bags and coffee cups in hand. Lilly trailed half a step behind Terri, hands tucked into the sleeves of her sweater, eyes fixed on the cracks in the sidewalk.

They stopped outside the shoe store first. Lilly endured the measuring, the trying on, the polite nodding while Terri discussed prices with the clerk. By the time they stepped back out, the sun had climbed higher, the air warming enough to make Lilly wish she’d worn something lighter.

“I’m starving,” Terri said, glancing down the street. 

“Let’s eat before we head home.” Lilly’s stomach tightened. Terri was already scanning the row of storefronts, eyes landing on the familiar red-and-white sign a few doors down.

Maple Lane Diner

“No,” Lilly said immediately, too fast.

Terri blinked. “No?”

“I mean—can we go somewhere else?” Lilly asked, forcing her voice to sound casual. “Anywhere else.”

Her mind twisted as she tried to articulate it, but the words wouldn’t come.  She didn’t want to admit it, even to herself: the diner was owned by the Stanton's. Just stepping inside meant being in their world, seeing the familiar faces, feeling that same gnawing anxiety she’d been trying to ignore.

Terri tilted her head, studying her. “What’s wrong with Stanton’s? Their food’s good.”

“I just—” Lilly stopped. There was no good explanation she could say out loud. “I don’t feel like it.” Terri sighed, already turning toward the diner. 

“Lilly, we’re already here. Don’t start.”

“I don’t want to,” Lilly pressed, heart thudding now.

“Please.” Terri stopped walking. “Lilly,” she said, firmly but not unkindly, “it’s lunch. You’ll survive.”

And with that, she reached back, fingers closing around Lilly’s wrist—not tight, just decisive—and steered her toward the diner door. The bell above it jingled as they stepped inside. Warmth rushed over Lilly at once. The smell of grease and coffee and sugar made her stomach twist in a way that wasn’t hunger. Red vinyl booths lined the walls, sunlight slanting in through the windows, dust motes floating lazily in the air.

Lilly’s eyes darted instinctively toward the counter.

She didn’t see Patty. Relief loosened something in her chest, just a little.

They slid into a booth near the window. Lilly took the seat facing the door, unable to help herself. She picked up the menu, pretending to read, though the words blurred together.

“See?” Terri said, cheerful now. “Not so bad.”

Lilly hummed in response, noncommittal.

A waitress came by to take their order, scribbling quickly on her pad. Lilly ordered the safest thing she could think of, something she wouldn’t have to concentrate on eating.

Terri folded her menu and set it aside, resting her elbows on the table. “So,” she said lightly, “how’s school been?”

Lilly looked up a beat too late. “It’s… fine.”

Terri raised an eyebrow. “Just fine?”

“Mhm.” Lilly traced the edge of the menu with her thumb, eyes drifting toward the window. A couple passed outside, the woman in a swing dress, the man with his hair slicked back neat and shiny. The diner felt louder all of a sudden—silverware clinking, a radio humming behind the counter, someone laughing two booths over.

Terri watched her for a moment. “Science still your favorite?”

“I guess,” Lilly said. She shifted in her seat. “We did an experiment yesterday.”

“Oh?” Terri smiled. “Did it go well?”

Lilly hesitated. Broken glass flashed in her mind. Detention. Patty on the steps. The bike ride. She swallowed. “Yeah. It was… okay.”

Terri didn’t push. She reached for her coffee instead, blowing gently across the surface before taking a sip. Lilly relaxed a fraction, shoulders easing as she leaned back against the booth. Patty wasn’t here. That was the important thing. The diner was just a diner—warm, boring, harmless.

She might even make it through lunch without incident. The bell over the door jingled.

Lilly stiffened.

Slowly, she turned her head.

Patty stood just inside the doorway.

She wasn’t in her school clothes this time. She wore a pale yellow dress that fell just below her knees, the skirt full and pressed, a thin belt cinched at her waist. Her hair was curled and pinned back neatly, a ribbon tied at the crown. She looked—Lilly thought with a strange jolt—almost older. Like someone from one of the movies on the radio.

Patty scanned the diner, then smiled when she spotted them.

Terri noticed her too. “Oh,” she said pleasantly. 

"That’s Patty Stanton, isn’t it?” Lilly’s fingers curled into the vinyl seat. Patty walked over, posture straight, smile practiced. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Bainbridge.” Terri beamed. “It’s nice to see you out of school. Your parents doing well?”

“They are, thank you,” Patty replied smoothly. She glanced at Lilly then, just briefly, her smile shifting into something smaller. Polite. Careful. “Hi, Lilly.”

“Hi,” Lilly said. Her voice sounded steady. She surprised herself. Patty nodded, like that was all she’d expected, then turned back to Terri. “I was just picking something up for my mother. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“You’re not interrupting at all,” Terri said warmly. 

“It’s good manners to say hello.”

Patty smiled again. “Yes, ma’am.”

She excused herself and headed toward the counter, heels clicking softly against the tile. Lilly watched her go, unease curling low in her stomach. Patty didn’t look back. She leaned against the counter instead, speaking quietly to the man behind it.

Terri picked up her menu again, unaware of the shift in the air. “She’s a very polite girl,” she remarked.

Lilly said nothing.

Their food arrived a moment later, plates sliding onto the table with a soft clatter. The smell of fries and toast cut through Lilly’s thoughts. She picked up her fork, appetite returning in cautious pieces.

At the counter, Patty accepted a small paper bag, folded neatly at the top. She thanked the man, then turned. She paused when she saw Terri watching.

“Have a nice afternoon, Mrs. Bainbridge,” Patty said, lifting the bag slightly. “You too, dear,” Terri replied. Patty glanced at Lilly one last time. “See you at school.”

“Yeah,” Lilly said.

Patty smiled—quick, unreadable—and then she was gone, the bell jingling again as the door swung shut behind her. Lilly let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Terri reached for her fork.

“Now,” she said, cheerfully oblivious, “eat before it gets cold.” Lilly nodded and did as she was told, the taste of salt and grease grounding her back in the booth. 

Chapter Text

The classroom smelled faintly of chalk dust and polished wood. Sunlight cut through the tall windows in stripes that fell across the desks, illuminating the fine motes of dust dancing lazily in the air. Ms. Beckett stood at the front, clutching a thin stack of papers, her glasses perched on the bridge of her nose.

“Class,” she began, voice steady, commanding attention without needing to raise it. “We will be performing a play for the end-of-term assembly. It’s a tradition, and everyone will have a part.”

A few students exchanged quiet whispers, the shuffle of papers and chairs filling the silence. Lilly sat with her notebook open, pretending to take notes, but her hands fidgeted with the pencil. She could feel Matty across the room glancing her way, already scribbling something in the margin of his own notebook — probably just ridiculous doodles to stifle the boredom.

Ms. Beckett continued. “I have assigned roles, but I will allow a few minor adjustments if necessary. Now, listen carefully.”

She held up the first sheet. “The play will be The Little Princess by Frances Hodgson Burnett. It’s a period piece, set in London, and will require careful attention to costume and behavior. I expect decorum.”

A small groan rippled quietly from the back. Rhonda and Elaine exchanged a knowing glance.

“Sarah Crewe,” Ms. Beckett said, scanning the list, “will be played by Patricia Stanton.”

Lilly’s stomach sank slightly. Of course. Patty would have the lead. Perfect posture, perfect diction, perfect everything. She wouldn’t have to act — she would be Sarah Crewe.

“And,” Ms. Beckett continued, looking down the sheet, “Lillian Bainbridge…” Lilly stiffened. “…you will play Ermengarde.” A murmur rose from the other girls nearby. Ermengarde was sweet but clumsy and a little silly — a supporting role, certainly, but one that could draw attention if performed poorly. Lilly felt her cheeks warm. She had no experience speaking in front of the class, let alone in period dialogue.

The class shuffled papers, some whispering about costumes, others already imagining the stage. Lilly tried to focus on her notebook again, tracing the outline of her pencil along the edge of the page. Matty leaned over her shoulder, his voice low:

“You’ll be fine. Just follow the lines. Don’t let her—” He nodded toward Patty, “—get under your skin.”

Lilly forced a small nod, though her stomach twisted at the thought of speaking in front of everyone while Patty took center stage. She picked up the sheet again, scanning her lines, murmuring them under her breath. The words felt stiff and foreign, and her tongue tripped over them more than once.

By the end of the period, roles had been rehearsed aloud. Ms. Beckett clapped her hands lightly.

“Excellent. I expect full attention during rehearsals. Remember your manners, your posture, and your projection. You are representing our class — and the school.”

The bell rang. Lilly felt a weight in her chest as she gathered her things, glancing toward Patty, who was already speaking with Ronnie and Rhonda, seemingly effortless, already practicing Sarah Crewe’s lines under her breath.

Matty stayed a moment to help her with her notebook. “Come on,” he said softly, “we’ll go over your part tonight. You’ll do fine.”

Lilly nodded, biting her lip. She wanted to believe him. She wanted to feel confident. But she couldn’t shake the tension in her chest, the prickling sensation that all eyes would eventually find her — and that Patty would notice every stumble before anyone else did.

The sun had dipped lower, casting long shadows across the sidewalks. The faint smell of fresh bread from the bakery next door mingled with the warm asphalt and the distant hum of traffic. Lilly walked slowly, a little behind the others, hands stuffed into the pockets of her cardigan.

They stopped in front of Charlie’s Ice Cream Parlor, its striped awning faded from years of sun, neon letters flickering faintly. Ronnie held the door open, flashing a grin that made Lilly’s chest tighten with a mixture of nerves and comfort.

“C’mon, it’s on me today,” Ronnie said cheerfully, stepping aside to let Lilly and the others enter.

Lilly trailed in quietly, letting the chatter wash over her. She ordered vanilla, plain, and found herself following Ronnie over to the table.

“You okay?” Ronnie asked softly as they sat down. Her gaze lingered on Lilly a second too long, like she could see the little storm behind her eyes.

Lilly shrugged, glancing down at her cone. “Yeah… I think so.”

Rich leaned back in his chair, smirking. “Don’t mind the play. Besides, you’ve got us, right?”

“Ronnie and I will be on stage too,” Will added, grinning. “So you won’t be alone up there.”

Matty nodded, adjusting his notebook. “And we’ll make sure the props and costumes are perfect. You just have to worry about your lines.” Lilly let out a small, unsteady laugh. It felt strange to laugh so openly, but the sound carried weightless through the parlor, and the warmth of her friends around her eased some of the tension.

Ronnie reached over and nudged her lightly with her elbow. “See? Nothing to stress about. You’ll do fine.”

Even Rich chuckled. “Yeah, and if anyone trips over their lines, we’ll all just improvise. It’s going to be fine.”

For a moment, Lilly let herself sink into that calm, letting the noise, the laughter, the clatter of spoons against bowls, and the warm sugar-sweet air fill her senses. Her hands loosened around the cone, her shoulders dropped slightly, and the knot in her chest softened.

“And hey,” Ronnie added with a grin, “you’re Ermengarde. You get to be… charmingly clumsy. That’s all.”

They all laughed at that — Matty snorting quietly into his napkin, Will leaning back with a triumphant grin, Rich shaking his head but smiling. Lilly’s lips curved into a small smile herself, quiet but genuine, feeling a little of the fear slip away.

The classroom had been cleared of desks, pushed neatly to the sides to make a small stage area in the center. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, catching the dust in lazy ribbons. The air smelled faintly of chalk and polished wood, mingled with the faint scent of Matty’s pencil shavings and the faint perfume some girls had worn.

Patty Stanton stood center stage, posture perfect, her voice crisp and clear as she delivered her lines. Each word was measured, precise, like she had been born to command attention. Ms. Beckett’s approving nods punctuated her performance, and a few students murmured quietly in awe.

Lilly stood a few feet away, script in hand, her stomach twisting like she was learning to swallow stones. She tried to follow the cues, to match the lines she had rehearsed quietly the night before. But her mind kept slipping, wandering to the sharpness of Patty’s voice, the way her classmates seemed to lean forward at every word, laughing quietly at nothing — or at her, she imagined.

“Miss Bainbridge!” Ms. Beckett’s voice cut through the haze, sharp enough to make Lilly jump. “Are you paying attention?”

Lilly blinked, startled, her pencil dropping from her fingers. Her voice came out squeaky when she attempted her line. “I—I… yes, Miss Beckett.”

Patty’s eyes flicked toward her briefly, polite, almost imperceptibly amused. It made Lilly feel smaller, like she was melting into the floorboards.

Rhonda snorted behind her hand. Elaine’s laughter followed, barely contained. Even Marge had a smile tugging at her lips.

“Focus, Miss Bainbridge,” Ms. Beckett scolded, hands on her hips, glasses glinting in the sunlight. “Ermengarde is meant to be sweet and clumsy, not… daydreaming in the corner!”

Lilly’s cheeks flamed. She could feel her classmates’ eyes on her, some sympathetic, some teasing, all magnifying the knot of panic in her chest. She tried again, voice trembling but audible this time. “I—oh dear, I do hope she is well…”

Patty delivered her next line flawlessly, eyes forward, every gesture measured and elegant. The contrast made Lilly’s nerves spike. Her hands fidgeted with the script, smudging pencil marks across the page.

Will leaned slightly toward her, whispering, “Don’t worry, you’ll catch the rhythm soon.”

Rich smirked from the side. “Just follow her lead. She can’t make you trip if you know your lines.”

But Lilly’s mind refused to cooperate. The words floated out of reach, her voice skipped, and her gestures were too slow, too hesitant. Another round of stifled giggles echoed around her. She could hear Ms. Beckett sighing behind her, muttering instructions she struggled to process.

Ronnie leaned closer, lowering her voice so only Lilly could hear over the murmur of the class. Her eyes were sharp, but there was warmth there too—a steadying presence.

“You’re overthinking it, you know that?” she said, a small smirk tugging at her lips. “It’s just lines, just gestures. Ermengarde isn’t meant to be perfect. She’s awkward, she’s clumsy, she’s… human. That’s the whole point.”

Lilly chewed on her lip, glancing down at the script. “I know, but everyone’s staring. And Patty… she’s… she’s flawless.”

Ronnie rolled her eyes gently. “Yeah, Patty’s flawless. Congratulations, she’s a statue. You’re not a statue, you’re… alive. You trip, you stutter, you make a face when you mess up—people notice that. But they also remember it. They laugh with you, not at you. You just have to let yourself do it.”

“I don’t know if I can…” Lilly whispered, her voice shaky. Ronnie nudged her lightly with her elbow. “Listen, you can. You’ve got the words. You’ve got the timing. And we’ve got your back. Rich, Will, Matty… we’re not gonna let you flop out there alone.”

Lilly’s shoulders loosened just slightly. “Even if Patty’s… there?”

Ronnie’s grin widened, a touch mischievous. “Especially if Patty’s there. Let her shine all she wants. You do you. You’re not trying to outdo her—you’re just trying to not trip over your own feet. And if you do? Who cares? You’ll survive.”

“Survive and maybe even get a little applause,” Ronnie said, winking. “C’mon, you’ve got this.”

“Okay,” she whispered, almost to herself. “Okay, I’ll try.” Ronnie gave her a quick squeeze on the shoulder. “That’s all anyone’s asking.”

And with that, Lilly lifted her chin, squared her shoulders, and glanced toward the stage, ready to give it a shot—even if just a small one.

The final bell had rung, and most of the class had scattered, the hum of chatter fading into the hallways. Lilly gathered her script and bag, already thinking of the warmth of home, of the quiet that awaited her. She stepped toward the door, only to hear Ms. Beckett’s sharp voice call after her.

“Miss Bainbridge!” Lilly froze and turned, her stomach twisting.

“Yes, Miss Beckett?” she asked, voice hesitant.

“You’re improving,” the teacher said, holding her glasses and tapping the stack of scripts. “But not enough. I expect you to practice more. You can’t rely on stage nerves to carry you through. Stay after tomorrow if you have to—just practice.”

Lilly nodded, her throat tight, and murmured, “Yes, Miss Beckett,” before shoving her bag over her shoulder and moving toward the hallway. She let out a quiet sigh and pushed open the main doors, stepping into the empty corridor.

For a moment, the hallways felt wide and silent, echoing only her own footsteps. She let her head fall slightly, gripping her bag strap like a lifeline. A sudden hand clamped over her wrist. Lilly jumped, looking up to see Patty Stanton standing there, eyes sharp.

Her grip was tight, unyielding, and Lilly froze. Patty’s eyes locked onto hers—cold, assessing, leaving no space to look away.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Patty’s voice was sharp, almost taunting.

“I—I was going to—practice at home,” Lilly stammered, tugging lightly but unable to break free from Patty’s hold.

Patty smirked, cruel and precise. “Alone? You’re hopeless like that. You can’t even stand on stage without tripping over your own lines.” She tightened her grip just enough to make Lilly flinch, forcing her to meet her gaze.

“I… I know,” Lilly whispered, cheeks burning.

“Of course you do.” Patty’s voice dropped, low and deliberate. “Here’s the deal. We’re going to practice. Together. And don’t even think about slacking off—you’ll do it my way.”

Lilly’s stomach twisted, heart hammering, every nerve alert under Patty’s piercing stare. Patty’s smirk shifted slightly, calculating. “Now… tell me where you live. I’ll come by tomorrow afternoon.” Her hand released Lilly’s wrist, but her eyes never left hers, sharp and dominant.

Lilly hesitated, biting her lip, then whispered, “I… I live on Maple Street.” Patty’s grin was faint, dangerous.

“Good. Don’t be late. And don’t ruin this for me.” She turned sharply and walked down the hallway, heels clicking against the polished floor, leaving Lilly frozen.

Chapter Text

Lilly’s house sat quiet at the end of Maple Street, white siding dulled by age, the porch light already glowing though the sun hadn’t fully set. She pushed the door open with her shoulder, the familiar creak greeting her like a sigh. The air inside smelled faintly of lemon polish and something warm from the kitchen—toast, maybe, or soup left simmering earlier.

“Lilly?” a voice called as Lilly heard th familiar voice.

“Ronnie?”

Ronnie stepped out from the living room, jacket slung over one shoulder, hair a little wind-tousled like she’d biked over in a hurry. “Your mom let me in. Said you’d be home any minute.” Lilly let her bag slide to the floor, relief washing  through her so suddenly it almost made her dizzy. 

“I didn’t know you were coming.”

“Figured you might need company,” Ronnie said lightly, then paused, studying her face. “You look like you just walked out of a firing squad.”

Lilly huffed a weak laugh and moved into the kitchen, setting her script on the table. Ronnie followed, pulling out a chair and sitting backward on it, arms folded over the backrest.

“Patty stopped me,” Lilly said quietly, eyes fixed on the worn tabletop. “In the hallway.”

Ronnie’s posture shifted instantly. “Stopped you how?”

“She—” Lilly hesitated, her fingers curling into the edge of the paper. “She grabbed my arm. Said we’re practicing together. Here. Tomorrow.”

Ronnie’s jaw tightened. “Of course she did.”

Ronnie leaned back, exhaling through her nose. “That girl doesn’t understand the word no. Or pretends not to.”

“She said I’m hopeless on my own,” Lilly murmured. “And that I’d better not mess this up.” Silence stretched between them, thick and uncomfortable. Ronnie finally reached out and tapped the script with one finger.

“Listen to me,” she said, steadier now. “Practicing isn’t the problem. Patty being alone with you is.”

Lilly looked up. “She’s not going to— I mean— she’s just mean.”

“Mean still counts,” Ronnie replied. Her voice softened, but her eyes stayed sharp. “I don’t like it. Not one bit.”

“I don’t either,” Lilly admitted. “But Ms. Beckett wants improvement, and Patty’s… Patty.”

Ronnie sighed, rubbing a hand over her face before meeting Lilly’s eyes again. “Okay. If you’re going to do this, you don’t do it without backup.” 

She reached for the phone on the wall, nudging it slightly. “If she makes you uncomfortable. If she grabs you again. If she says anything that makes your stomach twist—”

“I’ll call,” Lilly said quietly.

“Exactly, you’ll call me.” 

Lilly nodded, a small, grateful smile tugging at her lips. “I will.”

Ronnie stood, giving her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Good. I don’t trust her as far as I can throw her. And for the record?” She smirked. “You don’t need Patty Stanton to survive a play.”

Lilly let out a breath and smiled warmly. Outside, the porch light hummed softly, and for the first time since rehearsal, the house felt steady again.

Lunch smelled like boiled vegetables and milk cartons sweating onto metal trays. The cafeteria buzzed with noise—chairs scraping, voices bouncing off the tiled walls, a radio somewhere near the kitchen playing something tinny and cheerful that didn’t match the mood at half the tables.

Lilly sat with Ronnie, Matty, Rich, and Will near the windows, her tray mostly untouched. She kept glancing at the clock above the doors, counting the minutes without meaning to. Across the room, Patty Stanton held court as usual, surrounded by her girls—the Patty Cakes—skirts crisp, laughter sharp and synchronized.

That was when Drew walked past their table.

He was small for his age, all elbows and nervous energy, thick glasses sliding down his nose as he clutched his tray like it might betray him. He hesitated when he realized there were no empty seats nearby, then started toward the far end of the room.

“Hey, Drew,” Patty called out sweetly.

He stopped. That was his first mistake. Patty tilted her head, smile polished and false. 

“You dropped something.”

Drew looked down instinctively. One of the girls—Elaine, Lilly thought—stuck her foot out just enough. Drew’s shoe caught. The tray tipped. Milk spilled first, then mashed potatoes slid off the edge and splattered onto the floor with a wet smack.

Laughter erupted. “Oh my gosh,” Rhonda said loudly from Patty’s table, hand to her chest. “He’s always so clumsy.”

“Careful,” Patty added, standing now, looming just close enough to make Drew shrink. “You’ll hurt someone like that.”

“I—I’m sorry,” Drew muttered, face burning red as he crouched to clean up the mess with napkins that were already tearing apart in his hands.

Patty clicked her tongue. “Honestly. Maybe the cafeteria’s just too much responsibility for you.”

The Patty Cakes laughed again, sharper this time. Lilly’s stomach twisted. She glanced at Ronnie, who had gone very still, jaw tight. Matty’s hand clenched around his fork.

Across the room, Drew’s hands were shaking as he tried to pick up the fallen food, eyes fixed on the floor. A lunch monitor finally noticed, waving him off with a distracted sigh and handing him a mop like it was an inconvenience.

Patty sat back down, victory easy and complete, already bored.

Lilly stared at her tray, appetite gone. The laughter echoed too long in her ears, mixing with the scrape of Drew’s shoes as he dragged the mop away. She felt that familiar tightness in her chest, the cold realization settling in again.

And this afternoon, Patty was coming to her house.

The walk home felt longer than usual. Lilly cut across Maple Street at a near jog, cardigan slipping off one shoulder, breath coming a little fast. 

Patty Stanton arriving first was a thought she couldn’t bear. She pushed harder, shoes slapping against the pavement, the image of Patty’s assessing eyes already roaming her room making her stomach knot.

By the time she reached the house, the porch light was still on. She slipped inside and went straight for the stairs.

“Lilly?” her mother called from the kitchen. “You’re early.”

“I—Patty Stanton is coming over,” Lilly said quickly, already halfway up the steps. There was a pause. Then—“Patricia Stanton?” her mother’s voice lifted, bright with surprise. “Oh! Well, that’s lovely.”

Lovely was not the word Lilly would’ve chosen.

She shut her bedroom door and moved fast, scooping loose papers into her desk drawer, shoving books back onto the shelf, smoothing the bedspread until the creases disappeared beneath her palms. She opened the window to let the air move, then immediately closed it again, worried about dust. 

Downstairs, her mother was already in motion. Cups clinked. A chair scraped.

“You should’ve told me earlier,” she called up cheerfully. “I’ll put the kettle on. The Stantons are such a respectable family. That girl has such poise.”

Lilly sat on the edge of her bed, fingers twisting together. “She’s just coming to practice,” she said, quieter now. “Not for long.”

“Oh, even so,” her mother replied. “It’s good for you. Getting to know the right sort of people.”

Lilly swallowed. She stared at her reflection in the mirror—hair slightly frizzed from rushing, eyes uneasy. She smoothed her skirt, then her cardigan, though neither really helped.

A car passed outside. Footsteps on the sidewalk.

Her heart jumped.

“Lilly,” her mother called again, delighted, “I think that’s her.”

Lilly stood slowly, dread settling heavy in her chest. She took one last look around her room—too tidy now, like it was pretending to be something else—then headed for the stairs.

Whatever happened next, there was no backing out. Patty Stanton was already at the door.

Patty stepped inside with poise.

“Mrs. Bainbridge,” she said brightly, posture straight, smile soft and practiced. “Thank you so much for having me. Your home is just lovely.”

Lilly nearly bit her tongue. Her mother beamed, smoothing her apron as if  she’d been waiting all day for that exact sentence. 

“You’re very welcome, dear. Lilly’s told me so much about you.” That was a lie. Lilly stared at the pattern on the rug and focused on not rolling her eyes straight out of her head.

“Only good things, I hope,” Patty replied, letting out a small, polite laugh. She even clasped her hands together, the picture of manners.

“Of course,” Mrs. Bainbridge said warmly. “Why don’t you girls head up to Lilly’s room? I’ll bring up some cookies and tea in a bit.”

“That would be wonderful, thank you,” Patty said at once. “You’re very kind, Mrs. Bainbridge.” Lilly’s brows knit together despite herself.

She turned sharply toward the stairs before her face could betray her.  “My room’s this way,” she muttered.

Patty followed, heels tapping lightly against the steps. The moment they reached the landing, the air shifted. Patty’s smile faded just enough to feel intentional.

“Cute house,” she said casually. “Very… homey.” Lilly pushed her bedroom door open, stepping aside.

“Here.” Patty walked in, eyes sweeping the room in one slow, deliberate glance—bed, desk, bookshelf, the window—taking inventory. Lilly stood near the door, arms folded tight, jaw tense.

Behind them, Mrs. Bainbridge’s voice floated up the stairs. “Give me a few minutes, girls!”

“Thank you again, Mrs. Bainbridge!” Patty called back sweetly.

Lilly didn’t say a word. She just watched Patty turn around, that polite mask already slipping, and wondered how long it would take before the real her came back out. Patty sat on Lilly’s bed without asking.

She did it casually —skirt smoothing beneath her as she leaned back on her hands, eyes still roaming. 

“You keep things neat,” Patty said, not quite a compliment. “I’d have guessed you were the type to let papers pile up.” Lilly closed the door behind her a little harder than necessary. “I try my best.”

“Mmm.” Patty’s mouth curved. “Of course you do.”

She kicked her heels off, leaving them crooked by the bedframe, then reached for Lilly’s script from the desk without asking either. Patty flipped through the pages slowly, humming under her breath.

“You highlighted your lines,” she observed. “That’s good. At least you’re trying.”

Lilly stayed standing. She didn’t trust herself to sit. 

“Ms. Beckett said we should run Act Two.”

Patty glanced up, eyes sharp despite the lazy sprawl of her posture. “Relax. We’ve got time.” She tapped the mattress beside her with the script. 

“Come on. I don’t bite.”

Lilly hesitated, then sat on the chair instead. The distance felt necessary.

Patty snorted softly. “Figures.”

She leaned forward now, elbows on her knees, tone lighter—almost friendly. “Look, I’m not here to be a monster. I just need you to keep up. This play doesn’t work if you freeze every time someone looks at you.”

“I don’t freeze,” Lilly said, too quickly.

Patty’s smile widened. “See? That right there.  Defensive. You do that onstage too.”

Lilly clenched her hands in her lap. “Then tell me what to fix.” For a moment, Patty studied her—really studied her. Then she shrugged. “Projection. Posture. Confidence.” She tilted her head. “And maybe stop acting like you’re waiting to make a mistake.”

That landed harder than Lilly expected. Patty leaned back again, stretching like a cat. 

“Don’t take it so personally. I’m helping you. Whether you like it or not.” Downstairs, cups clinked faintly. The kettle whistled. Lilly swallowed and reached for her script.

“Okay,” she said quietly. “Let’s practice.” Patty smiled, slow and satisfied, like she’d won something without ever having to ask for it.

The script lay open between them, pages already dog-eared from being turned back and forth. Cookies sat abandoned on the desk, crumbs scattered beside two empty teacups that had long gone cold. The light outside the window had shifted, afternoon sinking toward evening, shadows stretching thin across the floor.

“Again,” Patty said.

Lilly took a breath. “ ‘If you think I’ll stand here and—’”

“No,” Patty cut in immediately. “You rushed it.”

Lilly stopped, heat creeping up her neck. She tried again, slower this time, careful with each word.

Patty sighed, exaggerated. “You’re still shrinking. Shoulders back.”

“I’m not—” Lilly began.

Patty stood abruptly, crossing the room in three quick steps. She reached out and pressed two fingers lightly between Lilly’s shoulder blades, pushing.

“There. That. Hold that.” Lilly stiffened but obeyed.

“Better,” Patty said, returning to the bed. “Now say it like you mean it.” Lilly delivered the line again. It wasn’t perfect, but it was closer. She felt it—felt the words land more firmly this time.

Patty clicked her tongue. “Almost.” She flipped the page. “You hesitate right before the last sentence. You always do.”

“I just—need a second,” Lilly said quietly.

“That second reads as weakness,” Patty replied, too easily. “Audiences smell that.” They ran it once more. Then again. By the fifth time, Lilly’s throat was dry and her hands were trembling just enough that she hid them beneath the script.

Patty finally closed the booklet with a snap. 

“Alright. Break.”

Lilly blinked. “Oh.”Patty stretched, arms lifting over her head. “You’re tense. We’ll come back to it.”

Lilly nodded, unsure. She set the script down carefully, then stood, smoothing her skirt out of habit. The silence felt louder without the lines filling it.

“I’ll—” She gestured vaguely toward the door. “I’ll just get some water.”

She took two steps.

Patty’s hand closed around her wrist.

It wasn’t rough, but it was firm—fingers warm, grip certain. Lilly froze, breath catching as she looked down at it, then up at Patty’s face.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Patty asked lightly, eyes locked onto hers.

“I just said—”

“Sit,” Patty said, tightening her hold just enough to make the word unmistakable. “Break means you stay put.” Lilly swallowed, pulse loud in her ears. Slowly, she lowered herself back into the chair, Patty’s hand lingering a moment longer before letting go.

“Good,” Patty said, smile returning like nothing had happened. Patty let go and began to wander.

She moved the way she always did, unhurried and sure of herself, circling the room as if it were an extension of her own. Her fingers brushed the edge of Lilly’s desk, lingered over the spines of her books. Lilly stayed seated, back straight, hands folded too neatly in her lap, every muscle aware.

“So,” Patty said lightly, picking up a small stack of notebooks. “You keep everything this tidy all the time?”

Lilly nodded. “Mostly.”

“Hm.” Patty flipped one open without asking, skimming a page. “You write your lines in the margins. That’s… thorough.”

Lilly’s chest tightened. “I remember them better that way.” Patty glanced back at her, eyes sharp for just a second before the smile returned. “Of course you do.”

She drifted to the window, peering out through the curtains. The late light caught the side of her face, turning her expression unreadable. Lilly watched her reflection in the glass instead of looking directly at her, afraid of what she might give away.

“You live on a quiet street,” Patty said. “Must be nice. No distractions.”

“I like it,” Lilly replied, after a beat.

Patty hummed, unconvinced. She turned, leaned back against the sill. “You’re very… careful, aren’t you?” Lilly’s fingers curled slightly. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Patty’s gaze slid over her, slow and deliberate, as if weighing something. “You think before you speak. Before you move. It’s not a bad thing.” She tilted her head. “Just makes people wonder what you’re holding back.”

Lilly shifted in her seat, the chair creaking softly beneath her. “I’m not holding anything back.”

“Mm,” Patty said. She crossed the room again, stopping by the bed, sitting on its edge like she had earlier, closer this time. “If you say so.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The ticking of the clock on Lilly’s dresser filled the space between them. Lilly stared at a loose thread on her sleeve, acutely aware of Patty’s eyes on her face.

“You get nervous around me,” Patty said at last, almost conversational.

Lilly looked up despite herself. “I don’t.”

Patty smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “You do. Your hands give you away.” Lilly tucked them under her thighs, pulse quickening.

Patty watched the movement, something unreadable flickering across her expression. She leaned forward slightly, elbows on her knees. 

“Relax, Lilly. I’m just trying to get to know my scene partner.” The words sounded harmless. The way she said them wasn’t.

Lilly nodded, forcing her shoulders to loosen, though the air felt tight. Patty’s gaze held hers for a second too long, then slid away again.

Patty drifted closer.

Not all at once—just a step, then another—until she was standing beside the desk where Lilly sat. She leaned over it, palms resting lightly on the wood, eyes skimming the scattered pencils, the neat stack of papers, the small framed photo near the lamp.

“You really do live in your head,” Patty murmured. 

“Everything’s lined up. Controlled.”

Lilly shifted instinctively, chair scraping back an inch. It wasn’t much, but it was enough.

Patty noticed.

Her lips curved. “Did I crowd you?”

“I just—” Lilly swallowed. “You’re in my space.”

Patty straightened slowly, mock surprise written all over her face. “Your space?” She laughed softly. 

“Relax. I’m not going to bite.” Lilly’s cheeks burned. She hated that her body betrayed her before her mouth could catch up, hated the way Patty seemed to catalog every reaction like it was useful information.

Patty stepped closer anyway.

Close enough that Lilly could smell her perfume—something light and expensive. Patty’s gaze flicked to Lilly’s hair, lingering on the curls that refused to behave no matter how carefully Lilly tried to tame them.

“These are cute,” Patty said, reaching out. “Messy, but cute.”

Her fingers lifted.

“No—” Lilly started, too late.

Patty’s hand brushed toward her curls, slow and deliberate, like she wanted Lilly to flinch.

Lilly slapped her hand away.

The sound was sharp in the small room.

Patty froze. Lilly froze.

“Oh my god,” Lilly breathed, horror rushing in all at once. “I—I didn’t mean—”

She was already halfway out of the chair, panic spiking, every instinct screaming run. She turned toward the door—

—and Patty’s hand shot out, gripping her arm.

“Hey.” Patty’s voice dropped, all sweetness gone. 

“Don’t.”

Her fingers tightened just enough to make the point.

Lilly’s breath came fast. She didn’t look at Patty’s face at first, staring instead at where Patty’s hand wrapped around her wrist, thumb pressing into skin.

“Let go,” Lilly said, voice thin. Patty stepped closer, forcing her to look up. Their faces were suddenly level, too close, Patty crouched slightly to meet her eye to eye.

“You don’t get to hit me and walk away,” Patty said quietly. Not loud. Not angry. Worse—controlled. 

“That’s rude.”

“I said don’t touch me,” Lilly shot back, shaking now, more angry at herself than anything else.

Patty’s eyes flickered with something sharp, then amused. “There she is,” she murmured. “You do have teeth.”

She didn’t let go right away. Instead, she held Lilly’s gaze, searching, pressing, like she was testing how far she could go. Then, finally, she loosened her grip—but didn’t move away.

“Next time,” Patty said softly, “use your words.”

Lilly yanked her arm back, heart pounding so hard it hurt. She stepped away, putting the desk between them, eyes bright and furious and frightened all at once.

The clock kept ticking.

Downstairs, Mrs. Bainbridge laughed at something on the radio. And Patty Stanton smiled, slow and knowing, like she’d just learned exactly where Lilly would break.

Chapter Text

Break time spilled across the quad in patches of sun and shade.

The old oak near the back fence claimed the best spot, its branches wide and low, leaves whispering as a breeze passed through. Lilly sat on the bench beneath it with the others clustered around—Ronnie perched on the backrest, Matty and Rich sprawled on the grass with their snacks, Will leaning against the trunk, kicking at the dirt.

“So Saturday,” Matty said through a mouthful of chips, “we’re either going to the arcade or Ronnie’s place. Depends on whose mom is less scary this week.”

“My mom is always scary,” Ronnie said. “That’s her brand.” Rich snorted. “Yeah, but she feeds us. Arcade doesn’t.” Laughter bubbled up easy and warm.

Lilly smiled faintly but kept her script open on her lap, eyes scanning the lines. She mouthed a sentence under her breath, pencil tapping lightly against the page as if keeping time.

Will noticed first. “Are you seriously rehearsing right now?” Lilly glanced up, startled. “I’m just—reading.”

“Uh-huh,” Ronnie said, leaning down to peek at the highlighted pages. “You’ve got color coding. That’s past reading.”

Matty pushed himself up on one elbow. “Look at her. The dedication. The passion. The future Broadway menace.” Lilly’s cheeks warmed. “Ms. Beckett said I need to be more confident with my cues.”

“Ms. Beckett says a lot of things,” Ronnie replied. 

“Including that you’re already good.” Rich tossed a grape in the air and caught it. 

“Besides, it’s break. You’re allowed to not think about the play for ten whole minutes.” Lilly’s pencil paused.

Ronnie caught it instantly. Her smile softened just a little. “Hey,” she said, lighter, “we’re not practicing today. You’re safe. Just us and questionable cafeteria snacks.”

Lilly exhaled and nodded, forcing a small laugh. “I know. I just don’t want to freeze again.”

Will shrugged. “You won’t. And even if you do, we’ll fake a fire drill and get you out.”

“That’s not comforting,” Lilly said, but she smiled for real this time. Matty grinned. “It is if you like chaos.”

They slipped back into weekend plans—movies, bikes, who had money, who absolutely did not. Lilly listened, half-present, fingers still resting on the script like it was a lifeline. Ronnie nudged her knee gently with her foot. “You know,” she said, “being dedicated isn’t a crime.”

“Yeah,” Rich added. “We’re just obligated by friendship law to tease you about it.”

Lilly closed the script halfway, hugging it to her chest. “I hate you all.” “Liar,” Ronnie said easily.

The bell rang soon after, sharp and unwelcome. They groaned and gathered their things, crumbs brushed from clothes, plans left unfinished.

As they stood, Lilly tucked the script into her bag—but not before glancing once more at the marked pages.

The classroom buzzed softly with low murmurs and the scrape of chairs as the professor lectured, chalk scratching against the blackboard. Lilly sat halfway in her seat, notebook open, pencil poised, but her eyes were unfocused, drifting past the words like they weren’t there.

“Miss Bainbridge?” the professor’s voice cut through the fog. “Could you answer the question on page forty-seven?”

Lilly’s chest tightened instantly. She opened her mouth, tried to focus on the question, but her thoughts scrambled. The words on the board danced, twisting into shadows, and suddenly her mind flashed back—the memory sharp and jagged—an anxiety from last year, the attack, the panic, the fear that had gripped her body then.

It hadn’t happened in months, not since she’d learned to avoid triggers, to manage the anxiety, to tell herself she was safe. But now, something in the classroom—the sudden hush, the professor’s sharp eyes, the chatter of her classmates—made her relive it all.

Her breathing sped. Her hands shook on the notebook. She could faintly hear Ronnie’s voice in her head, Matty and Rich, calling her, but it felt muffled, distant, like underwater echoes. The panic spread like fire under her skin, and she didn’t know what to do.

She jumped up from her chair, knocking her pencil across the floor. “I—I need—” Her voice cracked, barely audible over her own heartbeat.

Without thinking, she bolted from the classroom, heart hammering in her chest, every step echoing against the tile. The hallway stretched endlessly, lights blurring as she ran blindly, forcing her legs to keep moving despite the nausea rising in her stomach.

She reached the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. The fluorescent lights buzzed, harsh and cold. She yanked open a stall, slammed the door, and pressed herself against the wall, knees drawn up, hands over her face. Her breaths came in fast, shallow bursts, and the panic roared inside her like a tide she couldn’t hold back.

Her palms were clammy, heart racing, chest tight, eyes wide and unblinking. She wished she could disappear, wished the panic would lift, but it clung to her, relentless. For the first time in a long while, the attack had returned, unbidden, uninvited, and she didn’t know if she could face the world again.

The only thing she could do was press herself further into the corner of the cubicle, trembling, and wait for it to subside—or hope someone could pull her out of the storm before it swallowed her whole.

Lilly’s breaths were ragged, chest rising and falling too fast. Her hands clutched the edge of the toilet seat, trying in vain to slow herself down. The fluorescent hum overhead felt deafening.

Then—knock, knock, knock.

Lilly flinched, jerking her head toward the cubicle door. “R-Ronnie?” she called out, voice small and shaky.

On instinct, she swung the door open and froze.

Patty Stanton slipped inside before Lilly could react, the door clicking shut behind her. No words, no warning.

Patty moved close, deliberately calm, palms pressing gently against Lilly’s chest. “Look at me,” she said softly, though not unkindly. She placed Lilly’s trembling hands over her own, pressing them to match the rhythm of her breaths.

Lilly’s eyes widened, panic flickering again at the sudden closeness. “W-what—”

“Breathe with me,” Patty instructed, slow and controlled. “In… out. In… out.”

At first, Lilly’s chest heaved uncontrollably, but the steady pressure of Patty’s hands and the matching cadence forced her body to respond. Slowly, her breaths began to synchronize with Patty’s, each inhale and exhale echoing the calm she hadn’t realized she’d been craving.

The cubicle felt impossibly small, but the way Patty held herself—not threatening, not invasive, just present—made it bearable. Lilly’s trembling lessened fractionally, though her heart still raced. 

Lilly’s chest had slowed to a more manageable pace, the jagged edges of panic softening into a faint, shaky calm. Her palms still rested lightly on Patty’s, feeling the steady rhythm that had pulled her back from the edge. 

Finally, Lilly retracted her hands first, letting the small connection fall away. Patty’s eyes flicked to her, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. Still that edge of condescension, still that deliberate mean streak—but her gaze lingered just a little longer than necessary.

“Are you… okay now?” Patty asked, voice calm but clipped, the words carrying that same imperious edge.

“I—I’m fine,” Lilly said quickly, trying to sound firm. Then her brows furrowed in confusion. “Where’s… Ronnie?”

Patty tilted her head, lips pressing into a thin line, eyes glinting. “Mr. McCay ordered me to come instead,” she said casually, leaning back slightly—but just as she did, their knees brushed. Lilly’s stomach jumped, heat rushing to her cheeks, and she instinctively shifted away.

Patty caught the subtle movement, a teasing glint appearing in her eye. “You’re jumpy,” she said, voice low, almost a murmur. “I like that. Makes it more interesting.”

Lilly’s mouth opened, then shut, unsure whether to be annoyed or flustered. Before she could reply, Patty leaned just a fraction closer, scanning her face with that sharp, assessing look. Their arms brushed lightly—a fleeting, accidental touch—but enough that Lilly felt it, the warmth searing through her nerves.

“You really don’t manage well on your own,” Patty said, smirk returning, eyes flicking to Lilly’s as if daring her to argue. “Not that I mind… seeing you like this.”

Lilly’s stomach twisted. She wanted to be angry, wanted to snap, but the way Patty’s gaze held hers—mocking, calculating, yet strangely focused only on her—made her breath hitch.

Patty finally straightened, stepping just a hair away, letting the small distance stretch between them. “Move along,” she said lightly, that smirk never leaving her face. “Don’t make me come running again.”

The hallway outside the bathroom felt unnervingly normal, the sounds of students and distant bells a stark contrast to the storm that had gripped Lilly just an hour ago. She had walked back to class mechanically, trying to shake off the lingering tremors, the panic ebbing but leaving a hollow ache behind. Ronnie had stayed close afterward.

Classes passed in a blur, the day dragging on in endless lectures and scribbled notes. Every tick of the clock reminded her of what had happened earlier, a cautious awareness humming under her skin. By the time the final bell rang, Lilly felt drained in a way beyond fatigue, her chest tight, shoulders tense, but she forced herself to stand, pack her bag, and head to the practice.

It had been six hours since the bathroom incident. 

Six hours in which the world had moved forward without her, and she had trudged along, step by step, unsure if she would ever feel steady again. 

Now, as she approached the familiar doorway of the theater, the smell of stage polish and faint echoes of rehearsals past greeted her like a tentative promise.

The gang had already gathered, clustered near the side of the stage. Concern marked every line of their faces, subtle glances exchanged between Ronnie, Matty, Rich, and Will. They hovered just enough to make Lilly feel protected without suffocating her.

“Lilly,” Ronnie said softly as she stepped closer, eyes searching for any lingering signs of panic. 

“You okay?”

“I’m… I’m fine,” Lilly replied, voice small but steadier than it had been in class. She tugged her cardigan closer, an unconscious shield, and forced a small smile.

Matty leaned casually on the rail. “We’ve got your back, alright? No pressure.” Rich and Will offered quiet nods, supportive but unobtrusive.

And then Lilly noticed Patty. Seated at the edge of the stage, script in hand, posture perfect, face composed and unreadable. Their eyes met for a split second—a spark, electric in its subtlety, heavier than it should have felt. Lilly’s cheeks flushed, and she quickly looked down at her script, pencil tapping nervously against the pages.

Mrs. Beckett clapped her hands sharply, calling everyone to attention. “Alright, everyone. Let’s get back to it. Places!”

The gang murmured reassurances as they moved to their positions, while Lilly followed, chest still fluttering, hands gripping her script. 

“Let’s begin with the scene where Sara and Ermengarde share the news about the school picnic,” she said. “Patty, Miss Stanton — you’ll start.”

Lilly felt her stomach flutter as she took her place beside Patty. They stood a few feet apart, scripts open, legs braced like soldiers on parade.

Mrs. Beckett tapped her clipboard. “When you’re ready.”

Patty’s voice was cool and precise, each word measured:

“Ermengarde, I heard there’s to be a grand picnic this weekend —do you suppose Mother will allow us to attend?”

Lilly swallowed, letting Patty’s rhythm anchor her heartbeat before she spoke, softer but clear:

“I hope so, Sara. They say there will be music and games — and Mother promised me a new ribbon for my hair.”

Patty didn’t break eye contact even for a second. “A new ribbon, you say? Perhaps it will be the prettiest in all of London.”

The look she gave Lilly was sharp — then fleetingly uncertain — and Lilly felt heat rush to her cheeks.

Lilly continued, voice steadier than she’d expected:

“I want it to be lovely… for all of us.”

Romantic lines, but innocent in context — meant to show Ermegarde’s tender heart toward her friend. And in that simple sentiment, Lilly felt a strange warmth as Patty’s gaze lingered on her a split second longer than necessary.

Mrs. Beckett nodded. “Good. Now, when Sara offers comfort, I want more softness —  Ermengarde isn’t timid here. She’s hopeful.” Patty repeated her line, but with a softer edge this time, gaze locked on Lilly’s:

“You are brave, Ermengarde. Braver than you think.”

Lilly nearly swallowed her cue, but then she heard her own voice, quiet and honest:

“Only because my friends believe in me.”

The room held its breath for a moment — not because the line was impressive, but because of the startling ease in Lilly’s voice. Rumors of how she froze had not prepared the room for this.

Mrs. Beckett’s lips twitched into a rare smile. "Lilly — that was very nice. More confidence."

Lilly’s cheeks warmed — and just for a heartbeat, she caught Patty’s eye.

It wasn’t a harsh look, but something taut and curious — like Patty was trying to decode a shift she hadn’t expected. Mrs. Beckett continued, lowering her clipboard: 

“Let’s run that again, but this time, at the part where Sara surprises Ermengarde with that ribbon she saw in the shop.”

Patty stepped forward, already slipping into character:

“Look here — I procured an extra ribbon for you, Ermengarde! It suits you far more than that plain one you favored.”

Lilly’s breath caught — more than it should have — and she looked up, focusing on the script before her, feeling Patty’s eyes at the back of her own.

Her line came out soft, measured:

“It’s... very pretty. Thank you, Sara.”

The way Patty paused before responding — the microsecond of nothing between them — was tiny and almost unnoticeable to everyone else, but Lilly felt it in her chest like a quiet thrum.

Mrs. Beckett clapped quietly.

“That was just about right,” she said genuinely. “Take five, everyone.” Lilly’s breath faltered in the best way — a light flutter, not fear, but almost warmth — and she tucked the script under her arm.

Chapter Text

It was Sunday and sky had darkened by the time Lilly reached home. Rain pelted the streets in heavy sheets, drumming against the roof and splattering against the windows. She shut the door behind her, shaking her umbrella, letting the droplets run down her arms. Terri wasn’t home yet—her absence leaving the house quiet, empty except for the muted sound of the storm outside.

Lilly kicked off her wet shoes and padded to the living room. The lamp on the side table cast a warm pool of light, making the room feel smaller, safer. She sank into the sofa, pulling her cardigan tighter around her shoulders, and turned on the television. The evening was still young, but the rain outside demanded something slow, something immersive.

A film was already playing—a story about two women navigating a complex friendship, their voices low, their expressions sharp, alive. Lilly found herself drawn in, eyes glued to the screen. 

The dialogue washed over her, the emotions tangible, twisting a little in her chest as she leaned back and let the world shrink down to the flickering images. Outside, the storm rattled the windows; inside, she let herself be absorbed.

Her focus was so complete that she didn’t notice the faint sound at the door—first a pause, then a deliberate knock. Startled, she froze, blinking at the screen for a moment before it registered. 

Another knock.

She hesitated, heart thudding.

Who would be out in this storm?

Dragging herself upright, she padded to the door and opened it slowly.

Her eyes widened.

Patty Stanton stood there, drenched from head to toe, hair plastered to her forehead, dress clinging and soaked through. Water dripped from the hem onto the doorstep. Her usual composure was tempered by the storm; she looked almost vulnerable, almost human in a way Lilly hadn’t expected.

“W-what are you doing here?” Lilly blurted, her voice a mix of shock and incredulity.

Patty lifted a hand, letting the rain fall from her fingers. “I could at least be invited inside first,” she said, her voice clipped but carrying that same imperious edge Lilly had grown familiar with.

Lilly blinked, momentarily caught off-guard by the audacity, then stepped aside. “Oh, okay… come in.”

Patty stepped over the threshold, shaking out her hair, water splashing lightly across the floor. Lilly grabbed a towel from the closet, wringing it out as best she could and holding it out.

“Here,” she said, a little breathless. “The carpet will get wet.”

Patty took it with one hand, the other pressing the towel to her hair. “I don’t care about the carpet,” she said, voice softer than usual, just enough for 

Lilly to notice. She looked around the room quickly, then back at Lilly, water dripping down her neck.

Lilly’s hands trembled just slightly as she set the towel over the back of the sofa for Patty to use. 

“You’re… soaking. You should change,” she said, gesturing toward the hallway.

Patty shrugged, letting the towel absorb some of the rain. “I’ll dry off here. You can be useful,” she said, voice teasing, but the edges of mockery were muted this time.

Lilly hesitated only a second before turning back toward her room. She pulled open her dresser drawers, rifling through folded shirts and shorts, tossing aside anything too fancy or delicate. Her fingers clutched a simple white blouse and a pair of soft, navy cotton shorts—practical, unremarkable, easy. She didn’t want Patty in anything restrictive or uncomfortable; the storm had already done enough.

Grabbing the clothes, Lilly moved quickly down the hall, her mind racing. Why the hell is she here? The thought kept repeating, refusing to settle. She shook her head as she reached the living room, her steps splashing slightly on the wet floor.

“Here,” she said, holding out the folded clothes. “You can change in the bathroom.” Patty took them with a small nod. “Thanks.”

She disappeared down the hall, and Lilly leaned against the wall, heart racing. Why is she here?

A few minutes later, Patty emerged, the blouse and shorts fitting neatly. Her hair was damp but tucked back, and she looked composed despite the storm. She glanced at Lilly.

“Good?” she asked simply.

“Yeah, totally” Lilly said, cheeks warming. She shifted on her feet, unsure where to look.

Patty just nodded once, letting the towel fall from her shoulders.  Lilly swallowed, rubbing the back of her neck. “Um… why are you here?” Her words stumbled over themselves

Patty tilted her head slightly, gaze sharp but calm. “You could at least invite me into your room. We’ll talk there.”

Lilly blinked. “My room?” Her voice rose a notch. “I don’t know—”

Patty’s eyes softened fractionally, though her expression stayed composed. “I’m not staying out here in your living room. Move it, Bainbridge.”

Lilly flinched at the tone, heart hammering. She had no idea what she’d just agreed to. “Okay.”

She shot a glance toward the phone on the side table, considering calling Ronnie, but something in Patty’s posture—steady, expectant—made her hesitate. Instead, she turned and started down the hall. Patty trailed behind, close enough to catch every step but not so close that Lilly could tell if it was intentional.

Lilly fumbled with the remote as soon as she noticed the TV in her room. The small screen still displayed the paused movie—the two women frozen mid-scene, eyes locked, expressions tender. 

Her heart thumped painfully in her chest.

“Oh—uh, I—” she stammered, rushing to turn it off, fingers shaking. The screen went black, but the image lingered in her mind.

Patty didn’t say a word. She just perched on the edge of Lilly’s bed, knees together, hands resting lightly on her thighs, watching Lilly with an unreadable expression. 

Lilly’s throat went dry, glancing toward Patty, cheeks burning. “It was just… it was already like that.” Patty tilted her head slightly but made no move to speak. 

“Right… okay, uh,” Lilly said, her words tumbling over themselves. She sank onto the edge of her own bed, holding the remote like it was a shield, heart hammering, unsure of what to say or do next.

Patty finally exhaled softly, letting the tension ease just slightly. Her sharp gaze softened fractionally as she leaned back, sitting with a quiet poise, still watching Lilly. 

Lilly’s stomach twisted. She wanted to ask why Patty was really here, what she meant by following her, but the words stuck in her throat. Instead, she fidgeted with her sleeves, wishing for some normal distraction.

Patty’s gaze lingered on Lilly, sharp and assessing. “So,” she said finally, leaning back slightly against the bedframe, arms crossed, “are you into… stuff like that?”

Lilly froze. “Stuff?” she asked, trying to sound neutral.

Patty let out a soft scoff, watching her. “You know… girls’ kissing. Are you into that?” Her tone wasn’t mocking—just direct, edged with curiosity.

Lilly felt her chest tighten. Every rational thought scrambled at once. She swallowed, forcing her face calm, masking the sudden short-circuiting of her brain. “I... guess some people are,” she said carefully, deliberately vague, neutral.

Patty’s eyes narrowed for a moment, clearly unconvinced, but she gave a small shrug, letting it go. “Alright,” she said simply, as if filing that away for later.

Lilly’s mind raced, heart hammering, but she forced herself to breathe. After a pause, she finally asked the question she had been holding back. 

“Why… are you really here?”

Patty leaned forward slightly, resting her elbows on her knees, gaze flicking toward the window where the rain continued to fall. She offered a half-shrug, casual in its deflection. “I was just passing by. The rain… well, I had no choice but to find some shade.” Lilly blinked, staring at her. “That’s it?”

Patty’s lips twitched, just a fraction.

“That’s it,” she said, her tone even, though the slight smirk suggested she wasn’t telling the whole truth.

“You can stop overthinking it.”

Lilly shifted on the bed, the odd mix of relief and confusion twisting in her stomach. Patty’s presence was still unnerving, still sharp, yet somehow… less threatening. And despite the vague answer, Lilly could feel that whatever had brought Patty here, it wasn’t entirely casual.

The room fell quiet again, the rain tapping insistently against the window. Lilly perched on the edge of her bed, hands folded in her lap, painfully aware of Patty sitting across from her, legs crossed on the bedframe, gaze sharp and unyielding.

After a long pause, Patty spoke, voice low but deliberate. “About what you said earlier… that some people might be into it?” She tilted her head slightly.

“Are you… one of those people?”

Lilly froze, caught off-guard. Her mind scrambled for an answer. A dozen thoughts ran at once—what Patty was implying, how she should respond, how honest she could be. She swallowed, fingers tightening around the edge of her cardigan.

“No,” she said finally, voice quiet but steady. Not because she wasn’t curious, but because she wasn’t ready to admit anything.

Patty leaned back, arms folding across her chest, the sharp edge in her eyes softening ever so slightly. She stayed silent, watching Lilly with that unreadable expression, letting the quiet stretch between them.

Lilly’s chest tightened, unsure if relief or tension pulsed stronger. She shifted slightly, aware of every second, of every quiet inch of the room, the rain outside, and the weight of Patty’s gaze.

The pause lingered, but Patty made no comment, simply settling back, quiet, letting Lilly’s answer hang in the air.

Lilly’s throat felt tight. She shifted on the edge of her bed, trying to break the silence. “I—I’ll… brew some tea,” she said, voice a little too quick, too nervous.

Before she could rise, a firm hand closed over her wrist. She froze, pulse spiking. Patty’s fingers moved smoothly, deliberately, guiding Lilly’s own fingers in a light, precise grip. Lilly felt the tips of Patty’s fingers—icy cold against her skin—and a shiver ran up her arm.

“Do I… make you nervous?” Patty asked, her voice low, controlled, the words carrying that same sharp edge she always seemed to have, yet threaded with something softer, teasing.

Lilly still didn’t answer.

Patty studied her for a second longer, then clicked her tongue softly, almost bored. She withdrew her hand like the moment had meant nothing at all.

“Relax,” Patty said lightly. “You’re wound too tight.” She stepped back, giving Lilly space at last.

“Go. Make your tea.”

Lilly didn’t wait for permission. She turned and hurried out of the room, her shoulder brushing the doorframe as she passed. The hallway felt suddenly too narrow, the air thick. Her knees buckled just outside her bedroom door, and she caught herself against the wall, breath stuttering as she slid down halfway before forcing herself upright again.

She hated Patty Stanton. Hated her certainty. Hated the way she twisted the truth just enough to make Lilly doubt herself. Hated the control—how it slipped into Lilly’s skin without asking, how it lingered even after Patty let go.

Lilly took longer than necessary in the kitchen. She filled the kettle twice before setting it down, waited for the water to boil, watched the steam rise and vanish. Her hands steadied around small tasks. 

A few plain cookies from the tin Terri kept on the top shelf. She breathed until the shaking eased into something manageable.

When she returned down the hall, the light in her room was still on.

Patty wasn’t on the bed.

She had taken the chair at Lilly’s desk instead, one leg crossed over the other, posture relaxed in a way that felt unfamiliar. In her hands was a thin, worn booklet with a bright red cover.

Archie Comics — Archie #46.

The spine was soft from rereading, the pages slightly yellowed. Open across Patty’s lap were panels of Riverdale chaos—Archie mid-disaster, Betty exasperated, Veronica unimpressed. A comedy issue.

Patty was smiling.

Not her usual sharp curve of a mouth. Not a smirk. 

It was small and unguarded, like it had slipped out before she could stop it. She let out a quiet breath that might have been a laugh.

Lilly stopped short. She hadn’t known Patty Stanton could look like that.

“I didn’t peg you for this,” Patty said without looking up, thumb idly turning the page. “It’s ridiculous.”

Lilly crossed the room carefully and set the tray down on the desk beside her. “You’re… reading Archie.”

“Obviously.” Patty glanced at the tea. “Thanks.”

For a moment neither of them moved. Rain tapped at the window. The room smelled faintly of paper and heat and something sweet. Patty lifted her eyes at last, still holding the comic.

The smile lingered, softer now, almost like it embarrassed her. “It’s funny,” she admitted. 

“Stupid, but funny.”

Lilly swallowed. “You can keep it. For now.”

Patty’s gaze flicked back to the page, then up to Lilly again. Something unreadable passed between them before she nodded once.

“Sit,” she said.

And for the first time that night, Lilly did not immediately feel like running.

Chapter Text

Patty had learned, over the years, how to sit in silence without needing to fill it. Lilly clearly had not.

She hovered near the desk, hands moving things that didn’t need moving—the tray, the edge of a book, the spoon beside the cup. Patty watched without turning her head, the way Lilly’s attention kept drifting back to her in fragments, never fully landing, like she was afraid of being caught looking too long.

The rain helped. It gave the silence a shape. Made it deliberate. Patty lifted the teacup and took a sip. It was hot, properly so. She swallowed, set it back down.

She felt Lilly waiting.

For judgment, maybe. Approval. Some signal that the tea taste good or not. It didn’t. What mattered was the way Lilly’s shoulders loosened just a fraction when Patty didn’t comment at all.

“I—uh. I can turn the TV on. If you want.”

Patty glanced at the small television across the room, then back at Lilly. She noted the way Lilly stood half-turned already, like she needed an excuse to move. “Do whatever,” Patty said. 

Lilly crossed the room quickly, flicked the TV on. 

Light bloomed across the walls, across the floor, across the edge of Patty’s legs. Patty shifted her chair slightly so Lilly could pass, aware of the careful distance Lilly kept even when space wasn’t necessary.

Instead of the bed, Lilly dropped onto the bean bag on the floor. Patty watched that choice closely.

The remote clicked through channels—too fast, then too slow. A game show. A looping weather report describing the storm they were already inside. Patty’s gaze drifted, caught briefly on the comic left face-down on the desk, then back to Lilly’s hands. The way her thumb worried the remote like it might break.

After a moment, Patty stood.

The chair creaked softly beneath her weight. Lilly stiffened—not much, but enough to make Patty notice.  She crossed the small room and lowered herself to the floor beside Lilly instead, back against the bed, legs stretched out. Close enough to feel warmth. 

Lilly’s thumb slipped on the remote.

Patty didn’t look at her. She fixed her eyes on the screen, made it clear that this was nothing. Or at least, that she wasn’t going to acknowledge it.

Eventually, Lilly stopped flipping channels. The remote settled in her lap.

The room found a rhythm: rain, muted dialogue from the TV, the faint steam of tea cooling behind them. 

Patty caught it when Lilly’s attention drifted—not to the screen, but sideways. When her breathing shifted, just slightly, like she’d realized she was too aware of someone sitting beside her.

Then Patty laughed. It surprised even herself.

Not a sharp sound. Not dismissive. Just a quiet chuckle pulled loose by something genuinely ridiculous on the screen.

She felt Lilly turn.

Patty didn’t at first. She waited. Let the moment stretch until she could almost feel the weight of Lilly’s stare, the disbelief in it. When Patty finally glanced sideways, she caught Lilly looking at her like she’d uncovered a secret she hadn’t been meant to see. She leaned forward to set her cup on the table and bumped Lilly’s shoulder lightly on purpose.

“What,” Patty said, amused, “you look like you’ve just seen something absurd for the first time.”

“That’s not—” Lilly stopped herself, flushed, shook her head. “That’s not it.”

Patty leaned back again, closer now. Close enough that there was no longer any polite distance to hide behind. Their shoulders touched.

Patty let them.

“Hm,” she murmured, eyes back on the screen. 

“Relax.” She could feel Lilly holding still beside her, like movement itself had become a decision she didn’t know how to make.

“I’m allowed to find things funny.”

Patty didn’t look at Lilly again after that. She didn’t need to. She already knew Lilly was wide awake now, heart loud in a room that had grown very, very quiet—except for the rain, and Patty Stanton staying exactly where she was.

Patty’s gaze drifted without permission.

It started with the way Lilly sat—slouched just enough to be comfortable, knees drawn in, shoulders slightly hunched like she was used to making herself smaller. Then it narrowed, inevitably, to her hair. The curls had loosened with the humidity, soft and imperfect, catching the light from the television in uneven strands.

Patty had the sudden, intrusive thought that they would be warm.

She moved before she finished thinking.

Two fingers lifted, slow, deliberate—enough time to stop herself if she wanted to. She didn’t. Her knuckles brushed a curl near Lilly’s temple, barely  there.

Lilly flinched. Her shoulders tensed, and she shifted away, creating space where there hadn’t been any a second before.

Patty’s hand froze midair, then lowered.

She didn’t apologize. She didn’t snap either. She tilted her head slightly, studying Lilly the way she did when she was recalibrating.

“Do you not like your hair being touched?” Patty asked, evenly. Lilly didn’t answer.

Her eyes stayed fixed somewhere between the television and the floor, jaw tight, fingers curling into the fabric of the bean bag. The silence stretched. Patty let it. She was good at that too.

When it became clear Lilly wasn’t going to say anything, Patty spoke again, lighter this time, like she was offering an out.

Patty exhaled through her nose, tilting her head slightly. “Right… not everyone likes it.”

Still nothing.

Lilly shifted again, gaze skittering away, discomfort written plainly in the way she refused to meet Patty’s eyes.

Patty exhaled through her nose.

Fine.

She leaned forward, planted her hands on the floor, and stood. The sudden absence of her warmth changed the air immediately—Patty noticed Lilly notice it.

She glanced toward the window. The rain had softened, no longer pounding, just a steady tapering drizzle. “Looks like it’s letting up,” Patty said.

“I should go.”

That did it. Lilly turned, following Patty’s line of sight. She looked outside, brow furrowing. The rain was slower, yes—but still very much there.

“It’s—” Lilly started, then stopped herself. “It’s still raining.”

Patty shrugged, already reaching for her shoes. 

“I’ll manage.”

She paused, then added, quieter, “I barged in here in the first place. And you’re probably uncomfortable.”

Lilly stared at her. Patty caught the expression—confusion first, then something else. Surprise, maybe. Like she hadn’t expected consideration to enter the room at all.

That, more than anything else, unsettled her.

Patty straightened, slipping her shoes on, pretending not to notice the way Lilly was still watching her, as if recalculating everything she thought she knew.

Patty had one hand on the doorknob when Lilly moved. Not rushed. Not hesitant either. Just sudden enough to register a half-second too late.

Lilly stepped into her path, standing straight, arms stiff at her sides like she’d rehearsed this in her head and was afraid her body might betray her. Patty stopped short, instinctively, breath catching before she could mask it..

“Lilly—” Patty began, already reaching for composure.

Then Lilly lifted her hands. Both of them.

She took Patty’s hands carefully, almost reverently, fingers warm and trembling just enough to give her away. Patty felt the contact like a shock—electric, grounding, disorienting all at once. Before she could pull back or speak, Lilly guided Patty’s hands upward.

Into her hair.

Curls brushed Patty’s knuckles, soft and springing, warm from the room and the proximity of Lilly herself. Lilly didn’t let go. Instead, she pressed  Patty’s hands gently to either side of her face, as if inviting her to hold the weight of the moment too.

Patty went dizzy.

Not metaphorically. Physically. Her pulse kicked hard against her ribs, loud enough that she was sure Lilly could hear it. The room narrowed to inches and breath and the faint scent of tea and rain still clinging to fabric.

Lilly was right there. Eyes wide. Steady. Braver than Patty had given her credit for.

“You wanted to touch my hair,” Lilly said quietly. Not accusing. Not teasing. Just stating it, like a truth she’d finally decided to stop dodging. 

“Right?”

Patty couldn’t speak.

Her thumbs rested uselessly against Lilly’s curls, aware of every possible movement and unable to choose one. She’d spent years controlling rooms, conversations, people—yet here she was, undone by a girl standing barefoot in her own house, offering something fragile and deliberate.

Her heart was racing. Miles a minute. Reckless.

Patty swallowed, breath shallow, eyes locked on Lilly’s face only inches away, and for once—just once—she didn’t know what to do next.

Lilly’s grip shifted.

Her hands slid from Patty’s palms to her wrists instead, fingers wrapping there—not tight, but certain, like she needed the contact to stay real. Patty felt it immediately. The change grounded her just enough to notice what her own hands were doing.

Her index finger and thumb had caught one of Lilly’s curls. It coiled easily between them, soft and warm, springing back when she moved even slightly. 

Patty had touched silk scarves, expensive fabrics, polished things meant to impress. None of them felt like this. None of them made her chest feel so unsteady.

Too intimate. Far too intimate.

“They’re… soft,” Patty managed, the words slipping out before she could stop them. Her voice sounded lower than usual, stripped of its edge. 

Honest in a way that unsettled her.

Lilly’s breath hitched.

She looked away immediately, cheeks flushing, curls shifting beneath Patty’s fingers as her head turned. Patty felt the movement like an aftershock, her grip loosening without fully letting go.

And then—

The sound of a door closing downstairs.

“Lilly?” Terri’s voice carried up the stairwell. “I’m home.” Everything shattered at once.

Lilly dropped Patty’s wrists as if burned, stepping back too fast, nearly bumping into the wall. Patty released the curl instantly, hands falling to her sides, pulse still hammering as reality rushed back in.

They scrambled—distance manufactured where there had been none seconds before.

Patty turned toward the door, posture snapping into something composed, something safe. Lilly smoothed her hair with shaky hands, eyes darting anywhere but Patty.

“I—uh—” Lilly started, then stopped.

“Yeah!” she called back, voice too loud. “I’m—just—give me a second!” Patty cleared her throat, finally finding her footing. 

The hallway felt colder now, wider. Terri’s footsteps moved below them, the normalcy of it all crashing down like cold water.

For a brief, dangerous second, Patty looked at Lilly again.

Lilly didn’t look back.

And the moment almost lipped away, leaving only the echo of rain, a curl still warm in Patty’s memory, and the certainty that nothing about this was simple anymore.

Monday morning settled over the school with its usual gray, damp light, and Lilly sat at the cafeteria table with Ronnie, Will, and Matty. Her tray sat in front of her, untouched for a few minutes as her mind wandered somewhere far from the clatter of dishes and the low hum of chatter around them. 

She twirled her fork in her fingers absentmindedly, watching the light shift across the table and thinking about nothing and everything at once.

“Lilly!” Rich’s voice called out, a little too sharp against the soft morning noise, pulling her abruptly from her thoughts. She blinked, squinting against the fluorescent lights, and realized that 

Marge was walking toward her, clipboard clutched in one hand like it contained the world. Her heart gave a little hop at the sight—old friends, old memories, and yet Marge’s presence now carried the faint, unfamiliar weight of the Patty Cakes, that little clique Patty ran.

Marge’s steps slowed as she neared, careful but determined, and when she finally stopped beside the table, she looked up at Lilly with the same earnest, slightly anxious expression she always wore when she needed something. “Hey,” she said quietly, holding out the clipboard, “I was wondering… could you help me with this assignment? I… I got stuck.”

Lilly felt a strange warmth in her chest, a mix of nostalgia and surprise, and she smiled gently, reaching out for the clipboard. “Of course, Marge,” she said, voice soft and calm. She shifted her weight, folding her hands lightly over the top of the clipboard. “I’m just a little tied up right now, but I can go through it with you later, okay?”

Marge blinked, hesitated for the barest moment, then nodded, relief softening her features. “Okay… later, then. Thanks, Lilly.”

Lilly returned the clipboard and settled her gaze back on her tray, finally picking at her breakfast. 

The cafeteria noise didn’t intrude, not really; the small, silent understanding between her and Marge seemed to carve out its own quiet space.

Ronnie nudged Matty with a grin, Will whispered something under his breath, and Rich stared at  Lilly with an expression that was somewhere between confusion and mild exasperation.

No one seemed to understand why Marge, a Patty Cake, would come to Lilly for help, and no one asked. No one but Lilly noticed the faint tug of familiarity that lingered from when they used to be friends, before the world of cliques and names like Patty Stanton and the Patty Cakes had shifted everything.

It was enough that she had promised to help. That, for now, was more than enough.

By mid-morning, Lilly and Marge found themselves huddled over textbooks and notebooks at their usual desk near the window.

The classroom smelled faintly of chalk dust and old paper, sunlight leaking through the blinds in lazy, uneven stripes. Lilly traced a finger along the edge of her notebook, flipping back to the section they’d been discussing while Marge leaned close, scribbling notes with careful, deliberate strokes.

“So,” Lilly began softly, not wanting to disturb the stillness around them, “where’s Patty today?”

Marge froze mid-pen stroke, eyes lifting to meet 

Lilly’s. There was a flicker of something there—surprise, hesitation, maybe even a pinch of confusion—but she recovered quickly, the corners of her mouth tilting into a small, polite smile. “Uh… she’s… not feeling well,” she said evenly, her voice smooth, practiced. She returned to her notebook, though her hand paused, lingering over a word before moving on.

Lilly noticed the tiny tension, the way Marge’s eyebrows almost twitched, but she didn’t press immediately. Instead, she let a brief silence stretch between them, the sound of scratching pens and distant footsteps filling the room.

After a heartbeat, Lilly spoke again, careful now, leaning slightly toward Marge. “I mean… I just needed to ask her about our lines,” she clarified, eyes soft, not pushing, only explaining. “Nothing else.”

Marge blinked, a little more at ease now, though there was still a faint unease in her posture. She nodded once. “Right. Got it. And yeah, Patty’s… sick,” she repeated, a little more firmly this time, returning her attention fully to the notes, trying to make her words feel ordinary, routine.

Lilly studied her quietly, noting the little telltales—slight stiffness in her shoulders, the subtle way her pen gripped the paper a touch too tightly. She didn’t comment, didn’t probe. For now, she had her clarification, and that was enough.

The rest of the lesson passed in quiet focus, the occasional shared smile over a tricky line or misread word bridging the gap that the earlier question had opened. Marge seemed intent on keeping everything steady, and Lilly let her, tucking the curiosity about Patty’s absence into a small corner of her mind for another time.

Chapter Text

Lilly was not supposed to be there.

That thought had followed her the entire way, clinging like damp air as she navigated down Main Street and past neighborhoods. It repeated now as she stood on the sidewalk, fingers curled tightly around the paper bag she’d bought without fully admitting why.

She shouldn’t be here.

And yet—here she was.

Patty Stanton’s house sat back from the road, quiet and imposing in a way that made Lilly straighten up. The windows reflected the dull afternoon sky. Everything about the place felt deliberate. 

Lilly shifted her weight, suddenly hyperaware of how long she’d been standing there.

She glanced down at the bag again.

Tea. Lozenges.Just small, sensible things. It had made sense in the store. It made less sense now, staring at the front door like it might judge her.

Maybe she could just leave it.

She could set the bag down by the door, maybe knock once—softly—or not at all. Then she could walk away before anyone answered. Patty would find it later. It wouldn’t matter much. She took a step toward the porch, then stopped.

Her hand hovered uselessly at her side. The house felt too aware of her, suddenly. Lilly turned slightly, already half-decided to leave, when the sound of a car broke through the stillness.

Gravel crunched behind her.

She froze.

A dark sedan pulled into the driveway beside her, slowing to a stop with unhurried ease. Lilly stood there, caught mid-turn, the paper bag dangling awkwardly from her hand. The driver’s door opened.

“Oh—hello,” a man said, surprised but gentle.

Lilly turned.

He stood beside the car, keys in one hand, coat folded neatly over his arm. His expression held mild confusion.

“I—hi,” Lilly said quickly, heat creeping up her neck. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to—” The man gave a small, reassuring smile. 

“You’re alright,” he said. “Can I help you?”

“Yes. I mean—maybe.” Lilly took a breath. “I’m Lilly Bainbridge. I go to school with your daughter.”

“Ah,” he said. “You’re one of Patty’s classmates.”

“Yes, sir.” Lilly nodded. “She wasn’t at school today, and someone mentioned she was sick, so I just—” She lifted the bag slightly, immediately feeling self-conscious. “I brought a few things. And I needed to ask her about an assignment.”

He looked at the bag, then back at her, something softening around his eyes.

“That’s thoughtful of you,” he said. “She’s upstairs. Still under the weather, but she’s alright.” Lilly let out a breath.

“Oh. Okay.” She hesitated, the instinct to retreat flaring again. “I can just leave this here if it’s a bad time.”

He shook his head gently, already stepping toward the door. “No trouble at all. You came this far.”

He unlocked the door and held it open.

“Come in.”

Lilly stepped inside, the warmth of the house closing around her, the scent of something clean and faintly familiar in the air. The door clicked shut behind them.

Her heart thudded harder as she followed him in, the paper bag warm against her palm.

Lilly followed him down the hallway.

It was her first time inside the house, and she couldn’t stop herself from noticing things—the muted colors, the clean lines, the way everything felt intentional without being cold. Framed photos lined the wall, nothing flashy, nothing crowded. 

Mr. Stanton stopped in front of a closed door near the end of the hall.

“Patty,” he said, knocking once, firm but gentle. 

“You’ve got a visitor.” There was a pause. Then, faintly, from behind the door—

“Just a sec.”

Mr. Stanton glanced at Lilly, offering her a polite nod. “I’ll leave you to it,” he said, already turning away. His footsteps retreated down the hall, leaving Lilly alone with the door and the sound of movement inside.

Something bumped against the wall. A muffled curse. The rustle of fabric. Lilly shifted her weight, suddenly unsure where to look. She stared at the carpet. Counted her breaths. Told herself she could still leave. That she should.

Then the door flew open.

Patty stood there in pajama pants and an oversized shirt, hair damp and pushed back messily, skin flushed as if she’d just been dragged out of sleep or pacing. There was a faint sheen of sweat at her temples. She looked irritated. Not sharp—just caught off guard in a way she clearly didn’t like. Her eyes flicked to Lilly.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

The words landed bluntly. 

Lilly swallowed. “I—uh. I just wanted to check on you.” She lifted the bag slightly, like proof she hadn’t imagined a reason. “You weren’t at school. So I brought some things.”

Patty’s gaze dropped to the bag. Her expression didn’t soften. “We’re not friends,” Patty said flatly.

The sentence hit harder than Lilly expected. She felt it anyway—sharp and quiet—somewhere behind her ribs. She didn’t let it show. She nodded once, slow.

“Okay,” she said. “That’s… fair.” She hesitated, then held the bag out a little more.

“Can I just leave this here, then? I won’t stay. I was already on my way out.” Patty didn’t answer immediately. Lilly took that as her cue. She turned toward the stairs, the hallway suddenly longer than before, her shoes too loud against the floor.

She took two steps.

Then—

A sigh emerged. Soft and frustrated.

And suddenly a hand closed around her wrist.

Not rough but not gentle either. Lilly gasped softly as Patty pulled her back, the motion quick enough to steal her balance for half a second before she was guided inside the room. 

The door swung shut behind them with a solid click. Patty released her wrist just as quickly, stepping back like she hadn’t meant to touch her at all.

“Don’t,” Patty muttered, rubbing a hand over her face.

“Don’t do that. Don’t come here and then act like you’re disappearing.” Lilly stood there, heart racing, fingers still warm where Patty had grabbed her. She looked at the door. 

Then back at Patty. “I wasn’t—” she started, then stopped. “You said we weren’t friends.”

Patty’s jaw tightened. “I say a lot of things,” she said. Then, after a beat, quieter, “Doesn’t mean I want you leaving like that.”

The room felt smaller now

Patty glanced at the bag again, then away, irritation giving way to something messier. 

“You didn’t have to do this,” she added. “I know,” 

Lilly said softly. “I wanted to.” The silence that followed wasn’t empty.

Patty exhaled, running a hand through her damp hair like she was shaking something off.

“Just—sit,” she said, gesturing vaguely at the room. 

“Anywhere.”

Lilly hesitated, then moved farther inside, perching on the edge of the desk chair before immediately deciding that was worse and shifting to the floor near the foot of the bed. She folded her hands in her lap.

She sat back on the bed instead, legs stretched out, the mattress dipping under her weight. After a moment, she reached for the paper bag and pulled it onto her lap, peering inside.

“You really didn’t have to,” she said again, though her hands were already moving. Tea first. She set the box aside. Lozenges next. She turned the packet over once, then twice, like she was reading something to mask as distraction. Lilly watched quietly, heat creeping into her face again, suddenly very aware of how intentional all of this must look.

Patty reached in again.

Paused.

Her fingers closed around something glossy and rectangular. She pulled it out slowly.

An Archie comic.

The cover was bright in a way that felt almost embarrassing in this room—colorful, cheerful, wildly out of place against Patty’s dark bedding and neutral walls. Patty stared at it for a long second, then lifted her eyes to Lilly.

“…Really?” she said.

Lilly’s stomach dropped. “I—um. It was kind of last minute,” she said quickly. “The shop didn’t have much, and I remembered you were reading one the other day and I thought maybe—” She stopped, pressing her lips together. 

“You don’t have to like it.” 

Patty didn’t answer right away. She flipped the comic open, thumb skimming the pages with practiced ease, like this wasn’t the first time she’d done it. Her expression didn’t give much away—just a faint tightening around the eyes, a focus that had nothing to do with irritation.

“…You hid it under the tea,” Patty said eventually.

Lilly flushed. 

“I didn’t want it to seem stupid.” Patty snorted softly, almost despite herself. She closed the comic and set it beside her on the bed, not putting it back in the bag.

“It’s not,” she said. Then, after a beat, “Stupid, I mean.” Lilly glanced up, surprised.

Patty shifted, leaning back against the headboard, one knee bent. “You didn’t have to do all this,” she repeated, but this time it sounded different. Less like a defense. More like something she didn’t quite know where to put.

The room settled again, quieter now, the tension reshaped rather than gone. Patty tapped the comic once with her finger.

 “You didn’t even know if I’d be awake.”

“I didn’t,” Lilly admitted. “I almost left it outside.”

Patty looked at her then. Really looked. “But you didn’t.”

“No,” Lilly said.

For a moment, Patty didn’t say anything. She just picked the comic back up, thumb sliding under the cover, eyes dropping to the page.

“…You can stay a bit,” she said, casual in tone, like it didn’t matter. “If you want.” Lilly’s heart skipped, but she kept her voice steady. “Okay.”

She stayed right where she was, sitting on the floor, watching as Patty began to read—the Archie comic open in her hands, tea and lozenges forgotten for the moment.

Lilly shifted slightly on the floor, unsure if she should speak again. Finally, in a soft voice she kept just above a whisper, she asked,

“How… how are you feeling?”

Patty glanced up from the comic, eyes meeting hers briefly. A small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at her lips.

“Better than last night,” she said, voice calm but carrying a weight that made Lilly pause. Lilly nodded, letting her hands fold neatly in her lap again. Quiet settled over the room once more, a gentle pause that neither of them seemed eager to break.

Then, unexpectedly, Patty’s voice came again—lower this time, firmer, almost commanding in a way that made Lilly’s heart stumble.

“Sit next to me,” she said. 

Lilly blinked, hesitated for a fraction of a second, then obeyed, sliding across the soft carpet and perching on the bed beside Patty. She left just enough space between them to feel proper, but 

Patty didn’t comment, just shifted slightly, closing that gap without a word. Before Lilly could even think to move again, Patty reached for her hand.

“Relax,” she murmured, thumb brushing lightly across Lilly’s knuckles. “Just… trust me.”

Lilly’s pulse quickened. She let herself be guided, letting Patty’s hand lead hers upward.

Then, gently, Patty pressed Lilly’s palm against her forehead. Warm, soft, steady.

“See?” Patty said, voice calm, almost reassuring. 

“I'm getting better.”

Lilly froze, the faint thrum of her heartbeat echoing in her ears, but she didn’t pull away.

Patty shifted first.

She scooted farther back on the bed, tugging the pillow into place and lowering herself down with a soft exhale, one arm bent beneath her head. She looked up at Lilly from there, eyes sharp and steady, the comic abandoned on the mattress beside her.

“Lie down,” she said again. Not impatient. Just certain.

Lilly hesitated.

She was painfully aware of her own body now—how stiff she felt, how loud her breathing seemed in the quiet room. She glanced at the door, then back at Patty, then at the space on the bed between them.

“I can just—sit,” she offered quietly.

Patty’s gaze didn’t waver. “I didn’t ask you to just sit.” Patty watched her closely, like she was waiting to see if Lilly would run or stay.

Lilly swallowed.

Slowly, carefully, she laid onto the bed down on her side, facing Patty. She kept her hands tucked close to herself at first, shoulders tense, leaving a careful sliver of space between them.

Patty didn’t comment on the distance. She just shifted closer, enough that their knees brushed, enough that Lilly couldn’t pretend not to feel her there.

For a moment, they just looked at each other.

Up close, Patty looked different—less sharp somehow, the irritation softened by proximity and the quiet. Her eyes flicked briefly to Lilly’s mouth, then back up again.

Patty reached out without warning and took Lilly’s hand.

Lilly inhaled sharply but didn’t pull away.

Patty turned her hand over, palm up, and began to trace slow, absent patterns along her fingers. Nothing rushed. Nothing demanding. Just the pad of her thumb brushing over knuckles, nails, the soft skin between.

“You’re shaking,” Patty said, not accusing. 

“I’m not,” Lilly said automatically—then stopped. 

“Okay. Maybe a little.”

Patty huffed a quiet breath that might’ve been a laugh. “You always do that,” she murmured. “Say you’re fine when you’re obviously not.”

Lilly flushed. “I don’t— I just don’t want to make things weird.” Patty’s thumb stilled for half a second.

“It already is,” she said. Then, softer, “That doesn’t mean it’s bad.”

The rain tapped faintly against the window. The house stayed quiet. Lilly’s shoulders eased without her noticing. Her breathing slowed, matching Patty’s. Their foreheads weren’t touching, their noses barely inches apart, but the closeness felt heavy and real all the same.

Patty tilted her head slightly, studying Lilly like she was committing something to memory. “You overthink,” she said.

“I know,” Lilly admitted. Patty squeezed her fingers once. 

“Stop. Just for a minute.” Lilly nodded, barely.

“Why did you come to my house that night?” Lilly asked quietly. Patty’s jaw tightened. She looked away, eyes fixing on the pale stretch of wall just beyond Lilly’s shoulder. 

“I had something to buy on Main Street,” Patty said. The words came out smooth. “Store was closing. It started raining. Your place was the closest. So I found myself at your doorstep.”

Lilly nodded against the pillow, accepting it too easily. “Oh.” Patty felt something twist in her chest anyway. Because it wasn’t true.

She could still hear her parents’ voices if she let herself—sharp, clipped, circling the same argument they always circled. Money, work,or whatever, it didn’t matter. What mattered was the sound of it, how it filled every room, how it pressed in on her until she couldn’t breathe. She hadn’t wanted to hear it. Hadn’t wanted to pick sides or be seen or be asked anything at all.

So she’d left.

She’d walked until Main Street blurred, until the rain came down hard enough that it felt like punishment. And when she’d ended up on Lilly Bainbridge’s porch, soaked, furious, and shaking, it hadn’t been because it was close. It had been because she didn’t want to be alone.

“How did you even know I was sick?” Patty asked suddenly.

Lilly blinked at the change in tone but didn’t pull away. “Marge told me,” she said. “She said you weren’t feeling well and hadn’t come in.”

Patty’s body went tight before she could stop it. “She didn’t say anything else, did she?”

Lilly frowned. “No. Why would she?”

Patty exhaled through her nose. “She talks too much.” There was a beat. Lilly tilted her head, studying her. 

“What did you think she’d say?” Patty didn’t answer right away. Her thumb pressed a little more firmly into Lilly’s palm, grounding herself. “Nothing,” she said finally. “Just—she likes to exaggerate.”

Lilly hummed softly, unconvinced but letting it go. After a moment, she asked, “What did she needed help with?”

“History,” Lilly said. “Said she was behind.”

Patty scoffed quietly. “She’s good at history. I didn’t need help.”

“I know,” Lilly said. “But she still asked me.” That made Patty pause. Lilly’s voice softened, almost hesitant. “Maybe it was harder this time.”

Patty turned her head back then, really looking at her. Lilly wasn’t smiling. She wasn’t defending Marge. She was just… offering the thought, like it might matter.

Then something clicked into place, slow and unpleasant.

Of course.

Marge didn’t hang around the Patty Cakes because they wanted her. Elaine and Rhonda barely tolerated her when Patty was there. Without Patty, there was no reason for Marge to be included at all. No buffer. No anchor.

So she’d found one somewhere else.

Patty’s fingers stilled completely this time.

She saw it all at once—Marge hovering too close to Lilly, laughing a little too loud, asking for help she didn’t need just so she wouldn’t have to sit alone. It was merely survival.

Patty felt a dull, familiar irritation bloom in her chest.

“That figures,” she muttered.

Lilly looked at her carefully. “What?” 

Patty shook her head once. “Nothing.”

They lay there in silence again, the rain still tapping against the window, the house holding its breath around them. Patty stared at Lilly’s face, the way her lashes cast soft shadows against her cheeks, the way she stayed even when she had every excuse to leave.

Chapter Text

The days after Patty got sick slid back into routine faster than Lilly expected.

Patty returned like nothing had happened. Same sharp walk. Same clipped tone. Her hair sat perfectly at her jaw, not a strand out of place, as if she hadn’t been standing in Lilly’s doorway late at night looking pale and stubborn and refusing to sit down.

No one mentioned it.

Lilly didn’t either.

Still, she noticed small things. The way Patty leaned against lockers instead of standing straight. How she left class a second early. How she didn’t look at Lilly at all.

The locker room buzzed softly with movement—lockers opening and closing, fabric sliding over skin, the sharp scent of deodorant hanging in the air. Lilly sat on the bench, tugging her gym shorts into place, when she noticed Ronnie standing still a few steps away, staring down at her shirt.

Ronnie frowned. “…You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Lilly glanced over. “What?”

Ronnie held the fabric out between her fingers. The white had been dulled into something faintly pink, uneven like a mistake that hadn’t meant any harm but refused to be ignored.

“My grandma did the laundry,” Ronnie said with a sigh. “She mixed the whites with the colors. Swore it was fine.”

Lilly leaned closer, squinting. “It’s… not that bad.”

Ronnie snorted. “You’re a terrible liar.”

“But it’s still clean,” Lilly added gently, trying again.

“That’s what she said,” Ronnie replied, already pulling it on anyway. “Doesn’t mean I won't get funny looks from you-know-who.” Lilly smiled, small and fond, and went back to tying her shoes.

The locker room door opened then.

Elaine and Rhonda walked in together, voices overlapping, confidence filling the space before they even stopped moving. Patty followed just behind them, quiet as ever, her presence unmistakable without needing to announce itself.

They gathered near the lockers without looking around much—Elaine talking, Rhonda laughing, Patty listening with that detached focus she always carried. Marge trailed after them, a half-step behind, hands busy adjusting her bag strap like she needed something to do.

Lilly glanced up without thinking.

Her eyes caught Marge’s.

For a brief second, Marge smiled—small, uncertain, like she wasn’t sure she was allowed to. Lilly returned it just as briefly, a reflex more than a decision.

Then Marge’s attention shifted back to the group, her expression smoothing into something quieter as she followed Elaine and Rhonda toward the far end of the room.

Lilly’s gaze lingered longer than she meant it to.

On Patty.

Patty didn’t look back. She was already changing, already elsewhere, like nothing in the room existed beyond what was directly in front of her.

Ronnie bumped Lilly’s shoulder lightly.

 “You ready?”

Lilly blinked, pulled back into herself. “Yeah.”

Ronnie hooked an arm around hers without ceremony and tugged her toward the exit. “Come on before we’re late.”

Lilly let herself be dragged along, sneakers squeaking faintly against the tile as the locker room noise faded behind them.

The gym felt louder than the locker room ever did.

Shoes squeaked against polished wood, the echo sharp and hollow, volleyballs thudding in uneven rhythms as teams warmed up.

 The air smelled like rubber and sweat and that faint chemical cleaner that never quite masked either. Lilly sat on the floor near the wall with her legs tucked to one side, script spread open across her knees like it belonged there.

Last names had decided the teams. No arguing. No trading. She hadn’t even processed who she’d been placed with yet.

“Lilly.” Lilly looked up just in time to see Rich, Matty, and Will drift over, forming an uneven half-circle around her like bored sentries. They weren’t supposed to be there—boys’ PE was technically on the other side of the gym—but no one ever enforced that part.

Rich craned his neck. “You rehearsing for opening night?”

Matty squinted at the pages. “What is this, Act Three or something?”

Will nudged her shoe gently with his. “You know this is gym, right? Physical activity. Sweating. Trauma.” Lilly sighed without looking up. “Stop.”

Rich dropped to a crouch beside her anyway. “I’m just saying, if you spike the ball with that much emotion, you’ll win for sure.”

Matty nodded solemnly. “Method acting.”

“Please,” Lilly said, finally snapping the script closed. “I can’t think when you’re all hovering.”

Will raised his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. We’ll just—morally support you from here.”

“Don’t,” she warned.

They grinned like that only encouraged them.

A whistle blew sharp and commanding.

“Bainbridge, you’re up,” the coach called.

Lilly froze.

Rich clapped immediately. Too loud. “That’s our girl.”

Matty whooped. “Show ‘em what drama club arms can do!” Will cupped his hands around his mouth. 

“Remember us when you’re famous!”

Lilly shot them a glare sharp enough to cut glass as she stood. “I swear to God.”

They laughed anyway, unbothered, already backing away as she moved toward the court.

That was when she noticed the other side.

Ronnie stood there first—hands on her hips, bouncing lightly on the balls of her feet, already focused. She caught Lilly’s eye and gave her a quick, encouraging nod, like this was nothing, like Lilly hadn’t spent the last ten minutes trying to disappear into a script.

And beside her—

Patty Stanton.

She stood near the net, shoulders loose, posture relaxed in that effortless way that made it look like she wasn’t trying at all. Her hands rested at her sides, fingers flexing once, twice. 

Lilly’s breath hitched.

Her gaze snagged on Patty, eyes tracing familiar lines—jaw, shoulders, the way she tilted her head slightly as she listened to the coach. For a moment, the gym noise dulled around the edges, like someone had turned the volume down just enough to make it intimate.

Then Patty looked up as their eyes met.

It wasn’t dramatic. No expression shifted. No smile formed.

Patty’s gaze lingered, although unreadable, like she was taking Lilly in the same way Lilly had just done to her. 

Lilly felt heat rush up her neck and looked away first, stepping into position with clumsy urgency. Her hands felt wrong at her sides. 

The whistle blew again.

The game started.

And suddenly, Lilly Bainbridge—script-reader, floor-sitter, professional avoider—was standing on a volleyball court across from Patty Stanton, with Ronnie on the opposing team and three boys yelling her name like it was a punchline. She swallowed.

This was going to be bad.

The cheering started almost immediately.

“C’mon, Patty!” Rhonda’s voice cut clean through the gym, sharp and bright.

“Yeah, Stants—show them,” Elaine added, clapping hard like she expected the sound alone to carry the team.

Marge clapped too, a little late, a little softer. Her eyes kept drifting—not just to Patty, but to Lilly as well. When Lilly glanced over once, breathless already, Marge gave her a small nod. Then the ball came over the net. Lilly reacted a beat too slow.

It clipped her forearms wrong, bounced straight down, and rolled away like it had embarrassed her too.

“Bainbridge,” someone on her team muttered. Not cruel. Just tired.

“Watch the ball,” another snapped as they reset.

Lilly nodded quickly. “Sorry. I’ve got it.”

She didn’t.

The next serve came fast. She lunged, slipped on her own sneaker, and went down hard on her hip, palms slapping against the floor. The gym laughed—not everyone, not loudly, but enough that it crawled under her skin.

From the sidelines, Rich groaned theatrically. “Oh no.”

Matty winced. “That one looked bad.”

Will cupped his hands. “You’re doing great! Statistically!” Lilly shot them a look that said shut up or die and pushed herself back up.

Across the net, Patty hadn’t said a word.

She and Ronnie moved like they’d done this before—covering each other without thinking, calling shots under their breath, slipping into place with a rhythm that felt unfair. Ronnie dove and popped the ball up. Patty was already there, sending it cleanly back over.

Point.

Cheers again. Louder now.

“That’s it!” Elaine yelled.

“God, she makes it look easy,” Rhonda said, smug like it reflected on her personally.

Marge clapped again. Quieter still.

Lilly’s chest burned. Her legs felt wrong—too loose, too heavy. She wiped her palms on her shorts and tried to focus on the lines of the court, the way Ronnie had told her once to pick something solid and stay with it.

The ball came again.

This time it wasn’t Patty.

One of Patty’s teammates jumped early and swung without warning. The ball slammed straight into Lilly’s face, sharp and loud, knocking the breath clean out of her. The world tilted.

She stumbled back, vision spotting, ears ringing. She didn’t fall right away—just swayed, knees buckling—before dropping to the floor near the sideline.

The whistle didn’t blow.

The ball was already back in play.

“Play it!” someone shouted.

Lilly tried to sit up. The gym swam. Her script—forgotten on the bench—felt a thousand miles away. 

The next rally barely lasted three seconds.

Patty set her feet, tracked the ball, and jumped.

The spike cracked through the gym—clean, brutal, and completely unnecessary. The ball shot past the back line and slammed into the wall, echoing sharp enough that everyone flinched.

Out of bounds.

The game stopped whether the whistle went off or not. Patty landed smoothly, jaw tight, shoulders squared. She didn’t shout. She didn’t rush. She turned toward the teacher with a calm that felt like a surging storm.

“Bainbridge is down,” she said clearly. “You might want to stop the game when a player gets hit like that.”

Patty tried her best to sound as calm as possible, because outside the walls of their own rooms—she had no right to care this much for Lilly Bainbridge. 

The teacher faltered. “I—alright, time out. Everyone hold.” Ronnie was already moving, jogging off the court and dropping to her knees beside Lilly. “Hey,” she said quickly. “Hey, look at me.”

“I’m fine,” Lilly started to say—then stopped when Ronnie’s expression shifted.

“Uh,” Ronnie muttered. “You’re bleeding.”

Lilly blinked, confused, and lifted her hand to her face. Her fingers came away red. She stared at it, startled.

“Oh.”

Patty didn’t hesitate.

She reached into the pocket of her gym jacket and pulled out a neatly folded handkerchief—white, embroidered at the corner. She stepped just close enough to extend it toward Ronnie, not Lilly. Her fingers didn’t linger.

“Here,” Patty said. Flat. Controlled.

Ronnie took it immediately. “Thanks.”

Patty nodded once and stepped back, letting the space return slowly like it always did in places like this, where hallways echoed and eyes lingered and everything knew its place.

Still—she didn’t leave.

She stood there, arms crossed, eyes fixed on Lilly as Ronnie pressed the handkerchief gently beneath her nose. Patty’s face stayed composed, but there was something restless in her gaze, something sharp and unhidden if you knew how to look.

Lilly’s head cleared enough for her to notice.

She looked up.

Their eyes met.

Lilly smiled barely noticeable merely directed at Patty.

Patty’s mouth twitched. Not a smile, not really. Just the barest smirk. Then she turned away. Rhonda and Elaine were on her immediately.

“Jesus, are you okay?” Rhonda asked.

“That spike was insane,” Elaine added. “You didn’t hurt yourself, right?”

Marge hovered too, quieter than the others, eyes flicking past them to where Lilly still sat on the floor.

Patty’s gaze followed hers for half a second.

Then, without raising her voice, Patty said, “Go.”

Marge froze. “What?”

 “Go,” she repeated, quieter this time. “I know you’re worried.”

Rhonda blinked. Elaine frowned like she was about to argue. Marge hesitated, caught between them, fingers curling into the strap of her bag.

She nodded once, quick and grateful, then slipped past them before either Rhonda or Elaine could say anything else.

Lilly saw her coming through the blur of bodies and gym noise, the world still a little tilted at the edges. Ronnie kept the handkerchief pressed under her nose, murmuring something she couldn’t quite hear, but Marge’s face came into focus fast.

“Hey,” Marge said softly, dropping into a crouch beside her. “You scared me.” Lilly huffed a weak laugh that felt like it rattled her skull. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to.”

Marge smiled, small and tight. “You always say that.” She glanced at the handkerchief. “Is it bad?”

“No,” Ronnie said. “Not really.”

“That tracks,” Marge murmured, then looked back at Lilly. Her mouth tilted, trying for lightness. “Still. Maybe try not to suck so hard next time, yeah? You’re making the floor look bad.”

Lilly blinked, then snorted despite herself. It tugged at her nose and she hissed softly. “Ow. Wow. Supportive.” Ronnie grinned, clearly relieved Lilly was joking. 

“She’s right though. You went down and almost gave me a heart attack.” Lilly huffed a laugh, careful of her nose. “I tripped. Dramatically.”

“Yeah, well,” Ronnie said, squeezing her shoulder lightly, “maybe let’s not make that a habit. PE is already trying to kill us.”

Marge laughed, the tension finally easing out of her shoulders. “Seriously though,” she said, softer now.

“You okay?”

Lilly nodded. “Yeah. I think so.” She dabbed at her nose as Ronnie eased the handkerchief away to check.

 “Sorry for the mess.”

Ronnie waved it off. “Please, at this point I've gotten used to your antics.” They shared another small laugh.

The gym noise started to creep back in around them. Lilly leaned back on her hands, breathing steadier now. That was when she noticed Patty again.

She was already halfway back to the court, moving with that same contained calm, shoulders set, attention forward. Rhonda and Elaine flanked her, talking fast, animated, like the moment had already been filed away as nothing serious. Patty didn’t look back.

But Lilly watched her go anyway.

The straight line of her back. The way she adjusted her wrist once like resetting herself. How easily she slipped back into place.

Chapter Text

It was Thursday.

By late afternoon, the auditorium felt sealed shut.

The lights were too bright. The air was stale. Everyone smelled faintly of dust and paint and nerves.  The play was tomorrow.

That knowledge sat heavy in every corner of the space. In the way voices stayed low. In how footsteps sounded careful. In how no one really laughed.

Those without roles worked quietly along the edges—touching up props, re-gluing loose seams, whispering arguments over color choices that didn’t matter anymore. Ms. Beckett barely spared them a glance. Her attention stayed fixed on the stage like nothing else existed.

“From Lilly’s entrance,” she said. “Again.”

Lilly nodded immediately and stepped back to her mark.

Her script felt heavier than it should have. She smoothed the corner without realizing she was doing it. Patty was already in place across from her, posture straight, face unreadable.

They began.

Lilly delivered her line, voice steady enough, but she felt it wobble at the end.

“Projection,” Ms. Beckett said. Not unkind. Not patient either.

“I—okay,” Lilly replied softly, already adjusting.

They went again.

“Louder.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Again.

By the fourth run, Lilly’s calves burned. Her head felt light, like she’d stood up too quickly even though she hadn’t moved in minutes. The lights blurred at the edges when she blinked.

She finished the scene anyway.

“Take five,” Ms. Beckett said. “Five minutes only.”

The stage broke apart into motion. Scripts dropped. Someone groaned and laid flat on their back. A few people laughed too loudly, like relief needed somewhere to go.

Lilly stepped offstage, moving automatically toward the side. She just needed a second. Just air.

Her foot caught. She didn’t even have time to react. Hands grabbed her arm, solid and immediate, keeping her upright before her knees could give.

“Hey—hey. You're okay.” It was Matty.Lilly sucked in a sharp breath, fingers curling instinctively into Matty’s sleeve.

“I’m sorry,” Lilly said at once, words tumbling out. 

“I didn’t see—I’m okay, I just—”

“Easy,” Matty said, not letting go. “You’re fine.”

Lilly nodded quickly. Too quickly. “Yeah. I am. I just got dizzy.”

Matty glanced down at her, then toward the stage, then back. “Sit.”

“I can stand,” Lilly said, already trying to straighten.

Matty gently but firmly guided her toward the bench anyway. “Humor me.” Lilly sat. Her hands rested in her lap, trembling faintly. She pressed her fingers together, willing them still.

“You sure?” Matty asked, quieter now.

“Yes,” Lilly said. “I promise. I just need a second.”

Matty hesitated, then nodded. “Alright. I’ll be right there if Beckett starts breathing fire.”

As Matty stepped away, Lilly felt it.

She looked up.

Patty stood near center stage, script loose in her hand, gaze fixed on her before she could stop herself. Her expression was controlled, neutral—but something underneath it pulled tight, like she’d been about to move and chose not to.

Their eyes met. Lilly opened her mouth, unsure why. Patty looked away first.

“Places,” Ms. Beckett said again.

The five minutes vanished faster than Lilly expected. She stood when everyone else did, legs still unsteady, script warm in her hands. The dizziness had dulled but not disappeared; it lingered behind her eyes, waiting.

They reset.

Lilly took her mark. The floor felt firmer this time. She told herself to breathe. In. Out. Normal.

Patty was across from her again, already composed, already in character.

The scene started. Lilly made it through the first line. Then the second. Her voice sounded like it was coming from somewhere else, thin but present.

Halfway through, she lost it.

Not the words — the rhythm. Her cue came and went, and she stood there a beat too long, mouth opening without sound. The silence stretching uncomfortably.

“Lilly,” Ms. Beckett said sharply. “Your line.”

“I—” Lilly swallowed. Her chest tightened suddenly, painfully. The lights seemed closer now. Too close. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Focus,” Ms. Beckett said. “Again. From your last entrance.” Lilly nodded immediately. “Okay. I’m sorry.” They went again.

She got two lines in before her hands started shaking. Not violently — just enough that she felt it, just enough that it threw everything else off. Her breath came shallow. Her vision narrowed.

“Lilly,” Ms. Beckett snapped. “You’re drifting.”

“I’m trying,” Lilly said, voice barely there.

“Then try harder,” Ms. Beckett said. “Tomorrow is opening night. I need you present.”

Lilly nodded again, too fast. “Yes, ma’am.”

Her chest seized. She missed her next line entirely.

“Lilly,” Ms. Beckett said, irritation creeping in now. 

“Eyes up. Project. This is not the time to disappear.”

Something broke loose in Lilly’s chest. Her breath stuttered, short and sharp. She pressed her fingers into her script like it might anchor her, but it didn’t.

“I—” She shook her head slightly, like she could reset herself. “I’m sorry.” Before Ms. Beckett could speak again, Patty moved.

It wasn’t dramatic. She didn’t step fully out of place. She just closed the space between them under the guise of blocking, one hand coming up as if to gesture — and instead settling at Lilly’s side.

Her fingers pressed lightly into the fabric of Lilly’s sleeve, just enough pressure to be felt. Just enough to ground.

“Breathe,” Patty murmured, so quietly it barely registered as sound. Her head didn’t turn. Her face stayed angled toward the audience. 

“I’ve got you.”

Lilly’s breath hitched — then slowed, just a fraction. Ms. Beckett frowned. “Patty, hold your position.” Patty didn’t remove her hand.

“She’s not fine,” Patty said evenly, voice calm but unmistakably sharp. Still subtle. Still controlled. 

“She’s panicking.” There was a murmur somewhere offstage. Someone shifted. Ms. Beckett’s eyes narrowed. “She said she could continue.” 

Lilly opened her mouth immediately. “I can—” Patty tightened her grip just slightly. 

“She can’t,” Patty said. “And pushing her won’t fix it.”

Ms. Beckett stared at them. “This is a rehearsal.”

“And she’s about to pass out,” Patty replied. “Do you want that onstage tomorrow?”

Silence lingered.

Lilly’s heartbeat thundered in her ears. She hated being seen like this. Hated that Patty was speaking for her — and at the same time, she clung to the steadiness of her hand like it was the only thing keeping her upright.

Ms. Beckett exhaled through her nose. “Fine,” she said tightly. “Five minutes. Offstage. Then we run it again.”

Patty nodded once. “Thank you.”

She guided Lilly away without making it obvious, her hand never leaving Lilly’s arm. To anyone watching, it probably looked like nothing — just a blocking adjustment, just two actors exiting together. 

Only when they were out of the direct light did Patty lean in, just enough for Lilly to hear her.

“You’re okay,” she said quietly. “Stay with me.”

Lilly nodded, throat tight, eyes burning. She didn’t pull away. And Patty didn’t let go. They made it as far as the wing before Patty slowed.

“Sit,” Patty said again, quieter this time, steering Lilly toward the narrow stretch behind the flats where the light dropped off and the noise dulled. 

“I’ll get Ronnie. She’ll walk you—”

Lilly shook her head. She didn’t trust her voice yet. Instead, she tugged lightly at Patty’s hand.

Just once.

Patty stopped.

Lilly looked up at her then, eyes still glassy but steady enough. She squeezed Patty’s fingers, small and deliberate.

“It’s okay,” she said softly. “I’m fine. Really. Just—give me a minute.” Patty studied her like she didn’t believe a word of it. Her jaw worked. Her shoulders stayed tight.

“You say that a lot,” Patty muttered.

“I know,” Lilly said, almost smiling. “But I mean it this time.” For a moment, Patty didn’t move. Then she exhaled sharply and dropped onto the edge of a prop crate, hands braced on her knees.

“God, Beckett’s unbearable,” she said. “Did you hear her? ‘This is not the time to disappear.’ Like you were levitating 6 feet off the ground.” Lilly huffed, a quiet laugh slipping out before she could stop it. She pressed her lips together, but it was already there.

“That’s not funny,” Patty said automatically.

“I know,” Lilly said. “But the way she said it—”

Patty snorted. “She talks like she’s auditioning for a villain.” Lilly laughed again, softer this time. It loosened something in her chest. She leaned back against the wall, letting the coolness seep through her shirt.

“She’s worse when she’s stressed,” Lilly said.

“She’s always stressed,” Patty replied. “That’s her natural state.” Lilly glanced at her. Patty’s irritation was familiar now—protective, sharp-edged, a little reckless. It steadied her more than silence would have.

“I’m sorry,” Lilly said after a beat. “For stopping everything.”

Patty shot her a look. “Don’t.”

“I just—”

“I said don’t,” Patty repeated. 

“You didn’t ruin anything. Beckett did. And the lights. And the fact that this place is basically a kiln.”

Lilly smiled despite herself. They sat there for another moment, the muffled sound of rehearsal drifting back in. Someone missed a cue. Beckett’s voice rose. Patty rolled her eyes.

Then—

“Whoa,” Will said, suddenly, appearing from between two flats like he’d been conjured. “Did I miss something?”

Patty straightened instantly.

She stood, stepping away from Lilly like there’d been nothing between them at all. Her expression reset—cool, distant, almost bored.

“She tripped,” Patty said flatly. “She’s fine.”

Lilly blinked, the sudden space feeling colder than it should have. She pushed herself upright, nodding along. “Yeah. I’m okay.”

Will frowned, glancing between them. “You sure?”

“Yep,” Lilly said quickly.

Patty crossed her arms. “Beckett wants us back in two.”

Will shrugged. “Alright. Just checking.” He lingered a second longer, then wandered off, already distracted by something else.

As soon as he was gone, Patty turned away, pacing a step toward the stage like she hadn’t been sitting there at all.

“Get some water,” she said, voice clipped. “I’ll deal with Beckett.”

Lilly watched her for a moment. The distance hurt more than she wanted to admit, even knowing why it was there.

“Patty,” she said quietly. Patty paused, not turning.

“Thank you,” Lilly added. Patty hesitated—just a fraction. Then she shrugged, still facing away.

“Don’t make it a thing,” she said. But she waited until Lilly took a steady breath before heading back into the light.

Lilly lay on her bed with the TV murmuring low, light from the screen washing over the ceiling in slow, uneven waves. Her script lay open near her hip, pages bent where her fingers had worried at them too long. 

One arm was flung over her head, wrist pressed to her brow as if that alone might keep her thoughts from spilling everywhere.

Her chest still felt wrong.

Not sharp—just unsettled. Like her breathing hadn’t fully come back to her after rehearsal. Twice earlier she’d felt it swell, that familiar rush of heat and dizziness, the way the world tilted just enough to scare her. She’d ridden it out. She always did. But the idea of tomorrow kept dragging it back up again.

Opening night.

The lights.

Ms. Beckett’s voice cutting clean through the room.

The possibility of freezing, right there where everyone could see. Lilly rolled onto her side and stared at the doorway, the dark beyond it thick and quiet.

Lilly sat up slowly, careful not to move too fast. The house was asleep in that fragile way late nights had—every sound magnified, every shadow stretched thin. She padded down the hall barefoot, heart beating too loudly for comfort, telling herself she wasn’t doing anything wrong. She eased her mother’s door open and slipped inside.

The room smelled like clean sheets and something floral, familiar enough to twist her stomach. 

Moonlight traced pale lines across the dresser and the bed, catching on framed photographs Lilly didn’t look at. She went straight to the nightstand, crouching.

The drawer opened with a soft rasp. Lilly stilled, listening. Nothing. She reached in and took out the orange bottle she already knew by weight alone.

Lorazepam.

Her mother had always been careful with it. Just in 

case, she’d say, pressing a pill into Lilly’s palm before crowded malls or long afternoons out. You don’t have to be brave all the time.

Lilly twisted the cap off and tipped the bottle, watching the pills slide into her hand.

One.

Then four more.

She hesitated, fingers curling slightly. After a beat, she separated one pill and slipped the others back into the bottle. Tomorrow would need its own precautions. The drawer closed quietly. Everything returned to its place.

In the bathroom, Lilly swallowed the single pill dry, wincing at the bitter taste as it clung to her tongue. She rinsed her mouth and stared at her reflection, the mirror catching her in a way that felt too honest.

She looked tired.

Worn thin.

Like someone bracing for something she couldn’t step away from. Lilly leaned against the sink and waited.

The edge softened gradually. Not gone—never gone—but dulled, like the world had been wrapped in cotton. Her breathing evened out. Her shoulders dropped an inch.

She went back to her room and slid under the covers, turning onto her side and hugging a pillow close to her chest. Tomorrow was another obstacle she had to brace through but for now, the noise in her head finally quieted enough for her to close her eyes.

Chapter Text

By early evening the auditorium no longer felt sealed — it felt exposed.

Every door was open. Every light was on. The quiet from the night before had been replaced with layered noise: voices overlapping, makeup kits snapping shut, racks of costumes rattling as they were wheeled into place. The air smelled like hairspray and fabric and nerves sharpened into something almost metallic.

Backstage was split clean down the middle. Stage right belonged to props — Will crouched over a table counting glassware while Rich dramatically argued that the fake letter opener was “absolutely crooked” and Matty knelt nearby taping a loose corner back into place.

Stage left was chaos of a different kind.

Ronnie sat in front of a mirror surrounded by pins and brushes, chin tipped up as someone dusted powder across her cheekbones. Lilly sat two chairs down, shoulders bare beneath the thin strap of her costume, hair half-curled and clipped away from her face.

No one was talking much.

“Don’t move,” someone warned.

“I’m not,” Lilly murmured, though her foot bounced anyway.

A hand pressed lightly to her knee. Ronnie glanced over at her reflection, eyebrow lifting.

“You okay?” she asked quietly, tilting her head, like she was already half-expecting the answer.

Lilly fidgeted with the hem of her costume, the fabric soft under her fingers. “I… what if I mess up?” she murmured, voice low.

Ronnie’s lips curved in a faint, reassuring smile. “Then you mess up. Everyone does. Doesn’t mean the world ends. You just… keep going.”

Lilly let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding, the tension in her shoulders loosening slightly. She glanced at her reflection, eyes tracing the curve of her costume, the way the lights bounced off the stage makeup. “And… what if I panic again?” she added, quieter this time, almost to herself.

Ronnie leaned a little closer, voice soft but firm. “Then you hold on to whoever’s near you at that moment. Doesn’t matter who—your friend, your sibling… even if it’s Patty Stanton.”

Lilly blinked, startled by the name, and then let out a small, genuine chuckle, the sound easing some of the tightness in her chest. “Yeah… even her,” she admitted, shaking her head slightly.

“You’ll be fine,” Ronnie said, her hand brushing briefly over Lilly’s shoulder. “And if you’re not… we’ve got you.”

Lilly blinked again, letting the warmth of that thought settle in her chest. “Okay,” she said, tilting her head, trying to make the word a shield against the nerves still buzzing underneath her skin.

The stylist stepped back. “Alright, Lilly, you’re done. Try not to touch anything now.”

Sliding off the chair, Lilly smoothed the skirt of her costume down, the fabric brushing against her legs. She looked at Ronnie one more time. “I might step out for a bit. Just… get some air.”

Ronnie nodded immediately, eyes sharp but gentle. “Go ahead. Five minutes. I’ll stall Beckett if I have to.”

“Thanks,” Lilly said softly, a small smile tugging at her lips as she made her way toward the door, careful not to make a sound on the hardwood floor.

The hallway felt different—less bright, less sharp, just enough space to breathe. She leaned against the wall for a second, letting the weight of the day settle, the echo of her heartbeat slowing down just enough for her to feel steady again.

Lilly slipped past the curtain line and into the narrow hallway just offstage, where the noise dulled and the walls felt closer. She leaned back for a moment, breathing slow. In. Out. The lorazepam sat low and warm in her chest, not heavy — just enough to keep the edge from slicing.

Footsteps approached.

“Well, if it isn’t our star,” Rich announced, far too loudly, bouncing on his heels, Will at his side and 

Matty trailing behind. “Thought you’d wandered off into Narnia or something.”

Lilly let out a small laugh. “I was right there.”

Will grinned. “We’re required by law to wish you good luck.”

“Union rules,” Matty added with a half-smile.

“Good luck,” Will said, patting her shoulder.

“Break a leg,” Rich added, waving his hands. “Not literally, of course — Beckett would strangle me.”

He leaned in and gave her a quick, exaggerated pat on the shoulder. Lilly chuckled again, shaking her head. “Rich, if I do break my leg, I'll blame you.”

“Relax!” he said with a wink. “You’ll be brilliant. No pressure.”

Will nodded once more, softer this time. “You’ve got this.”

The two boys drifted back toward props, their voices already fading.

That left Matty.

He lingered, hands in his pockets, rocking slightly on his heels. “Uh… yeah. Same. Good luck,” he said, voice low, almost unsure.

“Thanks,” Lilly replied, quieter than she intended.

The space between them stretched, filled only by the muffled noise of rehearsal from the stage. 

Matty shifted closer, then hesitated. “Can I…?”

Lilly nodded before he even finished.

He hugged her carefully, arms light but solid. Not tight — just grounding. Lilly’s hands hovered briefly before settling at his back, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. Her chest tightened — not panic this time. Something softer, stranger, warmer.

“You’re gonna kill it,” Matty murmured, close enough that the words brushed against her.

“Yeah?” she asked quietly.

“Yeah,” he said, voice steady. “You always do.”

She pulled back just enough to look at him. His smile was easy, open, and suddenly she was hyperaware of how close they were standing, how long his hands lingered at her sides.

“I’m really glad you’re here,” she said before she could stop herself.

Matty’s expression softened. “Me too.”

For a heartbeat, it felt like the world had paused, like the air itself leaned in. Matty startled when a voice cut through the narrow space.

“Clements.”

Patty stood a few steps down the hall, posture straight, arms folded loosely like she’d been there longer than either of them realized. Her eyes flicked once to Lilly, then back to Matty.

“Props needs you,” she said. Flat. Certain.

Matty blinked. “Oh. Yeah. Okay.” He glanced at Lilly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ll—uh. I’ll see you after.”

“Yeah,” Lilly said. “Go.” He left at a quick jog, sneakers squeaking faintly as he disappeared around the corner.

The hallway went quiet again.

Not the comfortable kind.

Patty stayed where she was, gaze lingering where Matty had gone before drifting back to Lilly. There was something tight in her expression now, something held too carefully.

“So,” Patty said at last. “He’s good at that.”

Lilly frowned slightly. “At what?”

“Showing up,” Patty replied. “Saying the right things. Making you feel steady.” Her mouth curved, not quite a smile. “He always knows how to work his way around you.”

Lilly stiffened. “We’re just friends.”

Patty hummed, low and unconvinced. “Sure.”

“That’s not—” Lilly stopped herself, exhaling. “It’s not like that.”

Patty’s eyes searched her face, sharp and unreadable. Whatever she found there didn’t seem to satisfy her. Silence stretched again, heavier this time.

Lilly shifted her weight. “We should probably go out there,” she said, nodding toward the stage. 

“They’ll start calling soon.”

She stepped past Patty, expecting space.

She didn’t get it.

Patty’s hand closed around Lilly’s arm.

Not hard. Just sudden.

Both of them froze.

Patty’s eyes widened a fraction, like she hadn’t meant to do it at all, like the motion had surprised her as much as it had Lilly. Her fingers loosened immediately but didn’t let go.

“Patty?” Lilly asked softly. “Are you okay?”

Patty released her arm as if burned. “Yeah. I—” She stopped, jaw tightening. “Sorry.”

Lilly turned fully toward her, concern softening her features. “You don’t have to—”

Patty moved again.

This time with intent.

She lifted both hands and cupped Lilly’s head, thumbs brushing lightly near her temples, fingers slipping into the neat curls that had been so carefully shaped and pinned. Her touch was careful, almost tense, like she was afraid of letting go too soon.

“You better not mess it up,” Patty murmured, low enough that it felt like it belonged only to them, the words clipped, teasing, half a scold.

Lilly blinked, caught between surprise and a flutter of warmth. Her hands rose without thought, resting against Patty’s forearm, fingers curling gently into the fabric of her sleeve.

Patty’s eyes met hers, sharp, watchful, and entirely impossible to read. Not a smile, not exactly, just the barest twitch at the corner of her mouth—as if she’d been caught doing something soft and refused to admit it.

Lilly’s heart thumped. “Yeah… I won’t,” she whispered, voice barely audible.

The sound of the stage swelled behind them, voices calling, cues being set, the night pressing forward whether they were ready or not.

Patty dropped her hands first. She didn’t say another word, didn’t even glance away—just shifted back a step, eyes still tracking Lilly until the hallway narrowed and the noise swallowed them both.

Lilly exhaled slowly, letting the warmth linger even after Patty had turned to leave.

The call came softer this time, almost reverent.

“Places.”

Backstage shifted around it. A ripple of movement. 

Fabric brushed skin. Someone whispered a curse and crossed themselves like they actually believed in something tonight. The low hum of the audience leaked through the curtain—coughs, murmurs, the rustle of programs being folded and unfolded again.

Lilly stood just offstage, fingers curled into the seam of her skirt, breathing carefully. In. Out. The floor beneath her feet felt solid. Real. She pressed her toes down like she was reminding herself she belonged here.

The lights dimmed.

The curtain rose.

For a heartbeat, the brightness was blinding.

Then the world narrowed.

The auditorium was quiet, the stage lights soft but glaring enough to make every shadow sharp. The audience waited, the air heavy with anticipation. Lilly stood just behind the curtain, hands curling around the thin straps of her costume, heart hammering like a drum.

Patty, already onstage as Sara Crewe, glanced back, her sharp eyes briefly finding Lilly in the wings. She gave the faintest tilt of her head, almost imperceptible—a signal, steady and sure. Lilly nodded, swallowing, and stepped out.

The first line hit her and… blank.

ERMENGARDE: “I—I…”

Her voice caught, small and high, and she froze mid-step. A chair scraped faintly on the floor as she adjusted herself, a hiccup of sound that might have been noticed.

Patty didn’t miss a beat.

SARA: “Some things are remembered by trying very hard, and some by simply letting them come.”

The words carried Lilly’s cue forward. Relief rushed warm through her chest, and she repeated her line, slightly shakier than intended, but audible:

ERMENGARDE: “I—I do try, I just…”

Her voice faltered again, the memory of the words slipping. She nearly tripped over the edge of a rug, catching herself against the table. The audience didn’t flinch—Patty leaned in just enough, a hand brushing the back of Lilly’s shoulder in an invisible lifeline.

SARA: “Then say it wrong bravely, and it will still be right.”

Lilly blinked, the words settling. She moved through her lines, the stumbles fading into a rhythm, her confidence building in tiny increments.

When the scene reached its climax, Lilly flubbed her last line. She swapped a word, her voice faltering, but Patty’s quick glance and a subtle emphasis on her own line carried Lilly through without anyone in the audience noticing.

SARA: “Hold fast to what is yours, no matter how the world treats us.”

Lilly’s lips curved in relief as she finished her line correctly. Patty’s eyes flicked to her—sharp, unreadable, almost teasing.

The scene ended, the last lines fading into the hush of the audience. For a brief moment, the stage felt suspended—breathless, poised between story and reality. Then came the soft, building applause, cautious at first, then swelling into full claps and murmurs of approval.

The cast shuffled forward, forming a line across the stage for their bows. Lilly’s hands found Patty’s automatically, seeking the grounding presence she’d relied on all night. Patty didn’t let go, fingers tightening just enough to communicate acknowledgment without a word.

The two of them held each other there, Patty scanning the audience with sharp, calculating eyes, tracking faces, lights, and the glimmer of recognition. Lilly’s grip squeezed back, firm but gentle, and Patty’s head turned fractionally, just enough for her gaze to meet Lilly’s. The corner of her mouth twitched—less a smile than a fleeting acknowledgment—but it was enough.

Applause continued, the audience rising to their feet as the curtain fell completely. The lights dimmed, leaving only the soft glow of exit signs and the shadows of the backstage. The cast lingered for a second, soaking in the victory.

And then came Ronnie.

“LILLY!” she yelled, voice cracking somewhere between excitement and chaos. She barreled forward, Will and Rich hot on her heels. “You were amazing! I mean—everyone was, but YOU!”

Before Lilly could step back, she was scooped up in a whirlwind of arms and laughter. Ronnie’s grip was enthusiastic, a little too much, and the boys nearly collided with the wings as they tried to corral her.

“RONNIE!” Lilly laughed, a little breathless, trying to wriggle free. “Careful! I’m not—”

“Not letting you celebrate properly? NEVER!” Ronnie interrupted, spinning her around just enough for Lilly to stumble lightly against the floorboards.

Will and Rich nearly tackled them both in their attempt to join the hug, shouting overlapping congratulations, while Matty hovered a little back, smiling faintly, hands tucked in his pockets, waiting for the storm to pass.

Lilly finally caught her breath, planting her feet and straightening. “Okay, okay! Enough before someone actually breaks a prop or me!” she said, grinning.

Ronnie finally relented, still holding Lilly at arm’s length, eyes sparkling. “I’m just saying—you were brilliant.“

 Matty cleared his throat loudly.

“Alright, alright,” he said, stepping forward with exaggerated authority. “Give the girl some space. She just survived opening night. Let her breathe.”

Ronnie scoffed. “Oh my god, you act like she ran a marathon.”

“I did,” Lilly said weakly, still smiling. “Emotionally.”

Matty grinned, then promptly ignored his own advice. He stepped right into her space and wrapped his arms around her, solid and warm, chin resting briefly against the top of her head.

“So this space?” Ronnie deadpanned. “This is the space we’re talking about?”

“This is protective space,” Matty said, tightening the hug just a fraction. “Different.”

Lilly laughed into his shoulder, her hands curling into the back of his jacket. “You’re such a liar.

“Maybe,” he murmured, quieter now. “But you did really good.”

The noise swelled around them—Ronnie’s laughter, Rich announcing to anyone who’d listen that the show was “objectively incredible,” Will clapping Matty on the back hard enough to make him grunt. It was loud and bright and buoyant, the kind of moment that carried people whether they wanted it to or not.

Somewhere in the middle of it, Lilly felt it shift.

Patty wasn’t there anymore.

Not gone—just… moved. She stood farther down the wing now, posture reset, distance carefully reclaimed. Rhonda, Elaine, and Marge descended on her almost immediately, a flurry of voices and hands and breathless praise.

“Oh my god, Sara Crewe herself—”

“You were perfect, Patty.”

“My mom cried, I swear—”

Patty absorbed it with the practiced ease of someone who had been surrounded before. She nodded. Smiled where appropriate. Let herself be touched without leaning into it. Her eyes flicked once—just once—back toward Lilly, then away again, like she’d already closed a door she didn’t trust herself to leave open.

Lilly noticed. Of course she did.

The rush eventually broke apart the way all rushes do—slowly, reluctantly. Someone suggested food. Someone else shouted about photos. Ronnie announced she was going to find her parents and promptly vanished. One by one, they peeled away.

“I’m gonna go grab my mom before she starts interrogating Beckett,” Will said.

“Same,” Rich added. “If I don’t get to her first, she’ll corner me about my posture.”

Matty lingered a second longer, giving Lilly a small smile. “I’ll be around,” he said, like he wasn’t already everywhere. Then he jogged off, hands in his pockets.

Lilly stood there for a beat, the sudden quiet settling heavy around her.

“Hey,” she said, forcing the word out steady. “You guys go ahead. I just—forgot something.”

Ronnie eyed her. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” Lilly nodded. “I’ll catch up.”

They didn’t push. That, somehow, felt like a gift.

The changing room was quieter now, stripped of its earlier chaos. Costumes hung neatly again. Makeup lights glowed low and warm. Patty stood at the mirror, already changed out of Sara’s dress, hair loosened, applying a light sweep of powder like she was erasing the last of the stage from her face.

She looked up when the door opened.

“Oh,” she said, genuinely startled. “You’re still here.”

Lilly hovered just inside the doorway, fingers curling into the strap of her bag. “Yeah. I—um.” 

She swallowed. “Are… are the Patty Cakes around?”

Patty snorted softly. “No. They went home. Dinner with parents. Big post-show thing.”

“Oh,” Lilly said. Then, before she could stop herself, almost added How about you?

She didn’t.

The silence stretched, awkward and thin.

Patty capped her lip balm with a quiet click. “You were decent today,” she said, eyes meeting Lilly’s in the mirror. “Job well done out there, Bainbridge.” 

Lilly blinked. “Decent?”

Patty shrugged. “High praise. Don’t get used to it.”

Lilly smiled anyway, heat creeping up her neck. 

“Thanks.”

Patty turned back to the mirror, finished tidying herself, then reached for her bag. “I’m heading out.”

“Oh—okay,” Lilly said quickly, panic flaring. Her mouth opened, closed. The right thing refused to appear.

Patty stepped past her.

Lilly grabbed her arm.

“Wait—” The word burst out too fast. “Do you—do you maybe want to get ice cream?”

Patty froze.

Slowly, she turned back. Her expression gave nothing away—except her eyes, which dropped, unguarded, to Lilly’s lips.

The stage lights had done something unfair to it. The gloss was still there, untouched, catching the low glow of the makeup bulbs and turning her lips soft and full and unmistakably there. Not painted-over pretty, just glossy enough to look discreet, like Lilly had forgotten it entirely. 

Her gaze dipped before she could stop it. The curve of Lilly’s bottom lip, the faint shine where she’d been chewing at it earlier, nerves working their way out through habit. It made Patty’s thoughts stutter. 

She swallowed.

Up close like this, Lilly smelled faintly sweet—powder and fabric and something else Patty couldn’t name without thinking too hard. The words ice cream echoed stupidly in her head, completely at odds with the way her pulse kicked.

Lilly blinked. “I—just—” She hesitated, then softer, 

“Patty?”

That did it.

The way Lilly said her name—quiet, uncertain, almost like she was bracing for rejection—overwhelmed more than the applause ever had. Patty straightened instantly, expression locking back into place, like she was physically shoving the moment somewhere it couldn’t touch her.

“Yes,” she said, too fast. “Fine. Ice cream.”

She turned before she could think better of it, before she could look at Lilly’s lips again.

Behind her, Lilly stood there a second longer than necessary, confused, heart still racing, before hurrying after her—unaware that she’d just undone Patty Stanton with nothing more than a little leftover gloss and a soft voice.

Chapter Text

By the time they reached the ice cream parlor, it was already past eight.

The street had thinned out, the noise of opening 

night fading into something distant and unreal, like it had happened to someone else. The cold had sharpened, biting at Lilly’s fingers even as she tugged her sleeves down, breath fogging faintly in front of her mouth.

Maple & Milk Ice Cream Parlour sat on the corner like it had been waiting—yellow lights glowing warm behind wide windows, the painted sign chipped around the edges. It smelled sweet the second they stepped inside, sugar and waffle cones and something old-fashioned that made 

Lilly feel like she’d accidentally wandered into a memory. They ordered at the counter, standing a little too close and yet somehow miles apart.

“I’ll pay,” Lilly said quickly, reaching for her wallet as soon as the cashier turned back.

Patty didn’t even look at her. “No, it’s fine.”

“I invited you,” Lilly said, earnest, already pulling out a bill.

Patty finally turned, one brow lifting. “And?”

“And that means I should—”

“I can afford ice cream, Bainbridge.”

“I know,” Lilly said, flustered. “That’s not— I just meant—”

Patty sighed dramatically, like she was indulging a child. “You’re exhausting.”

Lilly frowned, then straightened a little. “I’m still paying.”

Patty opened her mouth, clearly ready to steamroll her, but Lilly hurried on, words tumbling. “Please. I asked you to come. It would feel weird if I didn’t.”

That stopped her.

Patty studied Lilly for a second, sharp and unreadable, then clicked her tongue. “Fine. But don’t make it a thing.”

Lilly nodded immediately. “I won’t."

They took their bowls and slid into a booth by the window. The vinyl seat was cold through Lilly’s skirt, the table slightly sticky beneath her palms. 

Outside, the streetlights flickered, cars passing slow, the night settling in around them like a held breath.

They sat.

They ate.

They did not talk.

Lilly focused very hard on her spoon, on the way the vanilla softened under it, smooth and pale. Her mind kept circling the same thought, over and over: This wasn’t supposed to happen.

After the play, she’d expected chaos, hugs, congratulations—then distance. Back to orbiting each other carefully. Back to nothing.

Instead, she was here. Sitting across from Patty Stanton. Sharing ice cream. On a cold night. Like it made any sense at all.

Patty broke the silence with a hum.

“Vanilla,” she said, glancing down at Lilly’s bowl. 

“Of course.”

Lilly looked up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Patty smirked openly. “It means you’re exactly as predictable as you look.”

Lilly’s brows knit together. “Vanilla isn’t bad.”

“I didn’t say it was bad,” Patty said lightly. “Just… boring.”

“That’s rude.”

Patty’s grin widened. “Is it wrong?”

Lilly opened her mouth, then closed it. She glanced down at her ice cream, genuinely considering it. “I like it,” she said finally, honest and a little defensive. “It’s simple. It tastes like what it’s supposed to.”

Patty leaned back, spoon tapping once against her bowl. “God, you even defend it sweetly.”

Lilly’s face warmed. “You don’t have to make fun of me.”

“I do,” Patty said. “It’s very easy.”

“I could make fun of yours,” Lilly offered, tentative but sincere.

Patty tilted her head. “Go on.”

“It’s… very pink,” Lilly said, clearly doing her best.

Patty laughed, outright this time. “That’s it?”

Lilly shrugged, cheeks flushing. “I don’t know. Strawberry’s fine.”

“Just fine,” Patty echoed. “You wound me.”

“I didn’t mean—” Lilly hurried, then stopped herself, embarrassed. “You’re teasing me.”

Patty’s eyes gleamed. “You’re catching on.”

Lilly went red immediately, heat blooming up her neck. She ducked her head, stabbing her spoon into the ice cream like it had betrayed her. “You’re being mean.”

“And yet,” Patty said, leaning forward slightly, voice lower, bolder, “you invited me out for ice cream.”

Lilly froze.

“I—” She swallowed. “I didn’t think you’d say yes.”

Patty watched her closely, shameless in her scrutiny. Her gaze dipped—lingered—on Lilly’s mouth, still faintly glossy from the stage makeup she hadn’t wiped off yet. The light caught there, soft and distracting, and Patty didn’t bother hiding the fact that she noticed.

“Well,” Patty said finally, straightening. “Here we are.”

Lilly dared a glance up, catching Patty’s eyes still on her. Her heart did something small and stupid in her chest.

Outside, the cold pressed harder against the glass. Inside, Lilly tried very hard to focus on her vanilla and not on the fact that Patty Stanton kept looking at her.

Lilly hesitated, fingers twisting together in her lap. The streetlamp buzzed faintly above them.

“You were always… there,” she said slowly. “Like—I was always aware you existed. You were kind of impossible not to notice.” She winced a little, then added quickly, “But I didn’t really pay attention much. Not like… closely.”

Patty frowned.

“Oh,” she said.

The word landed flat. Not angry. Not teasing. Just quiet.

The silence stretched, long enough that a car passed and the wind rattled a loose flyer taped to the pole behind them. Lilly shifted, suddenly acutely aware of how that must have sounded.

“But,” she blurted, trying to fix it, “you definitely hated your hair being touched.”

Patty turned to her slowly, brows knitting. “I don’t?”

Lilly nodded, more confident now. “You do.”

Patty stared at her like she was being accused of something she didn’t remember committing. 

“Since when?”

Lilly smiled faintly, encouraged. “Fourth grade. During science. We were partners.”

Patty’s frown deepened. “We were?”

“Yes,” Lilly said. “We had to share the microscope. You kept leaning in and your hair kept falling forward.”

She lifted her hand halfway, miming the motion, then dropped it again. “I tried to tuck it behind your ear so you could see better and you flinched like I’d shocked you.”

Patty blinked. Once. Twice.

“You said,” Lilly continued, voice soft but certain, 

“‘Don’t touch my hair.’ Like that.” She tilted her chin slightly, tone sharper, older than she’d been at twelve. “And then you tied it back with a rubber band and didn’t look at me for the rest of class.”

Patty let out a quiet, disbelieving huff. “I don’t  remember that at all.”

“I do,” Lilly said. “I thought I’d done something really wrong.” Patty looked away, jaw tight, then back at Lilly again, searching her face like the memory might be hiding there.

“…Huh,” she said finally.

The bus still hadn’t come. The night held them in place, the space between them suddenly full of things neither of them had realized the other remembered.

They both turned forward again, sitting shoulder to shoulder but not touching, eyes fixed on the empty stretch of road ahead. The street felt quieter now, like it was listening.

After a moment, Patty spoke.

“Can I ask you something?” she said, voice lower than before.

Lilly nodded. “Yeah.”

Patty inhaled, then exhaled through her nose, like she was bracing herself. “What do you… actually think of me?”

Lilly’s fingers curled tighter around the edge of the bench.

Before she could answer, a bus appeared far down the road—just headlights at first, distant and slow, not theirs yet but close enough to remind her time was still moving.

She swallowed.

“I—” Lilly started, then stopped. Her mind felt strangely blank. Not empty, exactly. Just full in a way that didn’t arrange itself into words. She’d known Patty all her life. Or at least, she’d been around her all her life. That didn’t mean she understood her.

“In what sense?” Lilly asked carefully.

Patty shifted beside her. For the first time that night, she looked uncertain. She scratched lightly at the seam of her jacket, eyes still forward.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “Like… as a person.” A beat. Then, quieter, more precise. “Good or bad. How you perceive me.”

Lilly breathed out slowly. The bus was closer now, engine humming faintly in the distance.

She stared at the pavement, at the cracks she’d stepped over a hundred times growing up, and tried to be honest.

“You’ve always been…” She hesitated again, then forced herself to continue. “Confident. Everyone knew who you were. You were loud when you wanted to be, and people listened.”

Patty’s jaw tightened just slightly.

“I used to think you were kind of scary,” Lilly added, almost apologetic. “Not in a bad way. Just… untouchable. Like you already knew what you were doing and the rest of us were still figuring things out.”

The bus headlights flared brighter at the end of the street.

Patty finally turned her head, watching Lilly now, really watching her.

“And now?” she asked.

Lilly’s heart beat faster. She wasn’t sure why that question felt heavier than the rest.

“Now I think,” she said slowly, “that you notice more than you let on. And that you pretend not to care when you actually do.”

Patty let out a short, incredulous laugh. “That’s not very flattering.”

“It’s not an insult,” Lilly said quickly. “I think it’s… as human as you can be.”

The bus pulled closer, brakes hissing as it slowed, lights washing over them both. Patty looked away again, expression unreadable, cheeks faintly flushed in the harsh glow.

“Huh,” she said, like she didn’t quite know what to do with that.

The bus rolled to a stop in front of them, doors folding open with a mechanical sigh, and the moment—whatever it had been—hung there, unfinished, between the two of them.

“Patty,” Lilly said softly, nodding toward the street. “The bus is waiting.”

The doors were still open, the driver already craning his neck to look at them.

Patty frowned. “How about you?”

“I live near,” Lilly said. “I’ll be fine.”

Patty opened her mouth to argue, closed it again. Then, suddenly decisive, she stepped closer instead. Too close. Lilly barely had time to register it before Patty caught her wrist.

“Hold still.”

“What—” Patty had already pulled a pen from her coat pocket, the kind she always seemed to have, ink-stained and chewed at the end. She bent over 

Lilly’s arm, warm fingers anchoring her in place, and began to write quickly against her skin. The numbers came out a little crooked, rushed, but firm.

“There,” Patty said. 

“That’s the phone at our place. Call when you get home.” Lilly stared down at her arm, at the dark ink blooming against her skin. “You didn’t have to—”

The bus horn cut through her sentence. One sharp beep. Impatient.

Patty jerked back like she’d been caught doing something illegal. She stuffed the pen away, already stepping toward the bus. Halfway up, she turned around again.

“See you later,” she said, mouth tipping into something familiar and unreadable. “Weirdo.”

Lilly laughed, the sound easy and unguarded, like it hadn’t been filtered through overthinking first. She lifted a hand in a small wave, still smiling.

Patty’s stomach flipped hard.

God.

That smile.

She climbed onto the bus before she could do something stupid, dropping into a seat by the window as the doors folded shut. The bus pulled away, engine growling low, but Patty didn’t look forward. She looked back through the glass until Lilly was just a shape on the sidewalk, then nothing at all.

Her chest felt tight in a way she refused to examine.

Seeing Lilly Bainbridge smile like that had always done something to her. It always had. Long before  ice cream and plays and late-night buses.

Before she knew what it meant.

Before she even knew Lilly’s name—back when she was just the quiet girl with scraped knees and too-big sweaters, standing a little apart from everyone else.

Patty would never say it out loud.

But the adoration had been there for as long as she could remember, steady and persistent, no matter how much she pretended otherwise.

Lilly let herself in as quietly as she could, easing the door shut with practiced care. The house was dim, only the lamp in the living room left on, its light spilling softly across the hallway rug. The faint smell of smoke lingered in the air—sharp, familiar, threaded with something sweet. Her mother had been in the kitchen again. That smell always meant the same thing: a long evening, a cigarette burning down forgotten in an ashtray, 

Terri Bainbridge thinking too hard about something she wouldn’t say out loud. Lilly slipped off her shoes and started for the stairs.

She was halfway up when—

“Lillian.”

Lilly stopped, heart leaping into her throat. She turned slowly. Terri stood in the doorway to the kitchen, arms folded, cigarette balanced between her fingers. 

The smoke curled lazily toward the ceiling now, harsher this close, making Lilly’s eyes sting just a little.

“Where were you?” her mother asked, not unkindly, but not casually either.

“Our play,” Lilly said. “It ended late.”

Terri’s brow creased. “Wasn’t it meant to finish at seven?”

Lilly swallowed. She could hear her pulse in her ears, feel the warmth creeping up her neck. “Yes, but—there were setbacks. Someone missed a cue. We had to stop and start again.” She hesitated, then added, quieter, “It took longer than we thought.”

Terri studied her for a long moment, eyes sharp through the haze of smoke. Lilly held herself still, hands clasped together, waiting.

Finally, Terri exhaled and nodded once. “Alright.” She stubbed out the cigarette. “Go on. Take a shower and get some sleep.”

“Okay,” Lilly said quickly.

She didn’t wait for anything else—just turned and climbed the rest of the stairs, every step lighter than the last. In her room, she closed the door and leaned back against it, breathing out a long, shaky exhale she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

She glanced down at her arm.

The ink was still there. Slightly smudged now, but legible. Patty’s handwriting—crooked, hurried, unmistakable.

Lilly crossed the room and picked up the phone.

She dialed carefully, finger slipping into each number hole, heart thudding louder with every turn of the dial. The ringing sounded impossibly loud in the quiet of her room.

One ring.

Two.

Three—

“Hello?”

Patty’s voice. A little rougher than she remembered from minutes ago. Like she’d been caught between things.

“Hi,” Lilly said, suddenly smiling. “I’m home now.”

There was a pause. Not long. Just enough to feel intentional.

“That’s good,” Patty said.

Another beat followed, softer this time.

“…Goodnight,” Patty added. Then, like she was pushing the words out before she could second-guess them, “And—thank you. For today.”

Lilly’s smile deepened, warm and private in the dimness of her room. “Thank you for coming with me,” she said. “And—goodnight.”

The line went quiet.

Lilly blinked, suddenly unsure. “I—um—goodbye,” she rushed, flustered by the silence. Patty hesitated on the other end. Lilly could almost hear it—the pause, the breath drawn in.

“Goodbye,” Patty said at last.

The line clicked.

Lilly lowered the receiver slowly, setting it back into place with care. For a moment, she just stood there, staring at the phone like it might ring again if she waited long enough.

It didn’t.

She touched the ink on her arm again, then finally moved to get ready for bed, her thoughts loud and bright and entirely unable to settle.

Down the street and several stops away, Patty Stanton lay back on her bed, phone still warm in her hand, staring up at the ceiling with a stupid, helpless smile she would absolutely deny having if anyone asked.

Chapter Text

The cafeteria hummed with a low, constant noise—voices overlapping, trays clattering, chairs dragged back without apology. Lilly sat where she always did, knees tucked close, shoulders slightly rounded like she was bracing against the sound. 

She unwrapped her sandwich carefully, peeling the paper back inch by inch, listening more than she spoke.

Ronnie was already mid-rant.

“They’re showing Rebel Without a Cause again,” she said, gesturing with her fork. “And some old romance after. Downtown theater. Saturday night.”

“That place smells like dust,” Will said.

“That’s part of the charm,” Ronnie shot back. “Besides, what else are we doing?”

“Homework,” Rich muttered, unconvincing.

They laughed. Lilly smiled faintly at the right moments, nodded when eyes flicked her way. It was familiar—this rhythm. Predictable. Comforting in the way routines always were.

And then her gaze drifted.

Marge stood near the milk cooler, tray balanced against her hip, scanning the room. When she spotted Lilly, her face softened immediately, and Lilly smiled back without thinking. It was instinctive. Marge lifted her hand like she might come over—

“Marge.”

Patty Stanton’s voice cut clean through the noise.

Marge turned at once, pivoting toward the Patty Cakes’ table. She weaved through bodies and benches, setting her tray down beside Patty with a practiced familiarity. Patty shifted, her chair scraping just enough to make space, her bob swinging as she leaned back, already saying something that made the girls around her laugh.

Lilly’s eyes followed before she could stop them.

Patty looked up. It wasn’t deliberate. Not performative. Just a quick glance, sharp and instinctive—like she’d felt Lilly’s attention the same way Lilly felt hers.

Their eyes met.

Lilly looked away immediately, pulse stuttering like she’d been caught doing something wrong.

She focused very hard on the creases in her napkin.

Ronnie snorted. “God. They get on my nerves.”

“The Patty Cakes?” Will asked.

“Who else?” Rich nodded, then hesitated. “I mean… not all of them.”

Will and Matty both turned to him.

Rich sighed. “Forget it.” Ronnie rolled her eyes, then leaned closer to Lilly.

“So. How was Patty Stanton when she visited you last time?”

Lilly froze.

Her brain betrayed her instantly. The word splintered into too many moments—Patty in her living room, Patty at her kitchen table, Patty’s fingers at her jaw, Patty in her bedroom doorway like she belonged there.

She swallowed. “She was fine.”

Ronnie blinked. “Fine?”

Will leaned in. “That’s it?”

Lilly nodded, a little too fast. “Yeah. She’s just… alright.”

They waited.

The pause stretched. Lilly’s fingers curled around her fork. She could feel her face warming, the weight of what she couldn’t say pressing against her teeth.

“She’s strict,” Lilly added, because it was safe. “But—I learned a lot from her.”

Rich tilted his head. “Are you going soft on her?”

“What?” Lilly said, startled. “No.”

“Sounds like it.”

“I’m not,” Lilly said quickly. Then, quieter, before she could stop herself, “She helped me.”

Will frowned. “You’re forgetting she got you detention.”

“We both got detention,” Lilly said, a little firmer now. “You know that.”

Ronnie crossed her arms. “Why are you even defending her?” The question landed heavier than the rest. Lilly stared down at her tray. The sandwich sat untouched now, appetite gone. Her chest felt tight, like something was folding inward.

She didn’t have a clean answer. Or a messy one she could give. She couldn’t say because she stayed or because she noticed or because she looked at me like I mattered.

She stayed quiet.

Matty set his fork down.

“That’s enough,” he said calmly. “Lilly’s allowed to feel grateful to someone. That doesn’t mean anything.”

The tension eased slightly. Lilly breathed out, shoulders loosening.

“Thank you,” she murmured. Matty nodded once and went back to eating. Conversation resumed—movie times, who had spare change, whether the late showing was worth it. The moment dissolved into normalcy, tucked away like it hadn’t mattered.

But Lilly heard it anyway.

Patricia Stanton laughing.

It cut through the cafeteria noise with ease—low, bright, unrestrained. Lilly’s chest tightened at the sound, something warm and unfamiliar blooming where her nerves usually lived.

She didn’t look.

She didn’t need to.

She knew exactly where Patty was. Knew the shape of her laugh now. Knew how it sounded when it was real.

Lilly picked up her fork again, hands unsteady, and tried to remind herself that this was just lunch.

That it didn’t mean anything. That she wasn’t already carrying something quiet and dangerous inside her, growing louder every time Patty Stanton laughed across a room.

Patty told herself it was nothing.

That it was coincidence, habit, the way eyes wandered when there was nothing better to look at. She had been sitting in classrooms her whole life. She knew how boredom worked. She knew how attention drifted.

And still—her gaze kept finding Lilly Bainbridge.

She tried to be subtle about it. She really did. Patty Stanton had built a reputation on control, on knowing exactly where to place herself and how to move without giving anything away. She leaned back in her chair like she always did, one ankle hooked over the leg of the desk, posture loose and careless. 

From the outside, she looked like she wasn’t paying attention to anything at all.

Inside, it was a different story.

Every time Lilly shifted in her seat two rows ahead, Patty felt it. A small pull, sharp and immediate. She followed the movement without meaning to—the slope of Lilly’s shoulder as she bent over her notebook, the way her hair fell forward and had to be tucked back behind her ear with the end of her pencil.

Patty forced herself to look at the blackboard.

Chalk dust clung to Ms. Nelson’s fingers as she wrote, neat and precise. Dates. Names. Something about postwar policy Patty already knew by heart. She copied it down anyway, handwriting clean, deliberate. Anything to keep her hands busy. Anything to keep them to herself. Because Lilly was close enough.

If Patty leaned forward just a little, she could brush her knuckles against the back of Lilly’s chair. If she stretched, she could tug the hem of Lilly’s sweater, feel the fabric give beneath her fingers. The thought alone sent a restless energy through her arms, her hands aching with the effort not to reach.

She didn’t.

She never did.

Margaret Truman knew, though.

Marge sat diagonally across the room, chin propped in her palm, eyes sharp in that quiet, observant way of hers. Patty felt her glances like pressure at the side of her face. She’d caught it a few times already—Marge looking at Patty, then following the line of her gaze straight to Lilly.

Their eyes would meet for a brief, loaded second.

Marge never said anything. Never smirked. Never nudged her or passed a note or made a joke the way she easily could have.

That almost made it worse.

Patty wasn’t stupid. She knew that look. Knew the question sitting just behind it. Why her? Since when? What’s going on in that head of yours, Patty Stanton?

Rhonda and Elaine didn’t care. They were whispering behind their books, trading lip gloss and weekend plans, bored and half-asleep. But Marge noticed things. Marge always had.

Patty shifted in her seat, jaw tightening. She kept her eyes forward.

Ms. Nelson cleared her throat.

“Miss Stanton.” Patty was startled. Her chair scraped back loudly as she stood, the sound sharp enough to turn heads. It was unusual—she was rarely caught off guard like that—and she felt it immediately, the weight of attention settling over her shoulders.

“Yes, ma’am,” she said quickly. Ms. Nelson raised an eyebrow. “Care to answer the question?”

Patty blinked once. “I—could you repeat it, please?”

A murmur rippled through the room. A few amused looks. Someone coughed to hide a laugh.

Ms. Nelson studied her for a moment, then repeated the question, voice calm and even.

Patty didn’t hesitate this time.

She answered smoothly, confidently, her voice steady as if she hadn’t been anywhere else a second ago. Dates, causes, consequences. She laid it all out cleanly, almost elegantly, like she was setting something precious back into place.

By the time she finished, the room was quiet.

Ms. Nelson nodded. “Very good. Sit down.”

She felt eyes on her—admiring, impressed, a little stunned. That was normal. That part didn’t faze her. What did was the absence of one.

Lilly never turned around.

She stayed facing forward, shoulders tense, pencil rolling restlessly between her fingers. Tap. Stop. Tap again. Like she was counting something only she could hear.

Patty stared.

She wanted to reach out, take that pencil clean from Lilly’s hand, still the movement. Wanted to lean in and murmur something ridiculous and impulsive—ditch with me, come on, let’s get out of here. A movie downtown. Ice cream that melted too fast. Riding bikes until the sky went soft and pink at the edges.

Anything but this.

Instead, Patty dragged her gaze back to the front of the room and forced herself to sit still.

She squared her shoulders. Smoothed her skirt. Picked up her pen and actually listened this time, writing notes with careful attention, each word a small act of restraint.

She told herself to stop thinking about Lilly Bainbridge.

She told herself she was fine.

And for the rest of the class, Patty Stanton did everything in her power to believe it.

Lilly always forgot how fast the day could turn once the bell rang.

One moment they were packed into narrow desks and stale air, the next they were spilling out through the doors in a rush of sound and motion—voices lifted, laughter loosened, the world suddenly wider. The afternoon light hit sharp and clean, bright enough to make Lilly squint as she followed the others down the steps toward the bike racks.

Ronnie was practically bouncing. “Saturday’s going to be perfect,” she declared. “I don’t care if the seats are broken. I don’t care if the screen flickers. I want drama. I want cigarettes and crying and James Dean being miserable.”

“You want to be miserable,” Will said.

“Exactly.”

They rounded the corner—

—and stopped.

A knot of upperclassmen lounged against the bike racks like they owned the place. Five of them, maybe seven, spread out just enough to block access. Leather jackets. Rolled sleeves. The casual sprawl of people who knew no one was going to tell them to move.

Lilly felt it immediately, that tight pull in her chest. The way her shoulders instinctively drew in.

Ronnie slowed, then straightened.

“Oh,” she said brightly. “Great.”

One of the boys glanced up, eyes dragging lazily over them. He smirked. “Afternoon.”

Ronnie stepped forward before anyone could stop her. “Hey,” she said, friendly but firm. “We just need to grab our bikes.”

No one moved.

Will came up beside her, hands shoved into his pockets. “Won’t take long.” Another girl laughed, low and amused. “They always say that.”

Matty crossed his arms. “You’re literally sitting on them.”

“And?” the first boy said. “We got places to be.”

“So do we,” Lilly said, surprising herself with how steady her voice sounded.

A few of them turned to look at her properly now. 

“Well,” one of them said, grin widening, “this is getting interesting.” Ronnie bristled. “We’re not trying to start anything.”

“Then don’t,” someone else replied easily.

The tension stretched. Lilly could feel it in the way everyone shifted their weight, in the way the air seemed to hum just a little louder.

“We just want our bikes,” Rich said suddenly.

They all looked at him.

His voice wasn’t loud. It wasn’t aggressive. Just… plain. The upperclassmen exchanged looks. One of them shrugged, exaggerated and theatrical. “See? Kid’s polite.” Another nudged his bike aside with his foot. “Guess we can make some room.”

Slowly—deliberately—they parted, opening a narrow path down the center of the racks.

Ronnie hesitated. Will shot Lilly a look. Matty’s jaw was tight.

“Fine,” Ronnie said. “Thank you.”

They stepped forward together.

Lilly walked beside Rich. Too close. Close enough that she noticed his hand disappear into his jacket pocket.

Her stomach dropped.

She glanced at him.

Rich didn’t look at her. His expression was calm. Almost serene.

Her heart kicked hard.

He tugged her sleeve once—subtle—and when she looked up at his face, his eyes flicked down, quick and pointed. Lilly followed the motion.Saw the glass. Her breath caught.

She lifted her hand, fingers brushing Ronnie’s wrist as they passed. Ronnie stiffened, then subtly angled herself closer to Will. Matty caught on instantly, drifting back half a step, eyes sharp.

They were almost through.

Almost—

“Hey,” someone called, amused. “Don’t run off just yet—”

“Run!” Will yelled. Rich didn’t hesitate. He whipped his arm back and hurled the stink bomb down the center of the path. It shattered on impact.

The smell hit like a physical force—rotting, sulfurous, alive. It crawled into Lilly’s nose and throat, made her gag instantly. Shouts erupted behind them. “What the hell—” “Jesus Christ—” “Oh my—” Laughter burst out of Ronnie like she couldn’t stop it. Lilly’s lungs burned as she sprinted, skirts and bags tangling, vision blurring with tears.

Behind them, the upperclassmen scattered, coughing, swearing, retching. The path dissolved into chaos. They grabbed their bikes blindly, hands on handlebars, chains rattling, pedals scraping shins.

“Go, go, go!” Matty shouted.

They mounted and took off in a messy, triumphant rush, wheels skidding, laughter tearing free and wild. Lilly pedaled hard, heart hammering, the stink still clinging to her clothes, to her hair, to the memory of it.

She glanced back once.

The bike racks were a mess of movement and misery, the air still thick and awful.

Lilly laughed—really laughed—breathless and bright, the sound ripping out of her chest like it had been waiting. They didn’t slow down until they were blocks away.And even then, the smell followed them. Even then, the adrenaline sang.

Even then, Lilly couldn’t stop smiling.

The street opened up as they rode, the school shrinking behind them until it was just another brick shape swallowed by distance.

The afternoon air rushed past Lilly’s ears, cool and sharp, carrying the stink with it no matter how fast they pedaled. Her legs burned, her lungs still felt tight, and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed this hard while trying to breathe.

Matty slowed first, coasting hard, one foot skidding down to the pavement. He turned in his seat, pointing at Rich like he still couldn’t believe he was real.

“Rich,” he said, breathless, half-laughing, half-furious, “what the hell is wrong with you?”

Ronnie wheezed out a laugh, swerving dangerously. “You absolute maniac. I thought my soul left my body.”

Will shook his head, grinning despite himself. “You could’ve warned us. Like—at all.”

“I did,” Rich said, pedaling lazily, a little too pleased. “You were just slow.”

“That smell,” Ronnie groaned, clutching her stomach. “That was a crime.”

Lilly laughed, the sound tearing out of her before 

she could stop it. “I thought I was going to pass out,” she said. “It was like it chased us.”

Matty dragged a hand down his face, still smiling. 

“You realize,” she said to Rich, “that if any of us get caught, we’re blaming you.”

Rich lifted his hands off the handlebars for half a second. “Worth it.”

Will snorted. “I hate that you’re right.”

They rode on, laughter spilling into the street, loud and uncontained now that they were safe. The tension drained out of them in real time, leaving behind something bright and electric, like they’d gotten away with something enormous.

“Saturday’s still on,” Ronnie called out. “After that stunt? We earned a movie.”

“After that,” Will added, “we should never let Rich near glass again.” Rich grinned over his shoulder. 

“No promises.”

They split off one by one—shouted goodbyes, crooked waves, tires crunching as each turned toward home. The group unraveled slowly, threads pulling loose but still warm from being knotted together.

Soon it was just Lilly.

She pedaled slower, letting the moment settle, her breath evening out as the streets grew quieter. The smell still clung faintly to her clothes, but she didn’t mind. 

Chapter Text

Lilly woke up to light instead of sound.

That was the first sign something was wrong.

Sunlight spilled across her wall in a pale, unforgiving stripe, catching dust in the air and the edge of her dresser like it had been there for a while. Lilly blinked once, then twice, her body still heavy with sleep as her eyes slid to the clock.

Her stomach dropped.

“No—no, no—”

She sat up too fast, sheets tangling around her legs, heart already racing. The alarm clock sat dark and useless on the nightstand. 

Lilly scrambled out of bed, pulling on yesterday’s sweater without bothering to check if it was inside out. Her hands shook as she shoved books into her bag, fingers clumsy, movements rushed and uneven. The house felt louder than usual in her panic—the creak of the floor, the rattle of the window, the distant clink of glass.

She burst into the kitchen.

Terri stood by the counter, cigarette balanced between her fingers, smoke curling lazily toward the ceiling. She glanced over her shoulder, one eyebrow lifting.

“Morning,” she said. “You eat yet?”

“I’m late,” Lilly blurted, already halfway past her.

Terri frowned. “Lilly, you gotta—”

“I’ll eat later,” Lilly said, breathless. “I promise.”

She didn’t wait for an answer.

The screen door slammed behind her as she bolted down the steps, the cool morning air biting sharp against her skin. Her bike waited where she’d left it, chained to the post by the sidewalk, paint dulled with age but steady and familiar.

She unlocked it with shaking hands, swung a leg over the frame, and pushed off hard.

The ride to school blurred past her in clipped breaths and burning legs. Wind cut against her face, cold enough to sting, but she didn’t slow. 

Houses thinned into fences, sidewalks into stretches of cracked pavement. She kept her eyes forward, mind fixed on the clock she wasn’t looking at.

By the time the school came into view, her chest ached.

She coasted into the bike racks, shoes scraping the pavement as she slowed. The metal clinked softly as she reached for the chain, already planning how fast she could lock up and run.

Then she froze.

Her heart dropped straight through her.

They were there.

Five of them, scattered near the racks. Jackets slung low. Bikes half-blocking the path. Laughing too easily for this early in the morning.

The same faces from yesterday.

Lilly’s hands tightened around the handlebars. For a second, she didn’t breathe. The world narrowed to the sound of their voices and the dull thud of her pulse in her ears.

She could turn around. She could pretend she forgot something. 

She angled herself toward the far side of the lot, pretending to check her bag, head down, steps careful and quiet. There weren’t many students out yet—just a few stragglers cutting across the grounds, too far away, too busy with their own mornings to notice her.

She took one step back.

Then—

A hand closed around her shoulder.

“Took you long enough, kid.” Lilly froze.

Another hand grabbed her arm. Then another. They surrounded her quickly, efficiently, bodies boxing her in until there was nowhere to move, nowhere to look without meeting someone’s grin.

“Loony Bainbridge,” one of them said, amused. 

“I've heard about you.”

Her mouth went dry.

She swallowed hard. “Please,” she said, the word slipping out before she could stop it. “I’m running late.”

Someone laughed. Close to her ear.

“Oh, we know,” the boy said. “But we’ve still got some business left with you.”

Lilly’s hands curled into fists at her sides. Every instinct screamed at her to swing, to shove, to do something—but fear pinned her in place, sharp and paralyzing. There were too many of them. 

Their shadows pressed in from every direction.

“And did you forget,” he went on lightly, almost conversational, “what your midget friend pulled yesterday?” Her chest tightened.

“He didn’t—” she started, then tried again, voice breaking. “Please. I just want to go to class.”

The hand on her shoulder tightened.

“Not yet.” They dragged her forward before she could brace herself, her bag slipping off her shoulder, books thudding uselessly against her hip. Her bike tipped over behind her, chain clattering loudly as it hit the pavement.

She twisted once, desperate, but it only earned her a sharper grip, fingers digging into her arm.

“Hey—stop—” No one was looking.

The pool building loomed ahead, low and blocky, tucked behind the gym like something forgotten on purpose. Its doors were shut, the windows fogged and dull, the air around it cooler and damp in a way that crawled under the skin.

They steered her toward it without slowing, grips firm and practiced, their laughter low and ugly. Their footsteps echoed too loudly on the concrete, splashing faintly where yesterday’s water still clung to the ground.

Lilly’s heart hammered so hard it hurt.

The doors creaked as they reached them.

And then they pulled her inside.

Lilly vanished from the morning the way a note slips off a desk—noticed only after the fact.

By lunch, Ronnie had stopped checking the doors.

She’d done it all morning, subtle at first. A glance when the bell rang. 

Another when the late slips were collected. By third period she’d started pretending not to look at all, which somehow made it worse. Now they were all crowded at their usual cafeteria table, trays half-touched, the noise of the room swelling and collapsing around them in waves. 

Lilly should have been there.

“If she was late,” Ronnie said finally, voice careful, “she’d still come.” No one argued.

Rich pushed peas around his plate with the edge of his fork, frowning at them like they’d personally offended him. 

“Maybe she’s sick,” he offered. “Cold or something.”

Will shook his head immediately. “She was fine yesterday. She biked home like nothing.”

Matty leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, eyes narrowed toward the entrance.

 “And don’t you think she’d have called?” he said. “At least one of us. She wouldn’t just disappear.”

The table went quiet in that particular way that wasn’t peaceful at all—like something holding its breath. Ronnie felt it settle into her chest, heavy and wrong. He stared down at his hands. 

Across the cafeteria, Patty Stanton was laughing at  something someone said.

It wasn’t a big laugh. Just a quick burst, polite, practiced. She was half-turned toward her own table, jacket draped over the back of her chair, posture loose in the way that made people think she was relaxed even when she wasn’t. She’d clocked Ronnie’s group the second she walked in—habit, not interest. 

And then she noticed the gap.

Lilly always sat slightly sideways, one knee pulled up, elbow nudging too close to Ronnie’s tray. Patty knew this. She knew it the way you know the shape of a building you pass every day without entering. 

She frowned, eyes flicking back to the group. Ronnie wasn’t eating. Will’s jaw was tight. Rich kept glancing toward the doors like he expected someone to come running through them, breathless and apologetic.

Patty told herself it was nothing.

People missed school. People got sick. Parents kept kids home. Buses broke down. Bikes got flat tires. A thousand reasonable explanations lined up neatly in her head, each one placed carefully over the next like sandbags against a rising thought.

She found herself watching the doors too.

The cafeteria noise shifted suddenly, rippling outward as someone climbed onto a chair near the center of the room. Patty turned just in time to see Marty—Marty with the voice, Marty with the hair, Marty who treated every announcement like it was a performance—cup his hands around his mouth.

“Hey! Hey—listen up!” Groans scattered. Someone threw a napkin. Marty grinned anyway. “Guys,” he shouted, thrilled with himself, “Miller and his goons are out by the pool—”

That got attention.

“They're throwing around some kid into the dirty pool.“

The cafeteria erupted into noise—murmurs folding into each other, chairs scraping back, bodies turning all at once toward the windows that faced the gym.

Patty didn’t laugh. Her eyes snapped back to Ronnie’s table. Ronnie had gone pale. Will’s face was locked into something stiff and brittle. Rich looked like he might throw up. Patty couldn’t see Matty clearly, but she didn’t need to. She knew that look—the shared one, the silent calculation, the moment when a terrible answer slides too easily into place.

Oh.

The sound of Patty’s chair hitting the floor was sharp enough to cut through the din.

She was already moving before she fully stood, heart slamming hard against her ribs. Her boots struck the tile with purpose as she headed for the exit, every step stripping away the excuses she’d built minutes earlier. Behind her, she heard movement—chairs shoved back too fast, voices calling her name, footsteps scrambling to keep up.

She didn’t turn around.

By the time she reached the doors, half the cafeteria was rising with them, curiosity and dread pulling students like a current. Patty pushed through into the hallway.

She broke into a run.

Patty pounded down the hallway, boots slamming against the tile. Behind her, the echo of her movement was joined by a growing tide of footsteps—students spilling after her, curiosity and dread propelling them like water over rocks.

“Do you guys think it’s Lilly?” Rich shouted, voice cracking over the rush.

“Let’s pray to God it’s not,” Will answered, nearly colliding with Rich as they ran. Ronnie’s hand shot out, clapping over their mouths in a firm, silencing gesture. “We need more than God to save Lilly!” she said sharply, her voice tense.

Matty jogged alongside them, hands steadying both, voice calm. “Keep it together, we’ll get there,” he said, keeping the group from spiraling into panic.

Patty didn’t look back. Her mind was already racing ahead, muscles coiled for what was waiting, every nerve on fire. She barreled past the school doors, students scattering behind her, following blindly in the wake of her speed. The morning air hit her like a shock, but she barely noticed, adrenaline drowning everything else.

They crossed the small courtyard, feet slapping the concrete, hearts hammering in unison. The shortcut to the pool was just ahead, and Patty surged forward, almost slamming the door open—until a firm hand on her shoulder stopped her.

Ronnie, breathless, held her back, eyes wide and assessing. “What the hell are you doing here, Stanton?”

Patty’s face hardened instantly, jaw tightening. She scrambled for a response, trying to shove down the worry that twisted in her gut. “I… I merely hate misconduct,” she said, voice clipped and sharp, masking everything she felt for Lilly.

Ronnie tugged at her again, frowning. “You just want to impress Dunleavy, don’t you? Put a shine to your name?”

Patty said nothing, letting the words hang uselessly in the air as she pushed the door open, stepping into the shadowed, stale-smelling pool area. One by one, the group—Patty, Ronnie, Matty, Rich, Will, piled in after her.

The sight hit them like a punch. Lilly lay sprawled across the grimy pool floor, gagged. Her knees were scraped and bloody, one cheek swollen, a dark bruise forming under her eye. 

Shock cut through the air for only a moment before the four—Ronnie, Will, Rich, and Matty—rushed forward without hesitation, splashing through the shallow, half-filled water to get to her. Patty froze, heart thudding, taking in the full scope: the grime, the shallow water, the blood, and above all, the perpetrator standing at the center.

There were five of them. And at the center, James Miller.

He caught Patty’s gaze immediately, a slow, calculating grin spreading across his face. 

“Stanton,” he said, voice dripping with mock surprise, “what a lovely surprise. Are you with them or something? Didn’t really expect you to be friends with a bunch of shitheads.”

The four working to free Lilly gave him a sharp glare, tugging at her gag and her soaked clothes, but Patty’s eyes narrowed, hardening. She stepped forward, voice low, controlled but deadly. “You disrupted my lunch, James,” Patty said evenly

“You know how much I hate that.”

Miller tilted his head, smiled, and chuckled. He motioned to two of his friends. “Lock the door. I don’t want anyone bursting through.” The others obeyed instantly.

“I have unfinished business with these faggots,” Miller continued, voice smug, stepping closer. 

“Even if you tell the police, no one gives a shit about old-school bullying. And now, Stanton… you just made it a lot more fun.”

Patty wavered just a fraction, a flicker of fear—rare, unfamiliar—rushing through her. Her eyes scanned the scene: Ronnie and Will carefully lifting Lilly from the water, Rich pressing at her wet clothes, and Matty cradling her gently, whispering reassurances. More than anything, Patty wanted to be the one holding Lilly.

“This isn’t the only offense I’ll expose. I know about the expensive liquors you’ve stolen from Union Ave, the missing school records. You’re accountable for all of it.”

Miller leaned closer, low and threatening. “But you don’t have evidence, do ya now… cutie?”

Patty didn’t step back. She smiled instead, sharp and humorless.

“I don’t need proof,” she said. “I just need people to start looking. You ever notice how fast things fall apart when someone starts asking why?”

Miller snorted. “God, you always talked like that.” 

His eyes flicked over her face, familiar in a way that made her skin crawl. “All righteous. All angry. Guess that’s what happens when you grow up watching your parents tear themselves apart, huh?”

Her smile faltered for half a breath.

He saw it.

“Must be exhausting,” he went on lightly, cruelly. 

“Spending your whole life trying not to turn into them. Trying to be better. Cleaner. Smarter.” He tilted his head. “Did it work, Patty? Or are you still just a mess pretending you’re in control?”

He paused, then laughed softly, like he’d remembered something amusing.

“Funny thing is,” he said, “you act like you’re nothing like me.”

Patty didn’t move.

“You push people around too,” Miller continued. 

“You always have. You just dress it up nicer. Call it rules. Call it order.” His eyes gleamed. “You don’t get your hands dirty—but don’t pretend you haven’t enjoyed watching people squirm when you look at them like they're beneath you. Like they don’t even count.”

Her jaw tightened.

“So what makes you better?” he asked. “Because from where I’m standing, we’re not that different. We just hurt people in different ways.”

Patty’s voice came out flat. Dangerous.

“Say another word—”

Miller grinned. “Or what? You’ll lecture me to death?” He stepped closer, crowding her space. 

“You’re not scary, Stanton. You’re just loud because no one ever listened to you at home.”

And that did it for Patty as she kicked him hard in the shins and tackled him, sending Miller staggering backward. He lunged immediately, trying to shove her off the edge of the pool, but Patty was too quick. She grabbed him along with her, letting their momentum carry both of them over the edge.

They splashed into the half-filled pool, the cold water rising to their knees, dirty and murky, soaking their clothes, boots, and hair.

Miller wasted no time. He seized Patty, pressing her up against the side of the pool, hands tightening around her neck. Patty’s lungs burned, her chest constricted, and through the haze of panic she heard it—Lilly’s voice, muffled but desperate, trying to get to her. Her friends held her back, restraining her.

Patty shifted her weight subtly, using the unstable water beneath them. Miller’s footing wavered, and she felt him slip. Without hesitation, Patty twisted, and in an instant, they had switched positions. 

Now it was her turn. Hands gripping his neck, she pressed him against the shallow water, forcing him down, her body trembling with the surge of rage and every violent instinct she’d ever possessed.

The fire in her mind roared. Every flash of anger, every echo of her childhood rage, every wrong done by her parents, every bad thing she had been—they all coalesced in that moment.

And yet, even amid the chaos, there was only one thought, one focus, one truth she clung to: 

Lilly Bainbridge was the only good thing she thought about while choking a boy to death.

Then—

“Patricia Stanton!”

The shout ripped through her mind, dragging her back to reality. Patty jerked upright, heart hammering, water sloshing around her knees. Her eyes snapped to the source: Principal Dunleavy, furious, standing at the edge of the pool. Behind him, students crowded the doorway, but her gaze immediately found Rhonda, Elaine, and, most importantly, Marge. 

Marge wasn’t shocked—if anything, there was a hint of relief on her face. Dunleavy’s voice thundered, cutting through the tension, the water, and the fire still raging in Patty’s chest:

“PRINCIPAL’S OFFICE! All of you involved! NOW!”

The fight froze in that instant. The cold, dirty water, the soaked clothes, the rush of everything—they all hung suspended in the air. 

Chapter Text

The principal’s office smelled faintly of old carpet and coffee. Damp clothes clung to them. Everyone stood where they’d been corralled: Lilly, Ronnie, Will, Rich, and Matty in a tight line near the wall. 

Miller and Patty were each planted in chairs, knees bent, hands resting tensely on laps, eyes darting, muscles still taut from the fight. Miller’s four friends lingered near the back, smug and slightly wet but far less disheveled.

Dunleavy leaned against the edge of his desk, taking in the scene. He let his gaze linger on the drenched, shivering students before settling on Patty. He sighed, long and low, the sound carrying a mixture of frustration and disbelief.

“Patricia Stanton,” he began, voice measured but heavy, “I had—” He stopped, gesturing vaguely at her, “—expectations for you. High ones. You’ve always been smart, capable, disciplined… and now I find you here, inches from choking a boy to death in a half-filled pool.”

Patty’s jaw tightened, eyes narrowing, but she didn’t speak. She had nothing to defend herself with—at least not yet.

Dunleavy’s gaze swept the room again,

“And all of you,” he said, voice rising slightly, “wet, shaken, and—thankfully—mostly intact. But let me be clear: this is not how things are handled.”

He turned back to Patty. “Explain to me—why,  Patricia? Why did it come to this?”

Something shifted in the room. Lilly’s eyes, still bright and sharp despite the morning’s trauma, found Patty. She didn’t speak for herself—not yet—but for Patty. Her voice cut through the damp tension.

“It’s not her fault,” Lilly said, stepping slightly forward. “He—he started it. Miller and his friends they're the ones who… kidnapped me.”

Dunleavy’s eyes narrowed at Lilly, taking in her soaked hair plastered to her forehead, the bruised cheek and scraped knees. He glanced at Patty, who shifted in her chair, still trying to mask the raw edge of adrenaline that lingered like a second skin.

“Kidnapped you?” Dunleavy’s voice was slow, sharp, each word punctuated with disbelief. His eyes locked on Lilly, piercing, unblinking. “In school grounds? Do you realize what you just said?”

Lilly froze, words caught somewhere between her throat and the floor. She opened her mouth, then closed it again, stammering. “…I—I mean… they… they dragged me to the pool… I didn’t—”

Dunleavy’s gaze didn’t waver. His brow furrowed slightly, and the quiet weight in the room pressed down on her. “You expect me to believe that your fellow students—here, on school property—literally took you against your will?”

“I… yes,” Lilly said, her voice barely above a whisper, but steadying as she realized Dunleavy wasn’t moving on. She swallowed hard, trying to find the words that could make him see. “They—they were—he and his friends—they wanted to hurt me. Patty—she… she stopped them.”

Ronnie’s fists clenched at her sides, nails digging into her palms. She took a step forward, voice low and sharp. “They weren’t just playing around!” she said, teeth gritted. “They cornered her, forced her into the pool, and don’t act like that’s just ‘kids being kids.’ It’s bullying! Pure and simple!”

Dunleavy’s eyes flicked toward Ronnie, then back at Lilly. He let out a slow exhale, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I see. So, we have a situation where one student allegedly intervened to prevent harm to another… and yet your story frames it as a… kidnapping?”

Lilly looked down at her scraped knees, unsure where to meet his gaze. “…I… I didn’t know what else to call it.” Her words were small, hesitant, but genuine. She glanced at Patty, who gave a faint, almost imperceptible nod, an acknowledgment that yes, Lilly was speaking the truth, even if it didn’t come out perfectly.

“Stay quiet, Bainbridge,” Dunleavy snapped, low and dangerous, the sound cutting through the damp air like a knife. “One more word—one—and you’ll regret it. Do I make myself clear?”

Lilly’s chest heaved. Every instinct screamed to argue, to yell, to make him see that Patty wasn’t at fault. But her friends held her, firm and steady, restraining her body even as her defiance simmered, a coil of fire beneath her ribs.

“Now,” Dunleavy continued, voice hard as stone, “all of you—out.”

Ronnie, Will, Rich, and Matty exchanged wary looks, then guided her toward the door. Lilly’s eyes stayed locked on Patty, who was calmly making her way out. 

“Patty,” Lilly murmured, stretching a trembling hand toward her. “We need to talk—”

Patty’s eyes flicked to hers, sharp, distant, unyielding. She pulled back, just enough to escape Lilly’s reach. Her voice was dry, clipped, almost detached. “Dry yourself up, Bainbridge, or you’re going to shake like a leaf.”

Lilly’s hand hovered midair, suspended between reaching and letting go. She watched Patty rise, water dripping from her jacket, hair plastered to her forehead, stride straight and steady through the chaos without another glance.

Her heart thumped painfully as Ronnie and Will steered her forward. Rich fell into step beside her. 

She obeyed, moving almost mechanically, eyes fixed on the floor, ears still ringing with Dunleavy’s voice behind her. But even as she walked, her gaze flicked repeatedly to the space Patty had vacated, tracing her retreat until the door swallowed her completely.

And then her eyes caught it: the fire alarm, mounted high on the wall, red and impossible to ignore, screaming temptation.

Something ignited in her chest.

“No!” Ronnie hissed, voice urgent, sharp as a whip. 

“Lilly, don’t—”

“Are you insane?!” Rich added, eyes wide, panic painting every line of his face.

But Lilly didn’t hesitate. She darted forward, sleeves clinging to her arms, wet hair plastered to her face, heart hammering so hard she felt it in her throat. Her fingers wrapped around the lever, and with a sharp, deliberate pull, the alarm blared to life—a piercing, relentless scream that tore through the office, the hall, and the very air around them.

Students scattered, ducking and covering ears.

The hall vibrated with the shriek, windows rattling, walls shaking in furious protest. Dunleavy’s head snapped toward her, lips parting in a mixture of shock and rage.

Lilly stood there, trembling, soaked, eyes bright with adrenaline. Her heart thundered in her ears. She hadn’t thought past the first instinct, hadn’t measured consequences—but in that moment, she didn’t care.

Lilly lay across her bed with an Archie comic open against her stomach, one knee propped up, the other foot hooked lazily over the edge of the mattress. The house was quiet in that hollow afternoon way, sunlight cutting pale stripes across the floor through the blinds.

She’d already read this issue a dozen times, but her eyes kept tracing the panels anyway, out of habit more than interest.

The telephone rang. She flinched, then reached over and lifted the receiver.

“Hello?”

“Lilly?” Marge’s voice came through the line, careful, familiar. “I just wanted to check on you.”

Lilly stared at the ceiling, at the small crack above the light fixture she’d meant to tell someone about and never had. “I’m fine,” she said. “Really.”

They talked for a while—about school being ridiculous, about how suspension sounded worse on paper than it actually felt, about the movie they’d watched last Saturday and how, thankfully, they hadn’t run into Dunleavy or anyone else who could sour the night. Lilly smiled at that, faint but real, twirling the phone cord around her finger.

Then the line clicked.

Someone else was calling.

“Hold on,” Lilly said. She pressed the switch and picked up the other line. “Yes?”

“Hey,” Rich said. “You home?”

“Yes.”

“Cool. Uh—so I was thinking maybe I could stop by later? Just to pick up a few comics. You’ve got the best collection, after all.”

Lilly closed her eyes. Of course he did.

“Fine,” she said. “Later. I’m on the phone.”

“Oh,” he said. “With who?”

“Marge.”

“…Uh.” Lilly frowned. “Rich?”

“Oh—hi,” he blurted, suddenly flustered. “Hi, Margaret.” Lilly blinked. “What are you—”

“I mean—I didn’t—sorry—”

She cut the line. Returning to Marge, she exhaled. “Sorry about that,” she said. “He’s such a child sometimes.” Marge laughed softly. “Was that Rich?”

“Yeah.”

They spoke a little longer, easy again, until the conversation wound down naturally and Lilly finally hung up. She let the receiver settle back into its cradle, the click loud in the quiet room.

She flopped back onto the bed, Archie sliding down onto her chest. Her eyes drifted to the shelves lining her wall, stacked with comics she’d collected over years, their spines worn and familiar.

And then—Patty.

Lilly turned onto her side, hugging the comic absently. She wondered how Patty was taking it. Whether she was sitting stiff and composed somewhere, already bracing for the days ahead. Whether she was angry. Or worse—fine.

Lilly stared at the wall, lips pressing together in something almost like satisfaction. She’d known exactly what pulling that alarm would do. She’d known the cost.

Three days suspension. Two days community service.

It wasn’t that bad. And she’d paid it anyway. Patty wasn’t going to go down alone. That had mattered more than the consequences ever could.

The kitchen smelled faintly of broth and fried onions, warm and homey. Lilly sat across from her mother, the plate of mashed potatoes and vegetables steaming in front of her. It was unusual to have her mother home at this hour; normally, Lilly prepared her own dinner, ate in silence, and caught the faint hum of the refrigerator as company enough.

Her mother picked at her own plate, glancing at Lilly across the table. “So,” she began, voice gentle but curious, “how is school going?”

Lilly blinked. She set down her fork. “School’s fine,” she said evenly, avoiding eye contact. “Everything’s fine.”

Her mother smiled faintly. “Everything’s fine? Even… the suspension?”

Lilly’s cheeks warmed. She hadn’t expected her mother to bring it up. “Yes,” she said carefully. 

“It’s… not as bad as it sounds.”

Her mother nodded. “I thought you might be upset.”

“I’m not,” Lilly said, taking a small bite of potato. 

“It’s just… I had to help someone, and… well, I accepted the consequences.”

Her mother leaned forward slightly, hands folded on the table. “You’re always looking out for your friends,” she said softly. “I suppose that’s a good thing, though it seems to get you into trouble sometimes.”

Lilly looked down at her plate, picking at a piece of  carrot. She didn’t answer immediately. She remembered the fire alarm, the chaos, Patty’s calm expression, her own adrenaline. It wasn’t reckless… not really. I wanted to make sure she didn’t go down alone, her posture seemed to say, her fingers tightening slightly around the fork.

Her mother tilted her head. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not in detail,” Lilly said after a moment, keeping her voice neutral but polite. “It was… complicated.”

Her mother nodded again, accepting the answer. 

“Well. I’m glad you’re safe. And that no one was hurt.”

Lilly smiled faintly, quietly relieved at the lack of pressure. Conversation shifted to schoolwork, small stories about friends, and plans for the next day. It was normal. Ordinary. She found herself relaxing slightly, the tension of the day easing even as she ate.

After dinner, she excused herself politely. “I’m going to take a shower,” she said.

“Alright,” her mother replied. “Don’t stay up too late.”

The bathroom was steamy, hot water cascading over Lilly’s shoulders, running down her arms and legs. She leaned against the cool tile, letting the heat press against her back, the noise of the water filling the quiet house. Her mind drifted back over the past weeks, the events of the month stretching behind her like a thin, tangled ribbon.

It had been nearly a month since everything started—the play, the rehearsals, the chaos that had followed. She remembered the small cache of pills she had taken before the opening performance, a precaution against the rising tide of panic she sometimes felt. 

And yet, on the actual day of the play, she had forgotten to take them entirely, lost in the rhythm of rehearsals and the frantic energy of the stage. It was a little crazy, really, thinking back on it now.

Since then, the days after the play had passed strangely calm. Not a single panic attack had appeared, not even in the moments that normally might have triggered the tight, choking sensation in her chest.

She didn’t know exactly what had kept them away—whether it was the structure of her days, the presence of people she trusted, or the sheer force of will she hadn’t known she possessed.

When she had been younger, panic attacks had been far more frequent, especially in the aftermath of her father’s sudden death. The grief had been sharp and unrelenting, and at her age, too young to truly process the loss, it had lodged itself in her chest and lungs, always ready to spring. 

She had learned to carry it quietly, tucked into corners of herself that only she could access, and sometimes it had seemed impossible to escape.

The tug at the window startled Lilly as she dried her hair. Steam curled off her shoulders, damp towel clutched around her. She peered out and saw Matty crouched on the sill, hands gripping the frame.

“Shh,” she whispered, pressing a finger to her lips. 

“Careful… come on up.” He grinned and scrambled in, landing lightly on the floor. “Thanks,” he said, brushing off his pants. “Didn’t want anyone hearing me.”

Lilly closed the window behind him. “Good call. Sit wherever.” Matty settled cross-legged on the floor, glancing at the dimly lit room. “So… how have you been? Really?” Lilly shrugged, still wrapping the towel around herself. “Better than expected.”

Matty leaned back on his hands. 

“I wanted to fill you in. Everyone’s been up to… you know, the usual. Will got stuck in detention again—some prank with the chemistry lab. Ronnie tried to argue with Ms. Nelson and Rich… well, he's been running around as usual.”

Lilly smiled faintly. “Yep, actually he came here to get his stash of Marvel Comics.“

“And?” Matty asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I let him take a few,” she said, shrugging. “I mean… he’s persistent. And honestly, he doesn’t have the collection I do.”

Matty laughed softly. “Typical Rich.”

They sat quietly for a moment, the soft hum of the house around them. Then Lilly gestured toward her shelves. “You want to see? I’ll let you pick a few. Especially Batman.”

Matty’s eyes lit up. “You… have Batman?”

“I have a stash,” Lilly said with a faint grin, pointing to the shelf. “You can borrow them if you like. Just… bring them back eventually.”

His smile widened, that mix of admiration and mischief. “Really? You’d lend them?”

“Of course,” she said. “I know you’ll treat them better than Rich.” Matty leaned closer, eyes sparkling.

“Thanks, Lil… that means a lot.”

Lilly smiled softly, a warmth in her expression. “You know… I’m glad you came over. It’s nice, having someone… to talk to.” Matty’s grin faltered just a fraction, then widened again, misreading her meaning.

Slowly, he leaned in, eyes half-closed, as if waiting for her to stop him. Lilly felt a flutter in her chest, awareness of how much she liked him—but her body recoiled instinctively. She pressed a hand gently against his shoulder. “Matty… wait,” she murmured.

His eyes opened, surprise flashing across his face. 

“Oh—sorry. I—”

“It’s okay,” she said softly. “I like you… just… not like that. Not now.”

He leaned back, awkward, face flushed. “Right… yeah. I got it.”

Lilly smiled faintly, letting the tension ease. “You should probably get going before someone notices.” He chuckled, still close enough that the warmth of his shoulder brushed hers. “Yeah… I guess I should.”

They moved to the window together. Lilly helped him out, gesturing for him to be careful.

“See you tomorrow?” he asked quietly.

“Definitely,” she said, smiling. “Be careful getting home.”

“Yeah… sleep tight,” she murmured, her voice soft in the quiet room.

Lilly lingered by the window a moment longer, watching him disappear into the night. The warmth of their conversation faded, leaving a hollow sort of ache. She tried to convince herself that what she felt for Matty was something tender, something more than friendship—but deep down, a stubborn thought refused to leave: maybe, just maybe, it was never gonna be Matty.

Chapter Text

Monday afternoon.

Patty sat at her desk with Rhonda’s notes spread neatly beside her own, pages aligned, margins clean. Algebra filled the air—numbers stacked on numbers, equations balanced just so. Her pencil moved steadily, almost mechanically, the soft scrape of graphite the only sound in the room. 

Outside, the neighborhood was too quiet, and that made everything inside feel louder. Her parents hadn’t taken the suspension lightly. They hadn’t raised their voices or grounded her or demanded explanations. That would’ve been easier. Instead, there were looks. Pauses and comments that slid in sideways.

Patty kept writing.

She had a brother. Had—because he never came back after eighteen. He hated the house, the way it looked perfect from the outside, the way their parents performed kindness like it was something rehearsed. He used to call it a museum. Don’t touch anything, he’d say. You might ruin the display.

When he left, the house went stiff. Patty felt the same things he had. The itch; the resentment, the desire to tear the place down to its studs and see what was real underneath. But she stayed. She was younger. She didn’t have the option to leave. 

Not yet.

Maybe when she turned eighteen, she could go clean. Strip the house off her like a coat that never fit. She tolerated her father. She endured her mother. They were not good parents—just efficient ones.

Her pencil paused.

Patty turned in her chair and looked out the window, scanning the street below like she’d done a hundred times before. For a second, she let herself imagine a familiar car pulling up. Her brother leaning against the hood, grinning like nothing had ever gone wrong.

Pizza? he’d say. I’m starving.

The house had felt almost normal when he was here. She exhaled and stood. Her bookshelf loomed tall and orderly—history, geography, almanacs, a thick dictionary with a cracked spine. Serious books, proper books. And there it was.

The Archie comic sat wedged between volumes it had no business being near, bright and unapologetic. It stuck out like never belonged. 

Patty had put it there on purpose. She pulled it free and flipped through the pages, already knowing every panel by heart. She’d read it twice. The familiarity was comforting in a way nothing else in the room was. For a fleeting moment, she considered asking Lilly for more.

The thought almost made her laugh.

That would get her labeled. Nerd. Soft. Something she wasn’t supposed to be. Patty Stanton wasn’t meant to want comic books or quiet afternoons or borrowed things.

She was supposed to be put together. 

Untouchable. A queen bee. A rose among thorns.

The image felt hollow the longer she held it. In truth, she was pretending. Holding herself together the same way her parents did—polished, controlled, brittle. A mirror of everything she disliked.

She slid the comic back into place just as her mother’s voice cut through the house.

“Patricia. Dinner.”

The dining room smelled like roast and something faintly scorched. Patty took her usual seat at the center of the table, smoothing her skirt as she sat. Her stomach growled softly while she waited, hands folded in her lap. Across from her, one chair remained empty. It always did.

Her parents entered a moment later. Her mother settled to her left, her father to her right. Silverware shifted. Plates were adjusted. Then her father cleared his throat and bowed his head.

“Lord, thank You for this meal,” he began, voice steady and practiced. “For providing for this family, for order, for discipline, and for the opportunities You place before us. Guide us to make choices that honor You and reflect the values of this household. Amen.”

“Amen,” Helen echoed.

“Amen,” Patty followed, quiet.

Halfway through the meal, her mother glanced at Patty. “Did your friends send you notes?”

Patty stiffened. Friends. As if Rhonda and Elaine were interchangeable, nameless. As if they didn’t matter enough to learn.

“Yes,” Patty said evenly. “Rhonda did.” Her mother nodded, already losing interest. Silence returned, heavy but familiar. Then Helen turned to her husband. “The other car’s still not fixed.”

Jim sighed. “I’ve been busy.”

“I’ve been telling you for weeks, Jim.”

“I know, Helen.”

“You say that every time.”

Patty ate faster. The tension crawled up her spine, predictable and unavoidable. 

Jim set his fork down. “I said I’ve been busy.”

“And I said it needs to be done.” His hand slammed against the table. Jim’s hand stayed flat on the table a second longer than necessary, fingers splayed, knuckles whitening. When he spoke again, his voice was lower, tighter—controlled in the way that meant it wasn’t.

“And I said I’ve been busy,” he repeated. Then he looked directly at Helen. Really looked. “But since we’re listing failures now, why don’t we be thorough.”

Helen’s jaw tightened. “That’s unnecessary.”

“No,” Jim said. “What’s unnecessary is you acting like I’m the only one dropping the ball.” Patty froze, fork hovering just above her plate. This was new. Usually the argument curved around her father’s temper and ended there. He didn’t turn it back on her mother. Not like this.

Jim leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. “You forgot to pay the electric bill last month. We got the notice. Don’t pretend you didn’t see it—I watched you put it under the mail tray.”

Helen’s eyes flickered. Just once.

“And the PTA meeting,” he continued. “You said you’d go. You didn’t. I was the one who got the call asking why no one from our family bothered to show.”

“That was one time—”

“And the insurance paperwork?” Jim cut in. “The forms sat on your desk for three weeks. Three. I had to fill them out at midnight because you ‘had a headache.’”

Patty’s stomach twisted. She kept her eyes on her plate, counting peas she didn’t plan to eat. Helen set her fork down with care.

“I do plenty around this house, Jim.”

“I didn’t say you didn’t,” he shot back. “I said you don’t get to act like I’m the only one failing when you miss things too.”

“I run this household,” Helen said, her voice sharp now. “If something slips, it’s because I’m managing everything else.”

Jim gave a short, humorless laugh. “Managing?” He shook his head. “You didn’t notice the roof leak until water was dripping into the hallway. You didn’t notice the garage door sticking until it jammed completely. And don’t even get me started on how you ‘forgot’ to tell me Patty was suspended until the school called.”

Patty’s chest tightened at the sound of her name. Her parents’ eyes flicked toward her at the same time, like they’d remembered she was there.

Helen straightened. “I wasn’t hiding it.”

“You weren’t handling it either,” Jim said. “You just… ignored it. Like you ignore anything that doesn’t fit the picture you want.”

Helen’s face flushed. “That’s not fair.”

“No,” Jim replied quietly. “What’s not fair is you acting like I’m the problem every time something goes wrong.”

Silence crashed down between them. Patty pushed her food around her plate, appetite gone completely. She felt like a piece of furniture—present, necessary for appearances, but not meant to speak.

Finally, Helen stood, chair scraping loudly against the floor. “I’m not doing this,” she said coldly. “Not at the table.”

“Of course not,” Jim muttered. “God forbid we could have a nice family dinner.” Helen’s eyes flashed, but she said nothing. She gathered her plate and left the room, heels sharp against the floor as she disappeared down the hall.

Jim stayed seated, staring at the place where she’d been. His shoulders sagged slightly, like the fight had drained whatever fuel it ran on. A moment later, he stood too, grabbing his jacket from the back of his chair.

“I’ll be out,” he said, not looking at Patty.

The front door slammed.

Patty sat alone in the dining room, surrounded by half-eaten food and the echo of everything that hadn’t been said. The house settled back into its stiff, unnatural quiet—the kind that pretended nothing had happened.

She rose slowly, carried her plate to the sink, and rinsed it clean. Efficient. Polished and a little bit brittle. Just like the house.

Patty changed without a word.

She pulled on wide-legged trousers in a soft, muted brown and a simple blouse that didn’t draw attention to itself. The kind of outfit that slipped easily into the background. She took her coat from the hook by the door, smoothed the fabric once, and stepped into her shoes.

No one noticed.

Her parents didn’t ask where she was going. They didn’t call after her. The house had already sealed itself back into its usual stillness, efficient and detached, as if her presence—or absence—made no difference once the evening routine resumed.

Patty closed the door behind her and stepped outside.

The afternoon sun was beginning its slow descent, stretching warm light across the street and pulling long shadows from every parked car and fence post. The air felt different out here, less controlled, less careful. She started walking without any real destination in mind, letting familiar blocks slide past her until the houses thinned and the road began to slope gently toward town.

She wasn’t supposed to be out. She knew that.

But the thought barely registered.

Dunleavy wouldn’t bother with another suspension. Not for her. Not when she still wore the title of his star student, the one he liked to parade as proof that discipline worked. Patty Stanton still looked good on paper, and that mattered far more than whether she followed curfews.

So she kept walking.

Her steps were unhurried, almost drifting. She passed trimmed lawns and quiet porches, a corner store with its lights already on, a bus stop she ignored. It was a long walk to town proper, but time felt strangely abundant, like it had stretched just for her.

Then something shifted ahead.

A familiar movement caught her eye—fluid, practiced. A bicycle rolled in from the street, tires whispering softly as it slowed near the curb. The rider swung one leg down with ease, boots meeting pavement in a motion that looked lived-in rather than learned. A denim jacket settled against narrow shoulders. A long plaid skirt swayed, then stilled.

Patty stopped walking.

Even from where she stood, she knew who it was. The certainty came too fast to argue with, settling in her chest before her mind could catch up. She would’ve called herself ridiculous for it later—would’ve wondered how she could recognize someone from a distance, from posture alone—but in the moment, her body reacted first.

Her heart picked up, suddenly.

Her stomach twisted, hollowing out as if the meal she’d eaten hours ago had already burned away.

Lilly Bainbridge.

It felt absurd to be so sure, and yet she was. The way Lilly handled the bike, the ease in her stance, the quiet confidence in how she occupied space—it all gave her away. Patty watched as the bike rolled to a complete stop.

She stood there on the sidewalk, sunlight catching at her hair, breath shallow without her meaning it to be. The distance between them felt charged, unfamiliar, as if something had already begun to tilt before either of them said a word.

Lilly lingered by the bike for a moment, one hand resting on the handlebars as if she hadn’t quite decided whether to stay or leave. When she finally looked up, her voice came out soft, almost tentative.

“Hi.”

The word hit Patty harder than she expected. For half a second, it felt like the air had been knocked clean out of her lungs. Her chest tightened, breath catching somewhere shallow and useless, an embarrassing reaction she’d learned long ago to hide.

She didn’t let it show.

Patty straightened, schooling her face into something calm and composed, something that belonged to Patty Stanton. “Hi,” she replied, just as evenly, as if Lilly hadn’t just unsettled her entire nervous system with a single syllable.

Lilly shifted her weight, eyes flicking briefly over 

Patty’s shoulder, then back again. There was an awkwardness to her now, a hesitation that hadn’t been there before. She looked almost surprised to see Patty standing there instead of tucked away behind the neat windows of her house.

“I—uh,” Lilly started, then stopped. Her gaze dropped.

Patty followed it without thinking and noticed the paper bag hanging from the bike’s handlebar. It was slightly crumpled, the top folded in on itself, the unmistakable edges of comic books peeking out from inside. The sight of it sent a strange, warm jolt through her chest.

“What are you doing out here?” Patty asked, her tone light, curious rather than accusing.

Lilly hesitated again, fingers tightening briefly around the strap of her bag before she reached for the paper one instead. She lifted it off the handlebars and held it out, as if bracing herself.

“I brought this for you,” she said. Her voice dipped lower, almost shy. “In case you were bored.”

For a moment, Patty didn’t move.

Then she took the bag.

The paper was warm from the sun, from Lilly’s hands, and the weight of it felt heavier than it should’ve. Something unfamiliar bloomed in Patty’s chest—soft, spreading, disarming.

A warmth she didn’t have a name for. A warmth she didn’t think she was capable of feeling.

Only Lilly Bainbridge could do that to her. Could make something gentle stir inside someone who had built herself on sharp edges and control.

“Thank you,” Patty said quietly. The words felt insufficient, but they were all she trusted herself to offer.

Her eyes lifted then, tracing Lilly’s face. The details stood out immediately—the small bandage along her cheek, the faint discoloration of a healing cut at her lip. Her eyes looked tired in a way that went deeper than lack of sleep, shadowed and worn.

The urge came swift and overwhelming.

Patty wanted to step forward. To wrap her arms around Lilly and hold her tight. To bury her fingers in her curls and murmur reassurances she’d never been taught how to say. To tell her she was safe, that she mattered, that she didn’t have to keep bracing herself for impact.

She didn’t.

She couldn’t.

She mustn’t.

The thought settled just as firmly as the desire itself, pressing her feet into the pavement.

Instead, she shifted the bag to her other hand and said, “I was heading into town.”

Lilly blinked, clearly not expecting that. “Oh.”

Patty met her eyes. “You could come with me. If you want.” The pause that followed was brief but telling. Lilly’s mouth curved into a small, genuine smile.

“Yeah,” she said. “Okay.”

Patty moved first, stepping toward the bike. She climbed onto the extra seat behind Lilly, careful and practiced, setting the paper bag securely into the basket. When she settled, her hands went to the metal extension of the seat—exactly where they always did. 

She refused to reach for Lilly’s waist.

Lilly pushed off, the bike wobbling for only a second before steadying. They rolled forward together, the street opening up ahead of them as the late afternoon light followed close behind.

Patty watched the road unfurl, the bag rustling softly in the basket, the steady rhythm of movement grounding her. For the first time that day, the tightness in her chest loosened just enough for her to breathe.

Chapter Text

The road stretched ahead of them, a ribbon of asphalt washed in honeyed light. The closer they drew to town, the busier things became—cars nosing past, voices spilling faintly from open shop doors, the faint clang of the bell above the grocer’s door. The air smelled of exhaust, bread, and the last traces of daylight warming the pavement.

Lilly guided the bike carefully, her eyes scanning the street ahead. Every face that passed made her heart jump, every familiar silhouette had her pulse quickening for reasons she didn’t want to name. 

When she spotted a man in a tan coat standing by the lamppost near the school bulletin board, her chest tightened. For one awful second, she thought it was him. Principal Dunleavy. The name alone could strip her confidence clean.

Patty caught the shift instantly. The slight stiffening of Lilly’s shoulders. The way her grip on the handlebars changed, knuckles going white.

“Relax,” Patty said, her voice smooth, low—an almost teasing lilt threading through it. “You look like you just saw a ghost.”

“I didn’t,” Lilly said too quickly. Her laugh came out thin. “Just—didn’t think we’d run into anyone from school here.”

Patty’s mouth curved. “Afraid of being spotted?” Lilly scoffed, the sound unconvincing. “Of course not.”

“Mm.” Patty tilted her head slightly, that small, knowing smile not leaving her face. “You’re a terrible liar.”

Lilly tried to ignore the way her heart leapt at the sound of Patty’s voice—calm, unbothered, so sure of itself. “You think too highly of yourself,” she muttered, eyes back on the road.

Patty hummed, faintly amused. “I’m not the one sweating over a principal who probably has better things to do than patrol Main Street.”

“Just shut up,” Lilly said, but her grin betrayed her.

“Fine,” Patty said lightly, and then added, “Pull over.”

“What?”

“Stop.”

Lilly frowned but obeyed, slowing the bike until it came to a smooth halt by the side of the road. She turned in her seat, ready to demand what Patty was up to, but Patty was already standing, brushing invisible dust off her trousers.

“Get up,” Patty said simply.

Lilly blinked. “Why?”

“Because I’m taking over.” Lilly blinked again, halfway between disbelief and laughter. “You? Ride this thing?”

“Contrary to popular belief, Bainbridge,” Patty said, swinging one leg over the bike with surprising ease, “I’m capable of more than reciting formulas and looking composed.”

Lilly hesitated for a moment, studying her—the poise, the precision, the faint smirk tugging at her lips. Then she stepped aside, letting her.

Patty adjusted the handlebars, then looked over her shoulder, eyes bright in the fading light. 

“There’s a creek somewhere near here,” she said. 

“A little off the road, not far. It’s supposed to be beautiful this time of day.”

Lilly raised a brow. “A creek? That’s your idea of fun?”

“It’s quiet,” Patty replied simply. “And we’ll be back before it’s dark.” Lilly’s eyes flicked toward the sun dipping lower behind the rooftops, bleeding orange across the sky. “Wouldn’t it be dangerous? I mean—” She hesitated, her voice softer now. 

“We’re both girls, after all.”

Patty’s tone stayed calm, but something in her expression softened—something that didn’t quite reach a smile. “We’ll be fine. I wouldn’t take you somewhere unsafe.”

That made Lilly falter. Just enough.

Patty faced forward again. “Now get on.”

Lilly climbed back onto the rear seat, half nervous, half amused. “You really think you can—”

Patty pushed the pedals. Hard. The bike jerked forward before Lilly could finish.

“Patty—!” she yelped, grabbing at the nearest thing she could—Patty’s waist.

The laughter that burst from Patty was quiet but unmistakable. “Hold on tight, Bainbridge,” she said, voice threaded with something playful and almost daring.

Lilly pressed closer instinctively, her palms warm against the fabric of Patty’s blouse. The world blurred around them—the glow of shop windows, the scattered sound of evening chatter, the sky shifting into a deep gold that melted toward dusk.

And for that fleeting moment, as the wind tangled through their hair and the road sloped toward something unknown, neither of them cared where they were going. The town fell behind them, and the silence that followed was filled not with tension, but the strange, unspoken thrill of possibility.

The path narrowed the closer they got, the town thinning behind them until the road gave up entirely. The bike rattled once over loose gravel, then refused to go any farther, its tires sinking uselessly between stones.

Patty clicked her tongue softly and dismounted. 

“That’s as far as she goes.”

They lifted the bike together, awkward for a moment before finding a rhythm, carrying it between them until the ground grew uneven and sharp beneath their shoes. The creek revealed itself all at once, like something kept secret on purpose. 

Golden afternoon light spilled through the trees, catching on the surface of the water and breaking into soft, wavering reflections. The air smelled damp and clean, earth and leaves and something faintly sweet.

Lilly stopped short.

Patty nearly walked into her.

The light found Lilly immediately, like it had been waiting. It settled along her hair, her shoulders, the edge of her skirt, turning her into something luminous and unreal. Lilly stared ahead, breath shallow, then started forward again without a word, steps quickening as if the view were pulling her in.

Patty followed more slowly, eyes fixed not on the creek but on the girl moving toward it. The way Lilly’s wonder showed so plainly, unguarded and honest, made something ache low in Patty’s chest.

Lilly slipped off her shoes and set them aside, toes curling briefly against the cool stones. 

Then she stepped into the water, careful at first, then a little braver, the hem of her skirt brushing the surface as she waded in.

Patty crossed her arms, watching. “I thought you said it was dangerous,” she called. “And yet you’re taking your sweet time there, aren’t you, Bainbridge.”

Lilly turned back toward her, sunlight flashing in her eyes. She smiled—wide and bright and completely unselfconscious. “You never said it would be this pretty.”

She stomped lightly, sending ripples racing outward. The sound of it—soft splashes and laughter held just behind her smile—made the place feel alive.

“Well don’t make it a big deal,” Patty replied, though there was no real bite to it.

Lilly tilted her head. “Get in.”

Patty shook her head. “I didn’t come to swim. I just wanted to watch the sun set.”

“That’s boring.”

“It’s peaceful.” Lilly narrowed her eyes, then bent down, scooped up a little water, and flicked it toward Patty. Only a few droplets reached her, darkening the fabric of her blouse.

Patty laughed despite herself. “Lilly—”

Undeterred, Lilly wet her hands again and moved closer, quick and daring. Before Patty could step back, Lilly cupped her face, cool water pressed briefly against her skin.

Patty gasped.

Lilly froze, eyes wide, realization hitting all at once. She pulled her hands back immediately, retreating in a rush, splashing back into the creek and soaking the bottom of her skirt as she went.

“I—I'm sorry,” she said quickly, half-laughing, half-mortified.

Patty stood there, damp and startled, heart racing for reasons that had nothing to do with water. She lifted a hand to her cheek, fingers brushing where Lilly’s hands had been, and shook her head with a soft, incredulous smile.

“You’re unbelievable,” she said, fond despite herself.

Lilly’s mouth twisted, mischief returning just as quickly as the embarrassment had fled. “You’re the one standing there looking scandalized,” she said, rocking back on her heels, water lapping against her calves. “I barely touched you.”

“Barely,” Patty echoed dryly. Lilly grinned wider, unmistakably pleased with herself. Patty let out a slow breath and rolled her eyes, the gesture fond despite her best effort to make it otherwise. 

She turned away with exaggerated patience and bent to remove her shoes, setting them carefully beside Lilly’s on the bank. She didn’t bother lifting her skirt this time. Didn’t hesitate. She stepped straight into the creek, the water catching at her ankles, then her calves, cold enough to steal a sharp breath from her lungs.

“Oh—” Patty laughed under her breath. “That’s—cold.”

“See?” Lilly said smugly. “I told you.”

Patty shot her a look and, without wasting another second, bent down and sent a splash of water arcing toward Lilly. It wasn’t much—just enough to catch her shins and darken the fabric of her skirt. 

Lilly yelped, startled, then burst into laughter. 

“Hey!”

“You started it,” Patty said, straightening, eyes bright now, alive in a way they rarely were. 

“Consider us even.” Lilly splashed back instinctively, less precise, water sloshing everywhere. “You cheated.”

“I can't let you have all the fun,” Patty replied smoothly, flicking another splash her way. 

They stood there, ankle-deep in the creek, trading small, careless splashes as the sun slipped lower behind the trees. The light softened, turning everything warm and amber, catching on droplets midair and making them sparkle before they fell.

Lilly laughed freely now, head tipped back, hair sticking slightly to her cheeks. Patty watched her for a moment longer than necessary before looking away, a smile tugging at her lips she didn’t bother hiding.

The water moved around them, steady and patient, as if it had always been waiting for this exact moment.

The walk back was slower than before, deliberate in a way that felt almost thoughtful. Patty suggested it without ceremony, a simple tilt of her head toward the longer road that curved around the creek instead of cutting straight through town.

“We’ll dry off faster if we walk,” she said. “Less questions that way.”

Lilly didn’t argue. She pushed the bike by the handles now, water dripping steadily from the spokes, her skirt still damp and clinging in places. 

Every few steps she shook her hands like she was trying to fling the cold away. Patty’s shoes squelched faintly with each step, the sound oddly companionable.

The sky had shifted again, gold deepening into something softer, dusk settling low and patient around them.

“Important question,” Patty said after a moment, tone light like she was testing the air. “Pineapple on pizza.”

Lilly snorted. “Absolutely not.”

“Wrong answer.”

“It’s fruit,” Lilly said. “On bread. With cheese.”

Patty nodded thoughtfully. “So you draw the line at pineapple but pepperoni shaped like small red coins is fine.”

“Yes.”

“Fascinating moral compass.” Lilly smiled to herself, eyes on the road. “You’re the type who orders it on purpose just to start arguments.”

“I’m the type who enjoys watching people get upset over meaningless choices.”

“Figures.” They walked on, shoulders nearly brushing now and then. Patty kicked at a pebble, sending it skittering ahead of them.

“Okay then,” she said. “Coffee or tea.”

“Coffee.”

“Black?”

“No,” Lilly said quickly. “That’s masochistic.”

Patty laughed softly. “You surprise me.”

“Why.”

“I pegged you as someone who’d insist bitterness builds tolerance.” Lilly shrugged. “I’ve got enough of that already.” The words lingered just a second longer than the rest.

Patty didn’t comment. Instead she said,

“Sweet or savory.”

“Savory.”

“Predictable.”

“You’re the one asking.”

Patty hummed, then slowed her steps slightly. The town lights were beginning to glow ahead, distant and blurred. She glanced at Lilly sideways, expression careful now, curiosity tucked beneath the ease.

“So,” she said, gently. “What actually set Miller and his friends off.” Lilly let out a quiet laugh, more breath than sound. She adjusted her grip on the bike, the metal cool under her palms.

“They cornered us,” she said. “The day before.”

Patty’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.

“Near the bike racks,” Lilly continued. “It was loud. Messy. I thought it was going to turn ugly.”

She shrugged like she was talking about a bad test score instead of something else entirely. “Then Rich threw a stink bomb at them.”

Patty stopped walking.

“All that,” she said, incredulous, “for a stink bomb.”

Lilly stopped too, turning to face her, a crooked smile pulling at her mouth. “I know. Totally unnecessary.”

“That’s—” Patty dragged a hand down her face. “That’s what saved you.”

“Unfortunately.”

Patty looked at her then, really looked. The faint shadow along Lilly’s cheek. The way her smile didn’t quite reach one side of her mouth. Her gaze dropped without asking permission.

“Does it still hurt,” she asked quietly. “Your cheek.”

Lilly’s smile softened. She nodded once. “Not much. Just stings sometimes.”

“And your lip.” Lilly touched it absently. “Same thing.” 

Patty’s hand lifted before she realized it. Hovered between them. For half a second it looked like she might close the distance, like she might brush her thumb there and check for herself.

She stopped.

Her hand fell back to her side. They resumed walking, the moment folding itself neatly between them, unspoken but heavy. Lilly pushed the bike again, the sound of its wheels steady and grounding. 

Patty matched her pace, eyes forward, expression unreadable. The road stretched ahead, quiet now, damp clothes slowly warming against their skin as the last of the day faded around them.

Chapter Text

They slowed when Patty’s house came into view, a quiet structure set back from the road, its windows dark and expectant, the hedges trimmed neat as if they were holding their breath. The porch light was off. The whole place felt suspended, waiting for something to happen or not happen at all.

Lilly stopped first.

“Well,” she said, shifting the bike slightly. “This is me.” She offered a small, polite smile.

Patty didn’t return it.

Instead, she reached out.

Her fingers closed around Lilly’s wrist, stopping her before she could step back. Lilly froze, pulse jumping hard enough she felt it in her throat.

“You don’t have to go,” Patty said.

Lilly blinked. “I—what?”

“You can stay,” Patty continued, voice low, steady. “For the night.”

Lilly laughed softly, reflexively, like she was brushing off a joke she didn’t quite understand. 

“Patty, I can’t just—”

“You can,” Patty said, firmer now. “It’s late. You’re soaked. And—” She hesitated, just briefly. “I don’t like the idea of you walking home alone.”

Lilly shifted her weight, suddenly acutely aware of herself. Of the damp fabric clinging to her legs. Of how close Patty was standing. 

“Your parents—”

“They're probably asleep,” Patty said. “And even if they weren’t, they don’t check my room.”

That made Lilly glance up at her, startled.

“They don’t?”

Patty’s mouth twitched. “Perks of being trusted.”

Lilly looked away, cheeks warm despite the cooling air. “I don’t want to impose.”

“You’re not,” Patty said immediately.

“Please.”

The word landed differently. Somehow less composed but more honest. Lilly swallowed. She hesitated long enough for the night to settle around them, for the quiet to press in.

“Okay,” she said at last. “Just for the night.”

Patty’s relief was subtle but unmistakable. Her grip loosened, though she didn’t let go right away.

“Come on,” she said. “Not the front.” She guided Lilly around the side of the house, careful steps through the narrow strip of yard where shadows gathered thick and close. 

The backyard opened up behind it, dim and familiar, grass cool beneath their shoes. Patty crouched near the shed and pulled out a small ladder, metal rungs faintly cold and catching the moonlight.

“My window,” she explained. “Safer this way.”

Lilly stared at it. “You do this often?”

“Only when necessary.”

“That’s not reassuring.” Patty smiled faintly and set the ladder against the side of the house, testing it once, twice, until she was satisfied it wouldn’t wobble. Then she looked up at Lilly.

“You first.” Lilly hesitated, then nodded. She handed Patty the bike without thinking, trusting her with it automatically, and stepped toward the ladder. Patty steadied it with both hands, fingers firm around the sides.

“I’ve got you,” she said. Lilly climbed carefully, the metal cool under her palms, her skirt brushing against the rungs. She was acutely aware of Patty below her, of the way her hands held the ladder steady, of the quiet concentration in her posture.

Halfway up, Lilly glanced down.

Patty was watching her. Their eyes met for a second too long. “You’re doing fine,” Patty said quietly. Lilly nodded and kept climbing, heart pounding as she reached the window and pushed it open. She slipped inside, landing softly on the floor of Patty’s room.

The room swallowed her whole at first.

The darkness felt thick, almost alive, like the walls themselves were holding their breath. The faint hum of the outside world—crickets, the rustle of wind through the hedge—seeped through the half-open window but didn’t reach far. Lilly blinked, eyes struggling to adjust, one hand instinctively lifting to find something—anything—to anchor herself with.

Behind her came a familiar sound: the scrape of a shoe against the sill, then a soft thud. Patty slipped in with practiced ease, closing the window carefully behind her. The latch clicked—soft, deliberate.

Then the light came on.

Not the overhead one. Just the small desk lamp again, casting that same warm, golden glow Lilly remembered. It settled easily over the room, revealing what hadn’t changed—books still stacked neatly along the desk, sketches pinned in quiet rows on the wall, a mug of tea gone cold beside an open notebook. 

The air carried the same faint scent of citrus soap and paper, familiar enough now to register without surprise.

“You can rest a bit,” she said, tone even, “or take a shower first.” Lilly opened her mouth to respond, but Patty’s gaze flicked down—at the droplets clinging to Lilly’s sleeves, the way her skirt still stuck to her knees.

“Oh—right.” Patty stepped closer, voice softening but decisive. 

“You’re still wet. You should take a shower first before you catch a cold.” Lilly wanted to argue, say she’d be fine, but the firmness in Patty’s tone left no space for that. So she only nodded.

“Okay.”

“Bathroom’s two doors down the hall,” Patty said, already turning toward her dresser. “I’ll get you a towel. And clothes. Wait there.” Lilly lingered by the door as Patty disappeared into the next room, feeling the damp fabric grow colder against her skin. 

Her eyes roamed the small space again, drawn to the small, deliberate touches—a dried flower pressed between the pages of a book, the faint smell of candle wax near the window. It felt strange to be inside Patty’s world, private and quiet in a way she hadn’t expected.

The bathroom light flicked on with a soft hum when she stepped in. It was simple—white tiles, a mirror slightly fogged at the edges, and a small shelf crowded with bottles of soap and shampoo. 

She stood in front of the mirror, catching sight of herself. Her hair clung messily to her face, streaked dark with rain; her lips looked pale, her eyes a little red from the wind.

She sighed. “I look terrible,” she muttered under her breath.

A knock came on the door.

“Lilly?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s me.”

Patty cracked the door open just enough to slip a hand through, holding a neatly folded towel and a stack of clothes—soft cotton shirt, shorts, and something smaller tucked discreetly underneath.

“Here,” she said. Lilly reached out and took them carefully, their fingers brushing just briefly.

“Thanks.” Patty didn’t move right away. For a second, she just… watched. Her gaze lingered on Lilly’s face—on the rain-kissed strands of hair stuck to her cheek, the faint flush beneath her eyes. 

“I’ll help you fix that later, okay?” Patty said suddenly, referring to Lilly's face.

Lilly blinked, caught off guard. “Fix—what?”

Patty’s mouth curved into a small, reassuring smile. She lifted her hand, stopping short of touching, and gestured toward Lilly’s cheek. “Your face,” she said quietly. “The cut. I want to clean it and bandage it properly. You’ll feel better after. Trust me.”

“Oh—uh—okay,” Lilly stammered, clutching the towel tighter to her chest. “Sure.”

Patty nodded once, satisfied. “I’ll wait in my room.”

And just like that, she was gone—the door clicking softly shut behind her.

Lilly stared at the closed door for a long moment, heartbeat fluttering unevenly. The warmth from Patty’s words lingered longer than it should have, curling somewhere low in her stomach. She looked back at her reflection, now flushed in the cheeks and wide-eyed, her hair still dripping against her neck.

Patty did not move right away.

She remained standing in the middle of her room, the door still open behind her, listening to the faint rush of water beginning down the hall. The sound settled into the house, steady and unmistakable, and with it came the full weight of what she had just done.

The quiet felt heavier now, charged in a way it hadn’t been before, as if the walls themselves were aware that Lilly was still there—close enough to matter.

Inviting her to stay had felt natural in the moment. Necessary, even. Now, with distance and silence between them, the decision echoed back at her far too loudly.

Patty exhaled slowly and began to pace.

She crossed the room in measured steps, then turned and crossed it again, hands moving without much thought. She straightened a stack of books that were already aligned perfectly, nudged a pencil so it sat parallel to the edge of the desk, smoothed the coverlet at the foot of her bed only to tug at it again when it refused to lie exactly how she wanted. 

Each small task felt urgent, as though tidying could restore some sense of control. Her gaze drifted, despite herself, back to the bed.

The thought settled in gradually, unwelcome and impossible to ignore. 

There were no spare sheets. No guest mattress hidden away in a closet. The sofa downstairs was narrow and stiff, and sleeping there would raise questions she had no intention of answering in the morning.

Which meant there were only two options.

Patty pressed her lips together and turned away sharply, heat creeping up her neck. The idea of sharing the bed sent her thoughts careening somewhere dangerous, somewhere she refused to examine too closely. 

She pictured Lilly there too easily—hair loose, expression unguarded, sleep softening her edges—and her chest tightened in response.

“This was reckless,” she muttered, more to steady herself than out of genuine regret. “Completely reckless.”

She ran a hand through her hair and forced herself to breathe, slow and deliberate. She was still pacing when the sound of footsteps reached her—light, familiar, unmistakable.

They stopped just outside her door.

Patty stilled.

A soft knock followed, hesitant enough to make her chest ache. “Patty?”

She closed her eyes briefly, gathering herself, smoothing her expression into something calm and presentable. When she opened the door, she made certain none of the panic showed.

Lilly stood there, towel draped loosely around her shoulders, hair damp and curling at the ends. Her skin still held warmth from the shower, a faint flush lingering along her cheeks. She smelled like soap and something unmistakably her, clean and close enough to send a jolt through Patty’s nerves.

“Hey,” Patty said, the word coming out quicker than she intended.

Lilly shifted slightly. “I’m done. I wasn’t sure where you wanted me to—”

“Right. Yeah.” Patty reached for the first thing that came to mind, gesturing toward the room. “You can look around if you want. Or read something. There’s—stuff.”

It sounded ridiculous the moment it left her mouth.

Before Lilly could respond, Patty grabbed a change of clothes from the chair, needing the movement, the excuse. “I’m going to take a shower now,” she added, already stepping backward. “Make yourself comfortable. I won’t be long.”

She did not wait for an answer.

Patty slipped past her and headed down the hall, heart thudding too hard in her ears. She closed the bathroom door behind her with more force than necessary, the sound echoing briefly through the quiet house. The lock clicked, final and grounding.

The moment she was alone, she slid down the door and sank onto the cool tile floor. Her face burned. Her pulse raced, loud and unmanageable.

She buried her face in her hands, breath coming uneven now, and let out a quiet, disbelieving laugh that trembled at the edges.

Lilly let out a breath once Patty disappeared down the hall. The room felt different without her in it—still warm, still faintly scented with soap and paper, but quieter now, like it had relaxed its shoulders. Lilly stood there for a moment, towel slipping from her damp hair onto her borrowed shirt, listening to the muted sounds of the house settling around her.

Somewhere farther down the hall, water began to run, a steady hush that softened the silence without breaking it. She turned slowly, giving herself permission to look.

Patty’s room was orderly in a way that felt intentional rather than strict. Nothing was out of place, but nothing felt sterile either. Every object seemed to have been put there because it belonged, not because it was meant to impress. 

Lilly drifted toward the desk first, drawn by the familiar comfort of books.

She picked one up.

Then another.

Then another.

Her brows knit together slightly.

They were all… educational. Textbooks, reference guides, thick paperbacks with sober titles stamped cleanly along their spines. Biology. History. Physics. A language workbook with neat sticky notes marking certain pages. Even the novels leaned serious—classics, dense nonfiction, things that looked like they demanded patience and focus in equal measure.

“So you’re really like this,” Lilly murmured, more amused than surprised. She ran her fingers along the shelf, half-expecting—half-hoping—to find something lighter tucked away in the back. That was when she saw them.

Wedged neatly between two thick academic volumes sat a small, unmistakable stack of Archie comics.

Bright spines. Bold lettering. Slightly worn edges.

They looked wildly out of place, like someone had accidentally left a splash of color in an otherwise monochrome photograph.

Lilly stared at them for a long second before a quiet smile tugged at her lips.

“Found you,” she whispered.

She crouched and examined them more closely, noting how carefully they’d been stacked despite their obvious oddness. They weren’t shoved away or hidden. They were there—kept, preserved, allowed to exist among all the seriousness.

Her gaze flicked, almost instinctively, to the paper bag resting near the edge of the room.

The one she had brought.

The comics inside it suddenly felt heavier, more significant than they had earlier. Lilly lifted the bag slightly, peeking inside as if to reassure herself they were still there, then glanced back at the shelf.

For a brief moment, she imagined sliding them in beside the others, completing the set, letting them sit openly among Patty’s things as if they had always belonged there.

Her hand hovered.

Then she stopped.

Patty wouldn’t like that. Not the assumption. Not the intrusion. Even if the thought came from something gentle, something meant to connect rather than claim, it still felt like crossing a line Patty hadn’t drawn—but would notice immediately if it were stepped over.

Lilly lowered the bag and exhaled softly, the smile fading into something quieter, more thoughtful.

“Later,” she told herself.

She turned back to the desk and let her fingers trail along the titles again until one caught her eye—a thick, illustrated book about sea creatures, its cover faded slightly at the edges, its spine cracked in a way that spoke of repeated use. It felt older than the others, softer somehow, as though it had been loved differently.

She carried it to the desk and sat, curling into the chair with her legs tucked beneath her. The desk lamp cast a warm pool of light over the pages as she opened it, the paper whispering faintly under her fingers.

At first, the book was exactly what it promised—detailed illustrations, careful descriptions, facts laid out with methodical precision. Lilly skimmed absently, enjoying the calm rhythm of it, until something odd caught her eye.

A drawing.

Not printed.

Scribbled.

She leaned closer.

Someone—clearly a much younger someone—had drawn jagged teeth onto a normally gentle-looking sea turtle, giving it a ferocious expression completely at odds with the neat text beside it. On the next page, a dolphin had been given exaggerated claws.

A starfish bristled with spikes like a medieval weapon.

Lilly covered her mouth, stifling a laugh.

“Oh my god,” she whispered, turning the page.

It got worse. Or better.

Tentacles were thickened into something monstrous. Eyes were darkened, circled again and again as if to make them more menacing. Some of the lines were shaky, uneven, the earnest kind of effort only a child would commit with full seriousness.

She could picture it so easily it made her chest ache.

A five-year-old Patty Stanton, tongue caught between her teeth, marker clutched in a too-small fist, determined to make the ocean terrifying rather than fascinating. Focused. Intent. Entirely unaware of how endearing it would look years later.

Lilly let out a soft, helpless chuckle, shaking her head.

“You were trying so hard,” she murmured fondly.

She traced one of the scribbles with her finger, careful not to smudge it, as if touching it too firmly might disturb something sacred. The thought of Patty once being small, messy, unguarded enough to draw monsters in books meant for learning made something warm and unsteady bloom in 

Lilly’s chest.

From down the hall,

the water continued to run.

Lilly glanced toward the doorway, then back at the page, smiling to herself as she turned it carefully and kept reading, the book resting comfortably beneath her hands as if it had been waiting for her to find it.

Chapter Text

The sound of the water stopped.

At first, Lilly didn’t notice it—not consciously. She was still curled over the sea creature book, absorbed in the softened quiet of the room, in the steady rhythm of her own breathing. It was only when the house shifted, when the pipes sighed and settled, that she looked up, suddenly aware of how long she had been alone.

She closed the book carefully, smoothing the page as if it might feel the difference, and slid it back into its place on the shelf. The spine fit neatly where it had been, nestled among the others, the childish scribbles hidden again behind order and intention. 

Lilly hesitated for a brief moment, then reached for the paper bag and tucked it farther out of sight, pushing it gently beneath the desk with her foot.

By the time footsteps approached down the hall, she was already standing near the center of the room, hands folded loosely in front of her, waiting without quite knowing what for.

The door opened.

Patty stepped inside, hair damp and darker from the shower, a loose shirt clinging slightly at the collar. There was something softened about her now, as though the heat and steam had stripped away a layer of control she usually wore without thinking. She paused when she saw Lilly standing there, eyes flicking briefly to her face, then down to her lip.

“Hey,” Patty said quietly.

“Hey,” Lilly echoed.

Patty shut the door behind her and crossed the room, stopping near her dresser. She crouched and pulled out a small red medicine bag—canvas, faded at the corners, the zipper tugged halfway open like it had been used many times before. She glanced up at Lilly again.

“Come sit,” she said. “On the floor. It’ll be easier.”

Lilly nodded and lowered herself down, settling cross-legged on the rug. The fabric was soft beneath her palms, grounding. Patty joined her a moment later, sitting directly in front of her, close enough that their knees nearly touched.

Up close, Patty smelled faintly of soap and something clean and warm beneath it. She unzipped the bag fully and began to unpack it with practiced care—cotton pads, antiseptic wipes, a small tube of ointment, a roll of bandage. Each item was placed neatly beside her, aligned without thought, as though her hands knew the order by heart.

“Okay,” Patty said, her voice gentle but focused. “This might sting a little at first.”

Lilly swallowed. “I’m okay.”

“I know.” Patty glanced up at her, something reassuring in her eyes. “Just… stay still.”

She soaked a cotton pad and lifted her hand slowly, giving Lilly enough time to register the movement before she touched her cheek. The contact was light—almost tentative at first—her fingers warm against Lilly’s skin as she cleaned the cut carefully, methodically, as though the rest of the world had narrowed to this single task.

Lilly barely felt the sting.

What she felt instead was the closeness. The way Patty leaned in slightly, brow furrowed in concentration. The way her thumb steadied Lilly’s jaw without pressing, just resting there, present and deliberate. Lilly’s breath caught, shallow and quiet, her eyes fixed on Patty’s face.

She didn’t look away this time.

Her gaze traced the familiar lines—the slope of Patty’s nose, the small crease between her brows, the way her lashes darkened slightly where they were still damp. She noticed, distantly, a faint flush blooming high on Patty’s cheeks, a hint of red that hadn’t been there before.

Patty cleared her throat.

“Almost done,” she murmured, though her hands didn’t rush.

She applied the bandage next, smoothing it into place with careful precision, then reached for the ointment. She squeezed a small amount onto her fingertip and hesitated for just a fraction of a second before lifting her hand again.

“This is for your lip,” she said quietly.

Lilly nodded, pulse loud in her ears.

Patty’s finger brushed against her mouth, barely there at first, then steadier as she dabbed the ointment along the cut. The sensation sent a sharp, unexpected tingle through Lilly—warmth blooming outward from the point of contact, spreading faster than she could process.

She inhaled sharply.

Patty paused. “Too much?”

“No,” Lilly said quickly. Too quickly. “It’s fine.”

Patty resumed, slower now, gentler still. Her touch was impossibly careful, as though she were handling something fragile, something that mattered. Lilly stayed perfectly still, afraid that even the smallest movement might break whatever this was.

Her eyes stayed on Patty’s face.

Patty felt it—she had to. The weight of Lilly’s gaze, unblinking, intent. Her movements faltered just slightly, her breath hitching before she forced it even again. The flush on her cheeks deepened, unmistakable now.

She finished quickly after that, pulling her hand away and reaching for a tissue to wipe her fingers clean.

“There,” she said, voice steadier than she felt. “It’s done.” She gathered the supplies, sliding them back into the red bag one by one, zipping it shut with a soft rasp. Lilly exhaled, only then realizing how tense she had been, how tightly she’d been holding herself together.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

Patty looked up at her.

“For taking care of me,” Lilly added, meeting her eyes fully now. Patty nodded once, small and quiet, as though words might tip her over the edge of something she wasn’t ready to name.

Patty broke the silence first.

“You’re probably tired, right?” she said, gently practical, as if grounding herself in logistics might steady the air between them. “We should sleep now.”

Lilly nodded automatically, even as her eyes followed Patty across the room. Patty moved with quiet efficiency, pulling extra pillows from the head of the bed and laying them out, smoothing the sheets as if they might wrinkle out of spite if left unattended. Watching her, it clicked—slowly, belatedly.

“Oh,” Lilly said. “I can just sleep on the floor. It’s no big deal.”

She said it quickly, eager to make it easier, to make herself smaller. The floor suddenly seemed like the most reasonable option in the world.

Patty froze mid-motion.

“No,” she said at once, turning to face her. Not sharp, but firm. Certain. “You’re not sleeping on the floor.”

Lilly blinked. “Patty, really, it’s fine. I’ve slept in worse places—”

“The bed’s big enough,” Patty interrupted, softer now but no less resolute. “We’ll be fine.”

Fine. The word landed heavier than it should have.

Lilly’s mind immediately filled the space with too many thoughts at once—where she would lie, how close was too close, whether breathing too loudly would be noticeable. Her pulse kicked up again, nerves buzzing just under her skin.

Before she could stop herself, she blurted, “We can still talk for a bit, you know. It’s still early.”

The words tumbled out clumsily, rushed, like she was trying to build a bridge out of thin air. Patty let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

It was subtle—so subtle Lilly might have missed it if she hadn’t been watching so closely—but there was a flicker of relief there, quickly tucked away. Patty sat down on the edge of the bed, posture casual, composed once more, while Lilly remained on the floor, legs folded beneath her.

"Okay,” Patty said. “What do you want to talk about?”

Lilly searched for something—anything—that wouldn’t make her sound too aware of how close they were, how the room felt smaller now. Her gaze drifted instinctively to the bookshelf.

“The sea creature book,” she said. “The one with… the drawings.” Patty stiffened almost imperceptibly.

“The monsters?” Lilly continued, smiling despite herself. “Those were… creative.”

A faint flush crept back into Patty’s cheeks. “I was five,” she said defensively, crossing her arms. “And I thought the ocean was terrifying. I still kind of do.”

“That explains the teeth,” Lilly said lightly. “And the claws. And whatever was happening to the dolphin.”

Patty huffed. “I wanted them to look dangerous. Like they could fight back.”

Lilly tilted her head, studying her. “So what was going through your mind? When you drew them like that?”

Patty hesitated, then shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess… if they were scary, then it made sense to be afraid of them. Felt justified.”

The honesty in it caught Lilly off guard. She laughed softly, warmth blooming in her chest. 

“That’s actually kind of adorable.”

Patty shot her a look. “Don’t.”

“I’m serious,” Lilly said, grin lingering. “It’s very on-brand.”

She paused, then added casually, “Also—the Archie comic wedged between the dictionary and the geography books? That was pretty gnarly.”

Patty glanced toward the shelf, following Lilly’s line of sight. A beat passed.

“Oh,” she said. “Yeah. I meant to put it there.”

Lilly looked back at her, eyebrows raised. “You meant to?”

“Of course,” Patty said, feigning nonchalance. “It deserved a place of honor.” Lilly’s smile softened into something fond. She gestured toward the paper bag tucked beneath the desk. “And you’re going to put those in there too?”

Patty didn’t answer right away. She just looked at Lilly, lips curving slightly at the edges.

“Maybe,” she said. “Wouldn’t want to disrupt the balance.”

Lilly rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. 

The room fell quiet after that—not awkward, not heavy. Just… still. Patty shifted, sliding off the bed and settling down beside Lilly on the floor instead. 

This time, she sat closer. Close enough that their shoulders brushed, the contact brief but unmistakable.

Neither of them moved away.

They stayed there, side by side, sharing the quiet like it was something fragile and earned, the night pressing gently against the walls as if giving them time.

Lilly shifted slightly, more to give her hands something to do than because she needed the space. The quiet had settled again, comfortable but charged, and she found herself wanting to fill it with something real.

“Your parents…” she began, hesitating just long enough to make it sound casual rather than careful.

"Are they already asleep at this hour?”

Patty didn’t answer right away. Her gaze stayed fixed on the far wall, unfocused, as if she were looking past it rather than at it. The pause stretched, thin and telling.

“No,” she said finally. “That was a lie.”

Lilly waited, giving the words room to land, to open into something more. When nothing came immediately, she asked softly, “So they’re not asleep?”

Patty let out a short, almost amused breath. “They were arguing when we were having dinner,” she said. “Same as usual. I left before it got worse.”

She shifted her weight, drawing one knee closer to her chest. 

“They don’t really know I sneak out. Or that I come home late sometimes. They think I’m just… studious. Predictable.” A faint smile flickered and disappeared.

“That ladder out there helps with that.”

“That explains a lot,” Lilly said quietly. She hesitated, aware she was stepping closer to something fragile, but the moment felt right in a way she couldn’t quite explain. “Do you not… have a good relationship with them?”

Patty didn’t answer with words at first.

Instead, she moved.

Slowly, deliberately, she leaned closer until her shoulder brushed Lilly’s again, then tilted her head and let it rest there. The contact was gentle, almost tentative, but it sent a jolt through Lilly all the same. She froze for a fraction of a second, acutely aware of the warmth against her shoulder, of the way Patty’s hair brushed her collarbone.

Lilly forced herself to breathe evenly, to stay still, to pretend this was nothing out of the ordinary.

“No,” Patty said at last, her voice low and unguarded. “I hate them both.”

The words landed hard.

Lilly went very still, her thoughts scattering in a dozen directions at once. Hate was a word she didn’t use lightly, one that felt sharp and absolute. 

Her mind betrayed her immediately, filling with images she hadn’t invited—the memory of her mother’s tired smile, imperfect but steady, doing her best in ways Lilly hadn’t always recognized at the time. 

And her father—how much she loved him, how much she still did. The ache of knowing she hadn’t yet visited his grave, because doing so would mean admitting fully that he was gone, that there would be no more chances, no more pretending otherwise.

Her chest tightened.

“Maybe…” Lilly said slowly, choosing her words with care, “maybe they’ll change.” Patty scoffed, the sound sharp and bitter despite her closeness. “Yeah, right. They’d rather die than put their pride down.”

The moment the words left her mouth, Patty stiffened. She lifted her head abruptly, turning just enough to see Lilly’s face.

“I—” Patty swallowed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

Lilly blinked, then shook her head gently. “It’s fine,” she said, her voice soft but steady.

Patty studied her for a moment, as if searching for something in her expression, then slowly leaned back again, resting her head once more on Lilly’s shoulder. This time, Lilly didn’t freeze. She stayed exactly where she was, letting the weight settle, letting the quiet return.

Patty stayed quiet for a long moment, her head still resting against Lilly’s shoulder, as if she were weighing whether the question belonged in the space they had created or if it might break it apart. The house creaked faintly around them, settling into the late hour, and somewhere far off a door closed softly. Patty’s breath was slow, measured, but Lilly felt the subtle shift when she finally spoke.

“Your dad,” Patty said, carefully, the words shaped with more gentleness than she usually allowed herself. She lifted her head just enough to look at Lilly’s profile. “How did you… deal with it?”

Lilly didn’t answer right away. Her gaze dropped to the floor, to the faint pattern in the rug that suddenly seemed far too interesting. She drew in a breath, then another, as if testing whether her chest would cooperate.

“I honestly don’t know,” she said at last, her voice quieter than before, stripped of any attempt at lightness. “I think it was like… I was floating through the days without a mind of my own. Like I was there, physically, but everything else was just… detached.”

She swallowed, her fingers curling slightly against her palm. “My body didn’t feel like mine. I’d wake up and go through the motions, but it was like watching someone else do it. Eat, shower, talk. 

Smile when I was supposed to.” Her mouth twitched, but it wasn’t quite a smile. “And all the sadness I felt just… piled up. I didn’t know where to put it.”

Her throat tightened. She paused, breathing shallow now. “I found it hard to even talk to my mom,” she admitted. “Every conversation felt like it took too much effort, like opening my mouth would make everything spill out and I wouldn’t be able to stop it.”

Her eyes burned, the sting sudden and unwelcome. She blinked hard, staring down at her hands, willing herself to stay steady.

Patty noticed anyway.

She straightened fully this time, the movement slow and deliberate, and gently reached for Lilly’s hands. Her touch was careful, asking rather than taking. When Lilly didn’t pull away, Patty threaded their fingers together, warm and grounding, her thumbs brushing lightly over Lilly’s knuckles as if to anchor her there.

Lilly’s breath wavered.

“I didn’t cry,” Lilly whispered, the words barely there. “Not at first. And then when I wanted to, I couldn’t. It was like my body had decided it was done feeling things for a while.”

Patty’s grip tightened just a fraction, reassuring rather than restraining. She didn’t interrupt, didn’t rush to fill the silence with platitudes or solutions. She just stayed there, close enough that Lilly could feel the steady presence of her, the quiet insistence that she wasn’t alone in this moment.

Patty felt the moment stretch, weightless and sharp all at once. Lilly’s eyes lingered on her, unblinking, too close, and the faint glimmer of moisture in them made Patty’s chest tighten. There was no denying it—Lilly was on the verge of tears, unmistakably so, and somehow that vulnerability, that raw openness, made Patty’s own control fray just a little.

She leaned in, slowly, deliberately, almost as if gravity itself were urging her forward. Lilly didn’t move, didn’t pull back; her eyes fluttered closed, a subtle permission that made Patty’s heart stutter. Every rational thought she had, every voice in her head telling her to stop, was drowned out by the pull of the moment. 

She felt it in the warmth of Lilly’s shoulder under her head, in the quiet rhythm of her breathing, in the fragile hush of the room around them.

And then, just as her lips hovered near Lilly’s temple, a sliver of reason broke through. The rational side of her—sharp, practical, tethered to the world—bit back. 

Patty froze. 

She didn’t move forward. She didn’t pull back.

She just stayed there, suspended between instinct and restraint.

Slowly, deliberately, she lowered her forehead to Lilly’s, pressing a soft, fleeting kiss against it. It was brief, careful, a whisper of what might have been, grounding and tender all at once.

Patty’s heart was pounding as she pulled back, suddenly aware of the closeness, the vulnerability, the weight of what just passed between them. She scrambled upright, as if the movement could reset the air around them, her hands brushing the bed for balance.

“We should… sleep now,” she said quickly, voice uneven, too loud in the quiet room.

Lilly’s eyes remained closed for a beat longer, her chest rising and falling, processing the contact. When she finally opened them, they found Patty’s, wide and slightly flustered, and for a moment, words weren’t necessary. 

Patty adjusted the pillows, too aware of her own heartbeat, while Lilly shifted beside her, still holding a quiet trace of the moment against her skin. 

They lay side by side on the bed, each turned slightly away, the thin barrier of their shoulders the only thing separating them. The room was quiet, save for the soft hiss of the heater and the occasional creak of the floorboards, but their breathing—shallow, uneven—filled the space between them in a way that was both intimate and charged.

Patty’s voice broke the silence first. “Goodnight,” she said softly, almost detached, though the tremor in it betrayed the careful restraint she’d been forcing all evening.

“Goodnight,” Lilly replied, her own voice a whisper, just loud enough to be heard, carrying the weight of her pulse and the faint quiver in her chest.

Patty’s eyes were fixed on the ceiling, staring at the faint pattern of shadows that danced across it. 

She could feel the warmth radiating from Lilly’s side, the quiet rhythm of her heartbeat brushing against her own. Rationally, it was the right decision, she told herself. 

A kiss—anything more—would complicate everything. Their dynamic, their friendship, the fragile trust they’d built… she hated complications. She hated not knowing where one small choice could lead.

Lilly, lying still, traced her fingers absently over her lips, where Patty’s ointment had touched. The sensation sparked a strange ache, a yearning she hadn’t expected. She wanted Patty to kiss her—to reach out, to close the distance—but she knew, somewhere deep down, that she couldn’t make that happen. 

Not tonight. Not with their boundaries still in place. She bit her lips, trying to swallow the want, and exhaled slowly, forcing herself to lie back, forcing herself to sleep.

Her mind wandered despite herself, replaying the feel of Patty’s forehead against hers, the warmth of her shoulder, the way her touch had anchored her. 

Patty shifted slightly, almost imperceptibly, adjusting a pillow behind her back. She took a slow breath, letting it out evenly, a small act of control to steady the storm of feeling she refused to name. Rational, careful, untangled from desire—this was the line she drew, and she would stay on her side of it.

They lay there, close and yet apart, the night pressing in around them, each heartbeat a silent echo of the things they couldn’t say, the things they wanted but couldn’t have. And yet… in that shared quiet, with shoulders brushing and breaths mingling, something unspoken lingered, sharp and bright, waiting for the right moment that neither dared define.

Chapter Text

Tuesday evening settled over the house with a kind of restless stillness, the sort that made every sound feel louder than it should have been. The kitchen light cast a dull yellow glow across the table, catching on the rim of Lilly’s plate as she nudged her food around with her fork. The rice had gone cold. The chicken sat in neat pieces she had already cut far smaller than necessary, as if breaking it down made it easier to ignore.

Suspension had warped her sense of time. The days dragged and folded in on themselves, shapeless and quiet. Tomorrow was Wednesday. The town fair. Thursday she would be back in school, slipping back into routines as though nothing had happened, as though the last few nights had not left something unsettled in her chest.

Terri moved around the kitchen, rinsing dishes and setting them into the rack with practiced efficiency. “You’re not eating,” she said, glancing over her shoulder.

“I am,” Lilly replied automatically, though she did not lift her fork.

A knock sounded at the front door.

It was not loud, but it was deliberate—two firm raps, then a pause. Lilly’s head lifted at once, her heart giving a small, confused jolt. No one ever came by unannounced anymore. Terri dried her hands on a towel and nodded toward the hallway.

“Go get it,” she said. “I’ll finish up here.”

Lilly pushed her chair back and stood, her socks whispering against the floor as she walked down the hallway. The house felt too quiet, like it was holding its breath. She reached the door, hesitated for a moment with her hand on the knob, then opened it.

Marge Truman stood on the porch, fidgeting with a thin plastic bag held tightly in both hands. The handles were twisted together, her fingers worrying at them as if she had not yet decided whether she belonged there. Her hair was pulled back too tightly, a few strands already escaping near her temples.

“Oh,” Lilly said, genuinely startled. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Marge replied, her eyes flicking briefly past Lilly into the house before returning to her face. “Can I… come inside?”

“Yeah,” Lilly said, stepping aside. “Sure.”

Marge slipped past her, shoes tapping softly against the floor. She paused just inside the doorway, looking around as though she had forgotten what houses looked like, then followed Lilly into the kitchen when she gestured her in. Marge set the plastic bag on the table, the contents shifting with a soft rustle.

“So,” Lilly began, pulling out her chair again. “What brings you here—”

“I want to go to the town fair with you.”

The words spilled out all at once, rushed and unpolished, as though Marge had been holding them in her mouth the entire walk over. She straightened immediately afterward, chin lifting as if bracing herself.

Lilly stopped mid-motion.

“Oh,” she said after a beat, her mind scrambling to catch up. “Okay. I mean… me and the gang were already planning to go anyway.” She shrugged lightly.

“You’re my friend. You can tag along if you want.”

The silence that followed stretched longer than it should have. Lilly glanced up, expecting relief, or at least satisfaction. Instead, Marge’s mouth twisted slightly, and she let out a sharp breath through her nose.

“Really?” Marge said, rolling her eyes. “The losers?”

Lilly’s brows knit together. “What?”

“You know,” Marge continued, waving a hand dismissively. “That group you hang around with now. You could just come with us instead. The Pattycakes.”

The word landed wrong, souring the air.

Lilly straightened in her chair, a slow heat creeping up her spine. “No,” she said evenly. “I am not ditching my friends.”

Marge sighed dramatically, dragging a hand down her face before dropping it to her side. “God,” she muttered. “I guess you really are one of them now.”

Lilly’s chest tightened. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Marge opened her mouth, then stopped. Something shifted in her expression, sharpness giving way to calculation. Suddenly, she brightened, eyes lighting up as if struck by inspiration.

“Wait,” she said quickly. “What if we all go together?”

She smiled wide, pleased with herself, like she had just solved a complicated problem. “You, me, your little group, the Pattycakes. Everyone. It would be fun.”

Lilly stared at her, incredulous. “No.”

Marge’s smile faltered. “Why not?”

“Because you do not even like them,” Lilly replied. “You just called them losers.”

“That was not—” Marge started, then stopped herself. “That was different.”

“How?” Lilly asked, her voice calm but firm.

Marge shifted, her confidence slipping. “Look, I just thought… you could do better. You used to do better.”

The words stung more than Lilly expected.

She exhaled slowly, steadying herself. “I like my friends,” she said. “All of them. I am not choosing one group over another like it is some competition.”

Marge frowned, frustration bubbling back up. “So what, you are just going to pretend they are all the same?”

“I am going to tell them the truth,” Lilly said. “And if they say no, then that is that.”

Marge hesitated, then sighed again, shoulders slumping. “Fine. But at least ask them.”

Lilly nodded, though unease curled in her stomach. “I will.”

Marge brightened immediately, relief washing over her face. She nudged the plastic bag toward Lilly. “I brought cookies. From the store. Not homemade,” she added quickly, as if that mattered.

“Thanks,” Lilly said, though her attention had already drifted elsewhere.

After Marge left, the house seemed quieter than before.

The phone rang three times before Ronnie picked up.

Lilly stood in her kitchen with the cord stretched taut between her fingers, one shoulder hunched slightly as if she were bracing herself. The house was quiet again—Terri had gone to her room, the television murmuring faintly behind a closed door—and the silence pressed in on her ears while she waited.

“Hello?” Ronnie’s voice came through, bright and immediate.

Lilly exhaled. “Hey. It’s me.”

“Oh my God,” Ronnie said at once. “Hold on.”

There was a muffled clatter on the other end—movement, voices, the scrape of something being pushed aside. Lilly imagined them all instinctively crowding in, the way they always did, as if proximity might help them hear better.

“Okay,” Ronnie said again, closer now. “I’m here. What’s up?”

Lilly shifted her weight, curling the phone cord once around her finger. “So. This is going to sound… weird.”

Ronnie laughed softly. “That is not a great start.”

“I know,” Lilly said. “Just—listen first, okay?”

“Okay.”

Lilly closed her eyes briefly, then pushed on. “Marge came over to my house. Just now.”

There was a beat of silence, and then—

“She what?” Ronnie exclaimed.

Lilly pulled the phone slightly away from her ear, wincing. “Yeah. That was my reaction too.”

She could hear the boys in the background now, their voices overlapping.

“Who came over?”

“To Lilly’s house?”

“Why?”

“Shut up,” Ronnie snapped, though there was laughter threaded through it. She turned back to the receiver.

“Okay. Why was Marge Truman at your house?”

Lilly leaned her hip against the counter, staring down at the faint scratch on its surface. “She wants to go to the town fair with me.”

“With you,” Ronnie repeated slowly.

“And then,” Lilly added quickly, “she said I should ditch you guys and go with the Pattycakes instead.”

“What?” Ronnie said sharply.

Lilly grimaced. “Yeah.”

There was a brief explosion of noise on the other end—indignant protests, someone swearing under their breath. Lilly waited, heart thudding, listening to the familiar chaos, grounding herself in it.

“Okay,” Ronnie said after a moment, voice clipped now. “I already hate her again.”

Lilly smiled despite herself. “I told her no. I said I am not ditching you.”

“That is the correct answer,” Ronnie said firmly.

“But then,” Lilly continued, the knot in her stomach tightening, “she suggested that we all go together. Like… all of us.”

Another pause.

Lilly could picture Ronnie’s face perfectly in that moment—the raised brow, the narrowed eyes, the way she would tilt her head slightly as if examining something suspicious.

“You are joking,” Ronnie said.

“I wish I were.”

The boys’ voices surged again.

“Absolutely not.”

“That is a terrible idea.”

“It might be fine.”

“I just want to go.”

Lilly blinked. “Did someone just say it might be fine?”

“That was Will,” Ronnie said dryly. “Ignore him.”

“Hey,” Will protested faintly in the background.

Lilly bit her lip, her earlier resolve wavering. “Look, I told her I would ask you guys first. I am not saying yes without you.”

Ronnie didn’t answer immediately. Lilly could hear the muffled debate on the other end, Ronnie half-covering the phone as she argued with them.

“It will be awkward.”

“So what?”

“She is going to be rude.”

“Not if she behaves.”

“When does she ever behave?”

Lilly tightened her grip on the receiver, her pulse ticking faster with every second.

“Ronnie?” she said quietly. “You do not have to say yes. Really. I mean that.”

The noise died down.

Ronnie turned back to the phone. “Okay,” she said carefully. “Here is what I think.”

Lilly straightened, bracing herself.

“I do not love it,” Ronnie continued. “But I am also not going to pretend like this is the end of the world. If she comes, she comes knowing she does not get to act superior or weird. The second she does, we walk. Together.”

Lilly closed her eyes, relief washing through her in a warm, shaky rush. “Yeah,” she said softly. “That is fair.”

“And,” Ronnie added, “if she calls us losers again, I will push her into the dunk tank.”

Lilly laughed, the sound surprising her with its ease. “Please do not get arrested.”

“No promises.”

Lilly smiled, pressing her forehead briefly against the cool cabinet. “I really appreciate you guys. You know that, right?”

Ronnie’s voice softened. “Yeah. We know.”

They talked a little longer after that—about meeting times, about rides, about how expensive everything always was—and when Lilly finally hung up, the kitchen felt less heavy than before.

Tomorrow was Wednesday. The town fair. And somehow, against all odds, they were walking into it together.

Lilly stayed where she was for a long moment after the dial tone settled into silence, the receiver still warm in her hand. The kitchen clock ticked steadily above the doorway, each second pronounced now that the noise of voices and laughter had faded. She set the phone back into its cradle and leaned against the counter, letting the cool surface press into her spine as she stared ahead without really seeing anything.

Somewhere between the clatter of Ronnie’s laughter and Rich’s single-minded devotion to fried dough, another thought had begun to surface, quieter but more persistent than the rest.

Patty.

The name arrived uninvited, slipping easily into the spaces Marge had left behind. Lilly thought of the way Patty’s voice sounded when it was low and unguarded, of the careful precision of her hands, of the silence they had shared that felt heavier than conversation ever could. The suspension, the nights stretched thin, the almost-kiss that still lingered like a question without an answer.

She wondered, briefly, if Marge had already told her.

The idea unsettled her more than she expected.

Lilly straightened slowly, pushing herself away from the counter. The decision came with a quiet inevitability, as though it had already been made somewhere beneath the surface and she was only just catching up to it. She crossed the kitchen again, lifted the receiver, and dialed from memory before she could second-guess herself.

The phone rang once.

Twice.

Three times.

“Hello?”

Patty’s voice came through clear and immediate, and Lilly’s heart jumped in response, her words tumbling out before she could temper them.

“Hey—hi—it’s Lilly,” she said quickly, her grip tightening around the cord. “Sorry, I just—are you busy?”

There was a brief pause on the other end, then a soft exhale. “No,” Patty said. “I’m not. What’s up?”

Lilly swallowed, suddenly acutely aware of how fast she was talking. “I just wanted to ask—did Marge talk to you? About tomorrow?”

“Marge?” Patty repeated, the name unfamiliar in her mouth. “No. Why would she?”

The answer came easily, without hesitation, and Lilly felt something loosen in her chest that she hadn’t realized had been pulled tight.

“Oh,” she said. “Okay. I just thought maybe she told you already.”

“Told me what?” Patty asked.

Lilly hesitated, the words rearranging themselves as she searched for the least complicated version of the truth. “She came over earlier. Asked me to go to the town fair with her. Then suggested that… everyone go together.”

There was a quiet beat on the line.

“Everyone,” Patty said carefully. “Meaning…?”

“Me, my friends,” Lilly said. “And yours. Apparently.”

Another pause, longer this time. Lilly could picture Patty perfectly—the way she would tilt her head slightly when thinking, the faint crease between her brows, the instinctive withdrawal into herself when things grew complicated.

“She didn’t say anything to me,” Patty said finally. “Not Elaine. Not Rhonda. No one.”

Lilly bit her lip. She had wondered that herself, the question rising and falling with every ring of the phone.

Not even Elaine?

Not even Rhonda?

She kept it to herself, choosing instead to follow the thread that had brought her here in the first place.

“Well,” she said, forcing a lightness she didn’t quite feel, “I wanted to ask you. Properly. From me.”

Patty hummed softly, noncommittal. “Ask me what?”

“If you want to come,” Lilly said. “Tomorrow. To the fair.”

The silence that followed was not empty. It was full in a way that made Lilly’s pulse quicken, every second stretching thin and deliberate. She could hear Patty’s breathing on the other end, slow and measured, and she imagined her sitting somewhere familiar, phone pressed to her ear, considering the shape of the invitation and everything that came with it.

“Wow,” Patty said at last. “You are really determined to complicate your suspension week.”

Lilly huffed a quiet laugh, relief flickering through her at the tease. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not,” Patty replied, amusement threading her voice now. “You sound like you’ve already decided.”

“Maybe,” Lilly admitted. “But you don’t have to say yes. I mean that. If it’s weird, or too much, or you just don’t feel like dealing with Marge Truman in public—”

“God,” Patty interrupted lightly. “That alone is a compelling argument against it.”

Lilly smiled, tracing a small circle on the counter with her fingertip. “Yeah.”

Another pause settled in, gentler this time.

“I was planning on going anyway,” Patty said eventually, her tone casual but not careless. “Elaine’s been talking about it for days. I just didn’t know if… you’d want me there.”

The honesty in it caught Lilly off guard.

“I do,” she said immediately, the answer instinctive and sure. “I really do.”

Patty went quiet again, and for a moment Lilly worried she had said too much, that she had tipped the balance she had been so careful not to disturb. Then Patty laughed softly, a sound that eased something tight behind Lilly’s ribs.

“Well,” Patty said, “when you put it like that, it feels rude to say no.”

“So that’s a yes?” Lilly asked, hopeful despite herself. She breathed out, steadying herself, and let the thought settle

“That’s a yes,” Patty confirmed. “But if Marge starts imitating Scotty ‘the Snot’ Mills, I will combust.”

Lilly laughed softly, shaking her head. “Patty! Come on—she’s still my friend. You can’t just say things like that.”

Patty’s voice rang with mock indignation. “I’m not exaggerating! Her imitation is annoyingly on point—it’s like she’s actually channeling him.”

Lilly grinned, leaning against the counter. “Scotty isn’t that bad. You’re being dramatic.”

There was a brief pause on the line. Patty’s tone softened, quieter now, almost reluctant. “Fine… okay. I’ll try to survive.”

Lilly snorted, covering her smile with one hand. “You’re ridiculous. But promise me no combusting, alright?”

Patty’s voice softened fully, gentle this time. “Okay… promise. Then it’s a plan.”

They said goodbye a moment later, it lingered just a fraction too long before the line went dead. Lilly replaced the receiver slowly, her reflection faint in the darkened window above the sink, still smiling at the thought of tomorrow.

Chapter Text

Patty stood in front of her mirror with the brush caught halfway through her hair, pausing long enough that the strands slipped free and fell back against her shoulders. Wednesday afternoon had settled into the house in a slow, deliberate way, sunlight stretching thin across her bedroom floor, catching on the edges of her desk and the spines of her neatly arranged notebooks.

All her schoolwork was finished—every assignment completed, every margin clean—because being suspended did not mean being careless, not if she wanted to step back into school without anyone daring to say she had slipped.

Lilly was back today. That fact sat quietly in her mind, neither sharp nor soft, just present. Patty imagined her walking through the halls again, backpack slung low, pretending not to notice the looks that followed her. The thought made Patty’s chest tighten in a way she refused to examine too closely.

She resumed brushing her hair, slower now, more thoughtful. Yesterday’s phone call with the girls lingered unpleasantly in her head. Elaine’s awkward pause. Rhonda’s poorly masked guilt. The eventual admission that they had planned to go out and simply had not thought to invite her. Forgot, they had said, as if Patty Stanton were the sort of person one could forget.

Her tone then hadn’t been kind. She knew that. It had come out sharp and controlled and just cold enough to make them uncomfortable, and she didn’t regret it. If they were careless with her place, then they could sit with the discomfort of being reminded she noticed.

Patty let out a quiet sigh and set the brush down on the dresser. Reputation was a fragile thing. One missed week, one absence handled poorly, and people would start rewriting the story in their favor. She couldn’t let that happen. She wouldn’t. Whatever else was uncertain, that much was clear.

She stood and crossed to the window, pushing the curtain aside with two fingers. Outside, the town was already shifting in anticipation—cars moving more often than usual, voices carrying farther, the faint suggestion of music drifting from somewhere downtown where the fair was being assembled piece by piece. It would be loud tonight.

Crowded.

Exactly the kind of place where being seen mattered.

Patty rested her palm against the glass, considering. She could ask her dad to drive her. It would be easy. Predictable. She and Lilly hadn’t actually agreed to arrive together anyway, not in any concrete sense, and Patty had never liked leaving things to chance. Being late was not an option. Being unsure even less so.

Her reflection stared back at her from the window, composed and deliberate, a girl who knew how to arrive and when. Patty straightened, resolve settling quietly into place. Whatever tonight became—awkward or easy or something in between—she would show up on her own terms.

And she would not be late.

Patty turned from the window and crossed the hallway, the house quiet in the way it always was when her father worked from home. The door to his bedroom was partially closed, a thin line of light spilling out into the hall, accompanied by the soft clatter of keys and the low hum of a computer fan. She paused outside it, lifting her hand, hesitating just long enough for doubt to brush against her resolve.

Then she knocked.

Once. Twice. A third time, firmer.

“Yeah?” Jim's voice came through, distracted but attentive enough.

“It’s me,” Patty said, keeping her tone even. “Can I come in?”

There was a brief pause, the clicking stopping. The door opened a few inches, then wider, revealing her father in his shirtsleeves, glasses perched low on his nose, the glow of his monitor reflected faintly in the lenses. His desk behind him was cluttered in a controlled way—papers stacked neatly, a coffee mug pushed just far enough from the keyboard to avoid disaster.

“What’s up?” he asked.

Patty shifted her weight, suddenly aware of how carefully she had rehearsed this moment in her head. “There’s the town fair tonight,” she said. “I was wondering if… if you could drive me.”

Jim glanced past her, then back toward the computer, eyes flicking instinctively to the screen as if gauging how much time he could afford to give.

“Give me a few minutes,” he said. “Wait for me in the living room, okay?”

“Okay,” Patty replied, relief and uncertainty mingling in her chest.

She stepped back as he closed the door again, the lock clicking softly into place. Patty turned and made her way downstairs, the familiar creak of the steps grounding her as she went. The living room was bathed in late afternoon light, dust motes drifting lazily in the air as she lowered herself onto the edge of the couch, hands folding neatly in her lap.

She waited.

The car ride settled into a familiar rhythm, the low hum of the engine filling the space between them as the town slipped past the windows. Patty sat in the front seat, knees angled neatly together, hands folded over the strap of her bag as if she were bracing herself against the day tipping forward. Her father drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting easily near the gearshift, posture relaxed in a way that made it clear he had done this drive more times than he could count.

They were a few streets away from the fairgrounds when the car slowed.

Patty glanced up, brow furrowing as her father signaled and eased into a small parking lot instead of continuing straight. The bright, familiar sign of the ice cream shop flickered overhead, already lit despite the lingering daylight.

“Why are we stopping?” Patty asked, unable to keep the edge out of her voice. “You know I don’t like being late.”

Jim smiled without looking at her, pulling neatly into a spot. “Your friends can wait,” he said lightly. “The fair isn’t going anywhere.”

Patty clicked her tongue in quiet protest and crossed her arms as he cut the engine and climbed out. “You’re unbelievable,” she muttered, though there was no real heat behind it.

She stayed in the car, watching through the windshield as he disappeared inside. The shop looked smaller than she remembered, its windows fogged slightly, the counter visible just enough to make out the blur of movement behind it. Time stretched. Patty checked the clock on the dashboard once, then again, her foot tapping despite herself.

When Jim finally emerged, Patty straightened instinctively.

He was holding two ice creams—both large, unmistakably so, their scoops stacked high and already beginning to soften at the edges. Patty stared, disbelief flashing across her face as he opened the door and slid back into the driver’s seat.

“You did not,” she said.

He grinned and handed one to her without ceremony. “Strawberry. Still your favorite.”

Patty took it automatically, the cold seeping into her palm. “This is massive,” she said. “Are you trying to kill us?”

Jim laughed, unbothered, lifting his own—chocolate—and taking an unapologetically large bite. “Relax. It’s tradition.”

Patty stared at the ice cream, then shook her head, a reluctant smile tugging at the corner of her mouth as she took a careful lick. “I’m going to get diabetes.”

“That’s what you said when you were eight,” he replied easily. “And twelve. And every year after that.”

She huffed softly, unable to argue as the taste settled in, sweet and familiar. They sat there for a moment, the car quiet except for the occasional passing vehicle and the distant sounds of the town gearing up for the night.

“You used to beg me to stop here,” Jim said after a while, almost to himself. “Wouldn’t let it go. Said it didn’t count as the fair unless we got these.”

Patty’s grip tightened slightly around the cone. She remembered that version of herself vividly—sticky fingers, too much laughter, the certainty that some things would always stay the same. She remembered standing on the curb with him, the sky already dark, lights blinking to life in the distance, believing without question that this was how it would always be.

“I guess I had good taste,” she said quietly.

Jim glanced at her then, something fond and knowing in his expression. “You always did.”

They finished their ice cream slowly, unhurried, letting the moment stretch just a little longer than necessary. When Patty finally brushed her hands clean and straightened in her seat, the fair lights were beginning to glow brighter down the road.

The car eased to a stop at the edge of the fairgrounds just as evening finished settling in. The sky had gone a deep, bruised blue, the last trace of daylight thinning out behind the buildings, and the fair lights had fully taken over—warm bulbs strung overhead, flashing signs humming to life, the Ferris wheel turning slow and bright like it was keeping time for the night. Sound came in layers: laughter, music, the mechanical whir of rides, all of it folding together into something loud and alive.

Jim cut the engine and glanced over at her.

“See your friends?”

Patty opened the door and stepped out, the noise washing over her immediately. She paused, one hand still resting on the frame of the car, and scanned the crowd with practiced ease. Faces passed in front of her in quick succession—half-familiar silhouettes, strangers that almost weren’t. She leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowing as she searched again.

Nothing.

Jim got out then, closing his door and moving to lean back against the hood, arms crossing comfortably as if he had nowhere else he needed to be. He watched her without comment while she looked a third time, slower now, more intentional.

That was when the realization settled, quiet and unpleasant: she hadn’t asked where they were meeting. Not a spot. Not a time beyond “tonight.” She’d assumed she would just arrive and they would be there, waiting the way they always used to.

Patty let out a controlled breath and dropped back onto the hood beside him, the metal still warm beneath her hands. “I didn’t ask,” she said, more to herself than to him.

Jim smiled and reached over, ruffling her hair with deliberate carelessness.

“Hey.”

“Dad,” Patty complained, batting his hand away as strands fell out of place. “I fixed that.”

“You’ll live,” he said, amused.

She sighed, smoothing her hair back down, eyes drifting once more toward the moving lights and bodies beyond the parking lot. For a moment, she stayed there, sitting, letting the noise press in while she recalibrated—pride folding neatly back into place, uncertainty tucked away where no one could see it.

Jim pushed off the hood and straightened. “Come on,” he said gently. “Let’s find your friends.”

Patty slid down from the car, adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder, and lifted her chin. Whatever awkwardness waited for her out there, she would meet it standing.

“Okay,” she said, already stepping forward.

The crowd closed around them almost immediately, lights and voices swallowing the space they’d left behind as Patty moved ahead, eyes sharp, composure steady, walking into the night she’d insisted on arriving to—on her own terms.

Jim, instead of scanning the crowd the way she was, had already begun drifting toward the nearest row of booths, his pace unhurried, his gaze caught by the glow of hanging lights and hand-painted signs. He slowed in front of a ring-toss stand, then another selling fried dough, looking around with a kind of mild curiosity that felt almost out of place against Patty’s sharpened focus.

“Dad,” Patty said, stopping short and turning back toward him. “You’re supposed to be helping me look.”

He glanced over his shoulder, caught mid-step, and smiled in that easy, absent way of his. “I am,” he said, though his eyes flicked briefly toward a booth displaying jars of candy before returning to her. Then, more thoughtfully, he added, “I was just thinking—when was the last time we actually walked through here together?”

Patty hesitated, the answer arriving faster than she liked. She shrugged instead, noncommittal, and adjusted the strap of her bag again. “I don’t know. A while.”

Jim nodded, eyes moving across the fairgrounds as if he were counting the changes. “Not much has changed,” he said after a moment. “Different booths, sure, but it’s mostly the same. Same noise. Same smells.” He smiled faintly. “They still put the game stalls in the same crooked line.”

Patty turned to look at him then. Her expression stayed neutral, carefully composed, as if none of this registered, as if she were merely indulging him out of politeness. But her mind had already slipped backward, uninvited, to a version of the fair that existed five years ago, when her mother had walked between them, commenting on everything, laughing too loudly, insisting they stop even when Patty pretended she didn’t want to.

She remembered the three of them sharing food, her mother always stealing bites from both their plates, saying it tasted better that way.

Somewhere along the line, it had stopped.

Patty hadn’t marked the moment precisely. There had just been excuses, one after another—tests to prepare for, projects to finish, reasons that sounded responsible enough not to be questioned. Studying became the easiest shield. Every town fair after that, she’d said the same thing, and no one had pushed.

“I don’t really remember it being that different,” she said now, her voice even, almost dismissive.

Jim watched her for a second longer than necessary, as if he might say something else, then nodded and stepped back toward her side. “Well,” he said lightly, “guess that means it’s still doing its job.”

Patty glanced past him again, refocusing on the crowd ahead, the familiar hum of attention settling back into place. “Can we walk this way?” she asked, already moving. “If they’re here, they’ll probably be near the rides.”

Jim followed without argument, falling into step beside her as they merged deeper into the fair, the lights brightening overhead, the noise thickening around them. Patty kept her gaze forward, scanning faces once more, the past neatly folded away again, just like she’d learned to do.

Patty’s gaze darted across the crowd, the colors of the fair blurring together in her search—lights swinging from poles, faces passing too quickly to register, snippets of laughter breaking apart like wind. Then, a flash of something familiar—a brown skirt, a white blouse, the subtle ribbon catching the glow of the bulbs overhead. Her heart gave a small, startled jump.

“Dad,” she called over her shoulder, voice threading with urgency. “I found them.”

But Jim wasn’t listening.

He had stopped at a nearby game booth, one of those where you had to knock down a stack of cans to win a prize. His sleeves were half-rolled, his grin almost boyish as he studied the setup. Patty stopped beside him, exasperation breaking through her composure.

“Dad,” she said again, sharper now. “They’re right there—”

He didn’t look at her. Instead, he set a coin on the counter and said mildly, “Relax, Pat. We’ve got time.”

“Dad.”

“Just one game,” he said, picking up the small leather ball from the counter. “Can’t come to the fair and not test your aim.”

Patty crossed her arms and shifted her weight, but her protest died when he drew back his arm and threw the ball in one clean motion. It struck the middle can dead-on, sending the entire stack clattering to the ground in a single, satisfying sweep.

The booth attendant whistled low and handed him his choice of prizes. Jim turned, his grin broad. “Still got it,” he said.

Patty blinked, caught between disbelief and reluctant pride. “You actually hit them all.”

“Of course I did.”

Her lips twitched. “Lucky shot.”

He only chuckled and handed her a stuffed bunny—medium-sized, soft gray, the kind of prize meant for someone much younger. Patty stared at it, unimpressed. “Dad, I’m too old for this.”

“You’re never too old for a souvenir,” Jim said, gently pressing it into her arms before she could argue. “Besides, I earned it for you.”

“Dad,” she groaned, but he was already ruffling her hair again, his laughter carried off by the hum of music and chatter.

“Now,” he said, steering her forward, “let’s go find those friends of yours.”

Patty huffed, clutching the bunny against her side as she tried to fix her hair, running her fingers through the strands he had tousled. When she finally looked up, her breath hitched.

Lilly was standing by one of the food stalls, the golden light from the nearby bulbs settling over her like it was made for her. Her hair was tied back neatly with a ribbon, her blouse soft and pale against the brown of her skirt. She looked effortless—like she belonged exactly where she was.

Patty froze. Her heart thudded so hard it made her palms clammy against the bunny’s fur.

Beside her, Jim followed her line of sight and frowned lightly, trying to place the face. “That’s your friend, right?”

Patty’s throat felt dry. “Yeah,” she managed, nodding once.

He smiled. “Good. Let’s go.”

They wove through the crowd, and before Patty could steady herself, Lilly had already noticed them. She turned, her expression brightening with that easy, polite warmth that always made Patty feel slightly off balance.

“Good evening, Mr. Stanton,” Lilly said, stepping forward with her usual poise.

Jim’s face lit up with recognition. He extended his hand. “Evening,” he said kindly. “Remind me—what was your name again?”

“Lillian Bainbridge,” she replied, shaking his hand.

“Ah,” Jim said, nodding, that teasing spark in his eyes returning. “Well, Ms. Bainbridge, it’s nice to finally put a face to the name.” He gave Patty a quick look, something amused flickering beneath it. “You two have fun. I’ll pick you both up by ten.”

Patty opened her mouth to protest, but he was already turning, waving once before disappearing back through the crowd.

And then it was just her and Lilly.

The noise of the fair pressed in again—music, laughter, the faint clatter of the ring-toss behind them—but Patty could barely hear it. She stood there, the stuffed bunny still tucked awkwardly under one arm, facing Lilly, who smiled softly at her.

“That's cute,” Lilly said lightly, nodding toward the bunny.

Patty blinked once, then gave a small, defensive scoff, tightening her grip on it. “Don’t start. My dad won it.”

Lilly’s smile widened, eyes glinting with quiet amusement. “Of course he did.”

Patty clicked her tongue and looked away, pretending to study the lights instead—but the faint color that crept into her cheeks betrayed her entirely.

Chapter Text

Patty spotted them before they spotted her.

They were clustered near the edge of the fairgrounds, lights strung overhead like careless constellations, the noise folding in on itself—laughter, music, the hiss of frying oil. The Pattycakes stood out the way they always did, loud even when they weren’t trying to be, a tight knot of familiarity that people learned to orbit around.

Elaine saw her first.

“Patty!” she squealed, already halfway across the gravel before Patty could brace herself.

Rhonda followed close behind, eyes wide, hands already reaching as if to check for damage. “Oh my god, you look fine,” she said, like that hadn’t been in question. “How was suspension? Was it awful? Were you bored? Did you do, like, nothing all week?”

Patty barely had time to open her mouth before they were both talking over each other, voices tangling, questions piling up faster than she could answer them.

“It was… fine,” Patty said, measured, slipping easily back into the role. “I got my work done.”

Elaine frowned. “That’s it? No dramatic breakdown? No life-altering realization?”

Patty lifted a shoulder. “Disappointing, I know.”

That earned her a laugh, relieved and a little too loud, and for a moment it felt almost normal. Elaine looped an arm through Patty’s, Rhonda leaning in on the other side, the three of them forming a shape they’d practiced for years.

Behind them, Marge hung back.

She stood near Will and Matty, her hands tucked into the sleeves of her jacket, eyes drifting everywhere at once. The fair seemed to overwhelm her—not in a bad way, just openly. Lights reflected in her eyes, jaw slack with quiet awe as something mechanical whirred past overhead.

Rich noticed.

He slowed without really meaning to, matching her pace until they were side by side. “First time at the fair?” he asked, easy.

Marge glanced at him, surprised, then nodded. “Yeah. I mean—like this. I didn’t know it got… this big.”

He grinned. “You should see it later. When they turn on the ride lights all at once. Kinda feels like the whole town forgot how small it is.”

Her smile was hesitant but real. “That sounds… nice.”

Ahead of them, Ronnie leaned closer to Lilly, her voice dropping low enough to be swallowed by the crowd. “You sure this is a good idea?”

Lilly didn’t look at her right away. Her gaze was fixed forward, on the backs of people who didn’t quite know what to do with her yet. “We’ll try,” she said simply.

Ronnie studied her for a second, then nodded. “Okay.”

The group began to move as one, footsteps syncing without anyone calling it out. Lilly let herself be pulled along, laughter brushing past her ears, the weight of attention settling back onto her shoulders like something familiar.

She glanced back once, catching Marge mid-laugh at something Rich had said, Lilly held onto that image as they disappeared deeper into the lights.

The fair swallowed them whole.

And for tonight, that was enough.

They didn’t decide to split up so much as it just happened.

The fair pulled at them in different directions—music tugging one way, lights another—and soon Elaine and Rhonda had Patty by the wrists, already halfway to the rides before anyone could protest.

“Ferris wheel first,” Elaine declared, like it was law.

“No,” Rhonda said immediately. “The zipper. We’re doing the zipper.”

Patty barely had time to roll her eyes before she was being dragged along, gravel crunching under her shoes. “You’re both going to throw up,” she said calmly. “And I will not be holding your hair.”

Elaine laughed. “You love us.”

“Debatable,” Patty replied, but she didn’t pull away.

That left Lilly standing there for half a second too long before she fell into step with the others who hadn’t been swept up. It felt oddly familiar—this quiet reshuffling, the way groups formed without asking. Like school, she thought. Just less contained.

Marge lingered near the game booths, her attention caught by the clang of metal and the sharp pop of air rifles. Rows of tin stars hung at the back of one stand, painted silver and waiting to be knocked loose.

Rich noticed where she was looking and smirked. “I’m good at these,” he said, already stepping forward.

“You are not,” she said, but there was a smile in it.

The man running the booth slid the rifle across the counter, the wood worn smooth from decades of hands. Rich squared his shoulders like he was on stage, took aim with exaggerated seriousness. The star rattled but stayed put.

Marge laughed before she could stop herself—short and bright.

Rich glanced back at her, mock-offended. “Hey. That was a warm-up.”

“Uh-huh.”

He tried again, jaw tight, missing by just enough to make it worse. The third shot finally knocked the star loose with a sharp metallic clatter.

Rich lifted both hands like he’d just won something monumental. “See?”

Marge was still smiling, eyes crinkled, and that felt like the real win.

A few booths down, Matty stood hunched over a ring toss, tongue caught slightly between his teeth in concentration. Lilly watched quietly from beside him, hands tucked into her jacket.

“You want something?” he asked without looking up.

She shrugged. “You don’t have to.”

“I know,” he said, then landed a ring clean over the neck of a glass bottle.

The attendant raised an eyebrow and handed over a small stuffed bear, faded blue and slightly crooked. Matty turned and held it out to Lilly like it was obvious.

She blinked. “…For me?”

“Yeah,” he said simply. “I don’t need it.”

She took it, fingers brushing the worn fabric, something unsteady loosening in her chest. “Thanks,” she said quietly.

Nearby, Ronnie and Will had turned a strength test into a full-on rivalry. The old high striker stood tall, paint chipped, bell waiting at the top.

Ronnie went first, slamming the mallet down hard enough to make the crowd nearby react. The puck shot up and rang the bell clean.

Will whistled. “Okay. Damn.”

He took his turn and came just short, close enough to make it impressive anyway. He laughed it off easily. “Guess I’ll live.”

Ronnie grinned, already handing the mallet back. “Rematch later.”

They stayed like that—split but close, laughter drifting between booths, lights blinking overhead like they were keeping time. Patty caught sight of them all from the corner of her eye as Elaine and Rhonda debated snacks, the scene settling into her like something familiar but altered.

Ronnie slipped up beside Lilly without announcing herself, shoulder bumping lightly into hers as if it were accidental. Her eyes dropped immediately to the bear tucked under Lilly’s arm.

“Oh,” Ronnie said, grin slow and sharp. “You get adopted or something?”

Lilly startled, then scowled. “Shut up.”

Ronnie laughed under her breath. “Wow. He really won you a prize. That’s kinda—”

“Ronnie,” Lilly warned, tightening her grip on the bear, “be quiet.”

“Okay, okay,” Ronnie said, hands up in mock surrender. She followed Lilly’s gaze anyway, eyes tracking across the booths to where Elaine and Rhonda were flanking Patty, animated and bright, pulling her toward another stand like gravity worked differently around her. “They look like they’re having fun over there too.”

Lilly didn’t answer right away.

She watched them instead. Patty in the middle of it, laughing at something Elaine said, posture relaxed in a way Lilly rarely got to see up close. The lights caught in her hair when she moved, familiar and distant all at once. The feeling that rose up in Lilly’s chest surprised her with its weight—not sharp, not painful, just aching and quiet.

She wanted to be over there.

Not just for a moment. Not just to pass by. She wanted the whole night—the closeness, the way Patty’s attention settled when she chose you, the sense of belonging that came with standing at her side. The realization landed softly and stayed.

Patty looked up then.

Their eyes met across the space between booths and bodies and noise. For half a second, the fair seemed to dim around them, like everything else had stepped back.

Lilly looked away first.

She shifted her weight, muttered something about finding the others, and stepped back toward Ronnie and Will without another glance. Patty watched her go, something unreadable flickering across her face before Elaine tugged her attention elsewhere.

Not long after, Elaine appeared in front of them like a burst of energy given form.

“Okay,” she said, clapping her hands once. “Group decision. We are all going to the House of Horrors.”

“Yes!” Rhonda added immediately. “It’s tradition.”

Ronnie scoffed. “That is for, like, twelve-year-olds.”

Will’s face betrayed him a second too late. “It’s not scary,” he said quickly. “I just—don’t like jump scares.”

Rich hummed, rocking back on his heels. “I mean. I’m curious. But also I don’t wanna look stupid.”

Marge, to everyone’s surprise, nodded. “I wanna go,” she said, eyes bright. “It looks cool.”

All of it blurred a little for Lilly. The voices. The opinions. She wasn’t really listening anymore. She was watching Patty instead, waiting. When Patty’s gaze finally found hers again, Lilly didn’t look away this time.

“Yeah,” Patty said at last, decisive as ever. “We’ll go.”

Elaine beamed. “See? Patty gets it.”

“And,” Patty added, like she’d just thought of it, “I’ll pay. For everyone.”

That got their attention.

Ronnie blinked. “You don’t have to—”

“I know,” Patty said smoothly. “But I will. And after,” she continued, already turning toward the ticket booth, “I’m buying everyone cotton candy. Or funnel cake. Or whatever the hell you want.”

Elaine let out a delighted scream. “I love you.”

Patty smirked, chin lifting slightly as the group started moving again. Lilly watched her for a second longer than necessary, the bear tucked close, the longing still there but warmer now.

For tonight, that might be enough too.

The House of Horrors loomed at the far end of the midway, its painted mouth stretched wide in a grin that promised more than it could probably deliver. Fog curled out from beneath the plywood steps, thick and theatrical, and a recorded scream looped on a delay that made it feel older than it was.

They queued up together, close enough that shoulders brushed, the group compressing into instinctive clusters as the line crept forward.

Elaine clutched Rhonda’s sleeve. “I hate this already.”

“You literally suggested it,” Rhonda said, though her voice was higher than usual.

Patty stood a step ahead of them, arms folded, expression composed in a way that fooled exactly no one. Lilly noticed the way her foot tapped once against the planks, the smallest tell.

Inside, the door slammed shut behind them with a practiced bang, cutting the fair noise off all at once. Darkness rushed in, thick and immediate, broken only by the flicker of red bulbs overhead. Something groaned from the walls. Something else laughed.

They moved forward.

At first, they stayed together—too close, really—hands grazing sleeves, someone muttering under their breath every time a shadow twitched. Then a masked figure lunged out from behind a false wall, chains rattling loud enough to shake the air.

Elaine screamed and bolted left.

Rhonda followed, shrieking her name.

“Elaine—wait!” someone yelled, but they were already gone, footsteps slapping against the floor as the path forked without warning.

“Great,” Patty muttered.

Another jump scare—this one a costumed ghoul dropping from above—sent the group scattering again. In the chaos, Rich felt himself get pushed sideways, catching sight of Marge just ahead of him, eyes wide but bright.

“Marge,” he called, quickening his pace. “Hey—stick with me.”

She nodded, breathless, clearly thrilled and terrified in equal measure. A strobe light flashed, illuminating her grin for half a second before plunging them back into darkness. Rich stayed close after that, one hand hovering near her elbow like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch. When another actor leapt out, she gasped and laughed at the same time, grabbing his sleeve.

“Okay,” she said, breathless. “Okay, that got me.”

He smiled, heart racing for reasons that had nothing to do with the scares. “You’re doing great.”

Elsewhere, Ronnie had decided fear was optional.

A monster in a cracked mask jumped into their path, arms flailing. Ronnie stepped forward instinctively, fists half-raised. “Oh, come on—”

“Ronnie,” Will hissed, grabbing her wrist and yanking her back just in time as the actor recoiled, startled. “You cannot fight the actors.”

“They started it,” she argued, but she let him pull her along anyway. Another figure appeared, dragging a prop axe along the wall. Ronnie cracked her knuckles. Will tightened his grip.

“No,” he said firmly. “We are not getting banned.”

She sighed dramatically but stuck close to him after that, muttering threats under her breath while Will steered them through turns with single-minded focus.

Patty, Lilly, and Matty ended up together almost by accident.

One moment they were surrounded by noise and bodies, the next the corridor narrowed, the path funneling them forward while the others disappeared into branching shadows. A door slammed somewhere behind them. The lights dimmed again.

Matty cleared his throat. “So. This is… fine.”

Patty glanced around, annoyed more than frightened. “They really overdo the fog.”

Lilly said nothing.

They walked in uneasy silence, Matty a half-step ahead like he was trying to be useful, Patty behind him, posture stiff, and Lilly trailing just enough to feel the distance. Every so often a figure jumped out, close enough to make Matty flinch and Patty hiss a sharp breath through her teeth. Lilly barely reacted, her attention caught somewhere else entirely.

They didn’t mix well like this. Not in a narrow hallway, not without the buffer of other voices. Patty’s composure felt louder in the dark. Lilly’s quiet pressed in on itself.

A clown lunged from the side, face painted in something too white, too stretched. Matty yelped and stumbled back, colliding with Patty, who caught herself on the wall with a muttered curse.

“Sorry—sorry,” Matty said quickly.

“It’s fine,” Patty replied, though her jaw was tight.

Lilly watched them from a step back, the blue bear tucked under her arm suddenly feeling childish and heavy. The air felt different here—thicker, crowded with things unsaid. She wondered, briefly, if this was what she’d been afraid of all along. 

Ahead, the corridor bent again, shadows swallowing the path as another scream echoed through the walls—someone else’s, somewhere else. The house creaked around them, delighted with the way it had pulled them apart.

And for the first time that night, being close didn’t feel the same as being together.

Patty hated how aware she was of the space between them.

The House of Horrors pressed in from all sides—walls too close, lights too low, the air damp with fog and something metallic—but it was the distance from Lilly that bothered her most. They were walking in the same direction, breathing the same recycled air, yet it felt like they were separated by something thicker than darkness.

They hadn’t talked. Not really. Not since they’d stepped inside.

Matty filled the silence when it stretched too far, reacting a beat too loudly to every shadow, every sound cue. Patty let him. It gave her something else to focus on besides the fact that Lilly was right there, quiet as ever, presence heavy in a way that tugged at her ribs.

No one knew.

That was the part that kept circling back.

Elaine and Rhonda didn’t know Lilly had been the one to invite her in the first place. They thought it was Marge’s idea, a casual extension of tonight, something that didn’t mean anything. And Marge—sweet, observant Marge—hadn’t corrected them. Maybe she didn’t think it mattered. Maybe she’d sensed it wasn’t her place.

And Lilly hadn’t said anything either.

Outside of that one moment—Patty stepping in, standing her ground when it counted—there was nothing anyone could point to and say, this is what they are. No label and no proof. Just looks held too long and silences that said too much.

Patty was mid-step when a hand shot out of the wall.

She startled hard, a sharp sound tearing out of her before she could stop it. The grip caught her wrist, sudden and cold, and her body reacted before her mind could catch up—

Lilly pulled her in.

It was instinctive. Immediate. One second Patty was being yanked sideways, the next she was pressed back against Lilly’s chest, Lilly’s arm tight around her shoulders, the other hand already batting the actor away with more force than necessary.

“Hey—” someone protested from behind the mask, but Lilly didn’t hear it.

Patty’s heart was pounding so loud it drowned out everything else. Her breath caught halfway, her hands instinctively fisting into the fabric of Lilly’s jacket before she realized what she was doing.

They froze like that.

Too close.

Too aware.

The fog curled around them, lights flashing just enough to illuminate the way Lilly’s chin hovered near Patty’s temple, the way Patty’s head fit there without effort. It felt wrong and right in the same breath.

Matty stared.

“Oh,” he said, dumbly. “Uh.”

Patty pulled back first, heat rushing to her face as she straightened and cleared her throat, composure snapping back into place like armor. “I'm fine,” she said quickly. “Just startled.”

Lilly loosened her grip but didn’t step away right away. “You okay?” she asked, voice low.

Patty nodded. “Yeah.”

They resumed walking, the moment trailing behind them like a ghost that refused to be shaken.

The exit sign flickered ahead, green and too bright, and with it came the slow return of noise—voices, laughter, the sound of the fair bleeding back in. Matty fell into step beside Lilly, glancing between them like he was trying to piece together something he’d missed.

“What was that?” he asked, casual but not convincing.

Lilly didn’t look at him. “What was what?”

“That,” Matty said, gesturing vaguely behind them. “Earlier.”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I got scared too.”

She said it easily. Too easily.

Matty frowned, clearly unconvinced, but Lilly had already moved ahead, leaving him blinking in her wake. His gaze lingered—not on Lilly, but on Patty.

Patty felt it. Didn’t look back.

The exit doors opened, spilling them into light and noise and the illusion of space. Patty stepped out last, lungs filling properly for the first time in minutes.

She told herself it didn’t mean anything.

But her heart hadn’t slowed yet.

And somewhere behind her, Matty was still watching. Trying to make sense of who Patty Stanton was to Lilly.

Chapter Text

It had been Marge’s idea.

They were drifting between booths, sticky-fingered and loud, when she tipped her head back and squinted toward the far end of the midway. The Ferris wheel loomed above everything else, all white spokes and blinking bulbs, turning slow and steady like it wasn’t in any rush to get anywhere.

“We should do that,” Marge said, like she was offering a casual suggestion and not a challenge.

Everyone reacted at once.

“Yes,” Ronnie said immediately.

“Obviously,” Elaine added.

“That’s kind of the whole point of coming here,” Rhonda said, already turning.

Will laughed. “I knew this was coming.”

The group surged forward in a loose wave of agreement, energy lifting all at once. Someone grabbed someone else’s wrist. Someone else complained about heights and got ignored. It was loud and easy and very them.

Lilly followed a step behind—and then slowed.

Patty wasn’t with them.

She’d lagged near one of the game booths, crouched down now, shoulders bent low as she spoke to a little girl clutching a stuffed bear that was almost as big as her torso. The girl’s face was blotchy with tears, cheeks sticky, eyes red like she’d been crying for a while. Patty listened the way she always did—head tilted, attention complete, like nothing else existed.

Lilly watched from a few feet away.

The girl sniffed and said something Lilly couldn’t hear. Patty smiled, soft and crooked, then reached out and gently pressed the bear into the girl’s arms. The girl’s hands tightened around it immediately, relief visible even from a distance.

“Are you sure?” the kid asked, voice small.

Patty nodded. “Yeah. It’s better with you.”

The girl’s face crumpled again, this time in a smile. She hugged the bear hard, then ran back toward her parents, looking over her shoulder once like she couldn’t quite believe it.

Lilly stepped closer then.

Patty straightened, brushing her hands on her jeans like she was wiping something away. Lilly glanced at the empty space where the bear had been tucked under Patty’s arm earlier.

“You gave it away,” Lilly said, not accusing. Just curious.

Patty shrugged, easy. “It wouldn’t have a place in my room,” she said. Then, after a beat, quieter, “She still has time to fill her bed with stuffed animals.”

Something warm settled low in Lilly’s chest.

Ahead of them, the others were already calling Patty’s name, the Ferris wheel lights flashing in impatient bursts. Patty turned and jogged to catch up, slipping back into the group like she’d never stepped out of it at all.

Lilly followed, smiling to herself, watching Patty’s back as she walked a little ahead—unaware, or pretending not to be, of the way Lilly’s attention stayed fixed on her.

The Ferris wheel rose at the far end of the midway, all white spokes and blinking bulbs, turning slow and patient like it had nowhere else to be. The line in front of it had started to knot and loosen in uneven bursts as groups argued quietly about who was riding with who.

“Obviously we’re going with Patty,” Elaine said, already gripping her arm like a claim had been staked.

Rhonda nodded hard. “Yeah. That’s not even a question.”

Patty stopped short. “Why is that obvious.”

“Because,” Elaine said, like she was explaining something to a child, “we’re us.”

“And because,” Rhonda added, lowering her voice dramatically, “you’ve been gone for a week and we didn’t almost die in a haunted house just to sit apart.”

Patty stared at the wheel, then at the height, then back at them. Her mouth flattened. “I don’t like heights.”

Both of them blinked.

Elaine laughed. “Since when?”

“Since always,” Patty said. “I just usually don’t have to look straight down while suspended in the air.”

Behind them, the group was already rearranging itself without waiting.

Will and Ronnie drifted toward one car, Ronnie talking animatedly with her hands while Will listened, resigned but smiling. Rich and Marge stood a little apart, close enough that their shoulders brushed every so often, both pretending not to notice. Matty hovered near the rail, indecisive, eyes flicking between the line and Lilly.

Lilly wasn’t looking at him.

She was looking at Patty.

Patty felt it before she saw it, that quiet weight again, and she exhaled through her nose. “You two should go,” she said suddenly, nudging Elaine’s shoulder. “Together.”

Rhonda frowned. “What?”

“I’m serious,” Patty said. “I’ll—I’ll stay down here.”

Elaine squinted at her. “Are you lying.”

“No,” Patty said, then corrected, “Okay, maybe a little. But I really don’t want to.”

There was a beat. Then Rhonda’s face softened, guilt creeping in. “Patty…”

“Go,” Patty insisted, pushing them both gently but firmly toward the loading gate. “I’ll get funnel cake or something. This is not a bonding experience for me.”

Elaine hesitated just long enough to feel dramatic about it, then sighed. “Fine. But you owe us.”

“I always do.”

As they were ushered forward, Matty finally stepped closer, hands in his pockets. “Hey, um,” he said to Lilly. “Do you want to ride? With me, I mean.”

Lilly barely registered the question. Her eyes were still on Patty, who had turned slightly away, arms crossed like she’d already decided this part of the night was over.

“I think I’ll stay down here,” she said gently. “But thanks.”

Matty nodded, relieved she hadn’t made it weird. “Yeah. Okay.” He nodded, then looked past her as the operator waved people forward again. Ronnie shot him a look from her car and shrugged, unapologetic, before climbing in with Will.

The line thinned fast.

Too fast.

The Ferris wheel slowed, one car unloading, another swinging gently into place. The operator called out, “Last few riders!”

Matty hesitated too long. Someone slipped in ahead of him—a girl he didn’t know, already laughing as she climbed into the seat. By the time he realized, the gate was closing.

He glanced back once, uncertain, then followed the operator’s gesture and climbed into the next car with her as it rolled forward.

And then it was just Patty and Lilly standing there.

The wheel creaked, waiting.

“Guess that’s everyone,” Patty said, already stepping back from the platform.

The operator looked at them. “You two riding or not?”

“No,” Patty said immediately.

“Yes,” Lilly said at the exact same time.

Patty turned. “What.”

Before she could take another step, Lilly’s hand closed around her wrist.

“Lilly,” Patty said, warning already there.

The operator sighed. “Last call.”

Lilly pulled.

Patty stumbled forward, shoes scraping against the metal edge as she was dragged into the car just as the gate swung shut behind them. The door latched with a final, unforgiving click.

The car lurched.

Patty’s breath left her all at once. “You’re insane,” she said, gripping the side so hard her knuckles went white.

Lilly laughed—actually laughed—bright and uncontained, like she’d surprised herself too. “You were going to chicken out.”

“I was making a responsible decision,” Patty snapped, as the car lifted off the ground.

The platform dropped away beneath them.

Patty made a sound she would later deny having made and immediately grabbed onto Lilly’s sleeve, then her arm, then fully latched on as the height registered all at once. The fair stretched out below them, lights blurring, people shrinking into noise.

“Don’t look down,” Lilly said, still smiling but softer now.

“I am looking at nothing else,” Patty said, eyes screwed shut, forehead nearly pressed to Lilly’s shoulder.

The wheel climbed higher, slow and inevitable. Patty’s grip tightened. Lilly shifted instinctively, steadying them both, letting Patty cling without comment.

“You’re okay,” Lilly said quietly. “I’ve got you.”

Patty swallowed, heart racing, breath uneven. She didn’t let go.

And as the Ferris wheel carried them up into the blinking dark, the fair felt very far away, and for once, Patty didn’t try to pretend she wasn’t scared.

The car climbed in its slow, stubborn rhythm, metal joints groaning softly as if even the Ferris wheel had opinions about taking its time. Patty kept her eyes shut longer than necessary, forehead still angled toward Lilly’s shoulder, until the sway evened out and the panic dulled into something manageable.

“You can open your eyes,” Lilly said after a moment, voice gentle, almost coaxing. “We’re not falling.”

“That’s exactly what someone would say if we were,” Patty muttered, but she loosened her grip just enough to peek.

The fair had stretched out beneath them, smaller now, tidier somehow. Booths glowed in uneven rows. People were dots of motion and sound instead of something that could bump into you or look too closely. Beyond it all, the town spread outward, roofs and streets fading into darker shapes.

Lilly leaned forward slightly, careful not to jostle the car. “You can see all of Derry from here,” she said, a little awed. “I didn’t think it’d be this clear.”

Patty followed her gaze without meaning to. Her shoulders dropped. Her breath slowed. “Huh,” she said. “You really can.”

Lilly smiled to herself, eyes still on the view, like she was trying to memorize it. Patty watched her instead. The way the lights caught in her hair. The way her face softened when she wasn’t thinking about what came next.

She didn’t notice her own hand lifting until it was already there.

Her fingers brushed Lilly’s hair, gentle and unsure, tucking a loose strand behind her ear. It was automatic, thoughtless in the way only honest things ever were.

Lilly froze.

Patty realized what she’d done all at once. Her hand snapped back like she’d been burned. “Sorry,” she said quickly, too quickly. “I—there was just—your hair was—”

“It’s fine,” Lilly said, though her ears had gone pink. She didn’t look away. “I didn’t… mind.”

There was a small, fragile pause. The kind that could tip either way if you breathed wrong.

Patty cleared her throat and stared back out at the town. “So,” she said, casual forced into place. “How was school today?”

Lilly blinked, then laughed softly. “You really just did that.”

“Did what.”

“That,” Lilly said, gesturing vaguely between them, then answering anyway. “It was… fine. Loud. Everyone’s acting like nothing happened, which is somehow worse.”

“Mm,” Patty hummed. “That tracks.”

“I’ll be back next week,” Patty added, still not looking at her. “Full schedule.”

“Oh,” Lilly said. Then, after a beat, “Do you already have the notes?”

She glanced over, already assuming the answer. “Rhonda and Elaine probably buried you in them.”

Patty smiled, small and private. “No.”

Lilly frowned. “Really?”

“Nope,” Patty said easily. “Didn’t get any.”

That was a lie. She knew it. Lilly knew it. But Lilly didn’t call her on it.

“Oh,” Lilly said again, softer this time. “Well. You can borrow mine if you want.”

“Yeah?” Patty asked, finally turning back. “You sure?”

Lilly nodded. “Of course.”

“Cool,” Patty said, like it didn’t matter. Like her fingers weren’t curling slightly at the thought of it. “I’ll… return them. Eventually.”

The car reached the top, pausing there, suspended between ground and sky. Below them, the fair glittered. Around them, the night hummed quietly, holding still just long enough to let the moment breathe.

Patty leaned back into her seat, close enough that their shoulders touched again.

She didn’t move away this time.

The Ferris wheel crested, paused, then began its slow descent, the car rocking just enough to remind Patty they were still very much up in the air. The lights below shifted, shadows stretching and folding over one another as the angle changed.

Patty watched them for a second, then spoke like the question had been sitting on her tongue the whole time. She turned slightly in her seat, studying Lilly. “You didn’t ride with Matty because of me, did you?”

Lilly blinked, fingers tightening around her sleeve. Her voice wavered. “I… I—”

“You were the only one who invited me tonight,” Patty said softly, leaning just enough to meet her eyes. “So you feel responsible. You didn’t want to leave me alone.”

Lilly went quiet, eyes flicking to the glass as the Ferris wheel carried them higher, reflecting the fair’s scattered lights. Her hands clutched the edge of the seat, knuckles white.

Patty let out a slow, soft sigh. “It’s fine, though. Rhonda and Elaine are—”

“I wanted to end this night with you,” Lilly interrupted, her voice barely above the hum of the ride, tremulous but firm. “Just you. Alone. With me.”

Patty froze mid-sigh, caught off guard. Her eyes widened slightly, breath hitching, the words landing between them like something tangible, almost dizzying.

The wheel groaned as it rotated, the fair below a blur of lights and movement, but for a suspended heartbeat, it was just the two of them, quiet and unbroken, the space between them suddenly charged with something neither of them had said before.

Patty’s hands twitched at her sides, unsure if she should move or stay still. She swallowed, eyes locking with Lilly’s, a soft warmth creeping into her chest.

Patty blinked, her gaze drifting lower for a fraction of a second—just long enough to linger on Lilly’s lips. The memory hit her like a jolt: a few nights ago in her room, the quiet closeness, the almost-touch, the heat of a near-kiss that had left her breathless and unsteady.

Her eyes snapped back to Lilly’s face, and suddenly the Ferris wheel felt smaller, tighter, like the world had shrunk around them. Her chest tightened in a way that made her knees feel weaker than they should.

“Why… do you want to be with me?” she asked, voice low, fragile even, words spilling out before she could filter them.

Lilly’s eyes widened, caught off guard. Her hands fidgeted again, tugging slightly at the cuff of her sleeve. For a heartbeat, she didn’t answer. Then, in a voice that was soft but steady, almost trembling with something raw, she said,

“Because… I’ve never felt like this with anyone. Not like this. And with you, it’s… simple, even when it’s not. Even when the world’s loud, or scary, or complicated—I want this. I want you. Here. Now.”

Patty’s chest tightened so sharply she felt like she might faint. The words sank in, deep and undeniable, a mix of awe and something electric. Her hands instinctively curled around the edge of the seat as if bracing herself, breath hitching.

“I—” she started, then faltered, her throat tightening. Her head tilted slightly toward Lilly’s, drawn by something she didn’t even try to name, feeling as though her whole body was betraying her composure.

Lilly’s gaze softened, unwavering, and the quiet intensity of her presence pressed in around Patty like gravity.

The ride carried them slowly higher, spinning gently, but for Patty, the only thing in motion was the quickening of her heart—and the undeniable pull toward the girl beside her.

Lilly slowly rose from her seat, the soft sway of the Ferris wheel carrying her movements with an almost ethereal grace. Patty instinctively lifted her head, eyes meeting Lilly’s as the space between them seemed to shrink until it was almost nonexistent.

Without a word, Lilly leaned down, and her lips brushed lightly against Patty’s forehead—so sweet, so fragile, it was like a whisper of wind. Patty felt herself dissolve in that instant, as if the world had shifted entirely, as if she had been transported to some celestial dimension where only the two of them existed.

If God did exist, then Lilly Bainbridge was the angel He had sent, here and now, to salvage her in ways she hadn’t realized she needed. Lilly’s hands cupped Patty’s face gently on both sides, thumbs brushing over her cheeks, eyes locked in a gaze so deep it made Patty’s heart stumble.

“Lilly…” Patty whispered, her voice barely audible, trembling with something fragile and alive.

And then the Ferris wheel car creaked, slowing with the soft inevitability of gravity, the world outside beginning to return—yet in that suspended moment, nothing else mattered.

For a split second longer, Lilly stayed there, hands still warm against Patty’s skin, like she hadn’t quite remembered how to move again. Then reality crept back in all at once. The clank of metal. The distant call of the operator. The slow, unmistakable pull of the car nearing the platform.

Lilly inhaled sharply and stepped back.

“Oh—” she murmured, color flooding her face as she shifted awkwardly, eyes dropping anywhere but Patty. She tucked her hands to her sides, shoulders drawing in, suddenly all elbows and nerves, like she’d done something she wasn’t sure she was allowed to do.

Patty watched her retreat for half a heartbeat.

Then, before Lilly could fully pull away, Patty’s hand came up, firm despite the way her fingers trembled. She caught Lilly’s face gently, anchoring her there, her other hand sliding to Lilly’s waist as she stayed seated. The contact stole the breath straight out of Lilly’s chest.

“Patty—” Lilly started, barely more than a whisper.

Patty leaned in and kissed the corner of Lilly’s mouth.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t demanding. Just a soft, deliberate press that lingered like she was memorizing the shape of it. When she pulled back, she didn’t let go. Instead, she traced slow, feather-light kisses along Lilly’s cheek, down toward her jaw, each one gentle enough to feel unreal.

Lilly stood there completely undone, heart hammering, every thought slipping clean out of reach.

The car jolted.

The Ferris wheel stopped.

Patty froze, then let go all at once, like she’d just realized what she’d done. She pressed a hand over her mouth, cheeks blazing, eyes wide with something that looked dangerously close to panic. Without looking back, she stood and stepped out the moment the door opened, practically bolting down the platform with her hand still covering her lips.

Lilly followed a second later, legs unsteady, palms coming up to cup her own burning cheeks like she might actually combust if she didn’t. She could still feel Patty’s hands. Still feel the warmth of those kisses.

The others were already unloading, laughter and chatter folding back in around them.

Ronnie was the first to notice.

She stopped short, eyebrows shooting up as her gaze flicked between Patty—now a few steps ahead, very pointedly not looking at anyone—and Lilly, who was very obviously red as hell.

“…Okay,” Ronnie said slowly, stepping closer to Lilly. “How did you two end up riding together.”

Before Lilly could answer, Will leaned in from the side, grinning. “Yeah, Bainbridge. You look like you just survived something life-altering.”

Rich snorted. “Or caused it.”

“I—” Lilly tried, then stopped, face heating even more. “It just… happened.”

Ronnie stared at her for a second longer, then laughed under her breath. “You’re glowing. Like. Physically.”

Matty, who’d been quiet until then, shifted his weight. He looked at Patty’s retreating back, then at Lilly, something resigned settling over his face.

“Isn’t it obvious?” he said, voice flat. “She wanted to ride with Stanton.”

The words landed heavier than Lilly expected.

Ronnie glanced at her again. Lilly swallowed and reached for the first excuse she could find. “I—I didn’t want to be alone. And she was—she was scared, so—”

Matty nodded once, like that confirmed something he already knew. “Right,” he said. Then he turned and walked off.

Rich cursed under his breath. “Damn it.” He and Will exchanged a look before jogging after him, calling his name.

Ronnie watched them go, then sighed. She turned back to Lilly, arms crossing loosely. “You should’ve just said you were buddy-buddy with Stanton now,” she said, not unkindly. “Here I was thinking this was temporary. Like, she helped you out and that was it. Guess I was wrong.”

She started to turn away.

“Ronnie,” Lilly said quickly.

Ronnie paused.

Lilly reached out and caught her hand, fingers curling tight like she was afraid she’d lose her nerve if she let go. “Please,” she said, voice quiet but steady. “Give her a chance.”

Ronnie studied her for a long moment. Then she smiled, soft and tired, and squeezed Lilly’s hand back.

“…I’ll try,” she said, letting out a small sigh.

And for the first time since stepping off the Ferris wheel, Lilly felt like she could breathe again.

Chapter Text

Patty woke before her alarm.

Not because she was anxious. Not exactly. It was the kind of waking that came from habit, from a body that already knew what day it was even before her mind caught up. She stared at the ceiling for a moment, counting the faint cracks in the paint, listening to the house breathe around her.

Then it landed.

The suspension was over.

The thought didn’t rush her. It settled, slow and heavy, like something she’d been carrying for a week and was being handed back without comment. She sat up, swung her legs over the side of the bed, and rubbed her face once with both hands.

Everything in her room was too orderly. Bed made. Clothes folded on the chair. Backpack by the door. She’d done that last night on purpose. Proof, maybe. To herself more than anyone else.

Downstairs, the kitchen lights were already on.

Her mother stood at the counter in her robe, hair pulled back loosely, humming under her breath as she poured coffee. The sound stopped when Patty stepped into the doorway.

“Morning,” her mother said, turning with a smile that was immediate and practiced and still, somehow, real.

“Morning,” Patty replied.

“Come eat,” she said gently. “You need something in your stomach.”

Patty obeyed. She always did. She sat at the table while her mother set a plate in front of her—toast, eggs, fruit arranged neatly like this was any other school day. Like nothing had been interrupted.

Her mother watched her for a second as Patty picked up her fork.

“So,” she said lightly, wrapping both hands around her mug. “Back to normal today.”

Patty nodded. “Yeah.”

“I’m glad,” her mother continued. “This week’s been… stressful. For both of us.” She smiled again, softer this time. “I hate worrying.”

Patty chewed. Swallowed. Said nothing.

Her mother reached out and brushed her thumb against Patty’s knuckles, affectionate, grounding. “I know you didn’t mean for things to get out of hand,” she said. “I know you’re not a bad kid.”

There it was. Wrapped in kindness.

“But,” she added, gently enough that it almost didn’t sound like a warning, “I can’t keep getting calls from the school. I can’t keep defending you like this. You’re old enough now to understand how these things look.”

“I do,” Patty said quietly.

“I know you do,” her mother said quickly, like she didn’t want Patty to think otherwise. “I just… want you to make it easier. For yourself. For me.” She leaned in and kissed Patty’s temple. “No more trouble, okay?”

Patty nodded again. Once. Firm.

“Okay.”

The drive to school was quiet but not uncomfortable. Her mother kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting in her lap, occasionally glancing over like she was checking that Patty was still there.

When they pulled up to the curb, the school looked exactly the same. Brick and glass. Too familiar.

Her mother parked, turned, and reached out to cup Patty’s cheek. “Have a good day,” she said. “Just… get through it.”

“I will.”

She kissed Patty’s forehead, lingering half a second longer than usual, then unlocked the doors.

Patty stepped out. Slung her backpack over her shoulder. She didn’t look back as the car pulled away.

She stood there for a moment, breathing, then turned toward the entrance.

Patty’s locker stuck on the first pull.

She tugged harder, metal rattling before it finally gave with a hollow clang. The sound echoed louder than it should have, drawing her attention back into her body. She crouched slightly, gathering the loose stack of notebooks she’d shoved in there before everything went sideways, fingers brushing over familiar covers like she was checking they were real.

A shadow fell beside her.

Then another.

“Look who decided to rejoin society,” Elaine said, grinning as she leaned her shoulder against the lockers like she owned the hallway.

Rhonda immediately crowded in from the other side. “God, finally. Do you know how boring it is without you?”

Marge hovered just behind them, smiling softer but just as relieved. “We saved your seat,” she added, like it was obvious. Like there had never been a question.

Patty huffed, something easing in her chest despite herself. “You act like I was gone for a year.”

“It felt like it,” Elaine said. “People were being weird.”

Rhonda snorted. “More than usual.”

Patty shoved her books into her bag and straightened, slinging the strap over her shoulder. “I’m fine,” she said automatically, even though no one had asked.

Elaine raised a brow. “We didn’t say you weren’t.”

As if on cue, a few heads turned down the hall. Whispers trailed, sharp and unfinished. Someone laughed too loudly. Patty felt the looks like static, prickling along her skin. She kept her face neutral. Kept breathing.

Then a body leaned in too close.

A boy planted his shoulder against the locker beside her, crowding her space like it was funny. His grin was lazy, mean around the edges.

“I’ll let you choke me, Stanton,” he said, voice pitched just loud enough to carry. “Free of charge.”

For half a second, Patty saw red. Her hands curled before she could stop them, heat flashing up her arms, the old instinct roaring awake.

Elaine moved first.

“Piss off, Tim,” she snapped, stepping squarely between them.

Marge followed, glaring like she was deciding where to bury the body. “That’s not cute.”

Rhonda didn’t bother with words. She just stared him down, unblinking, until his grin faltered.

Tim scoffed, backing away with his friends already snickering behind him. “Relax,” he said, holding up his hands. “Just joking.”

“Yeah,” Elaine shot back. “Jokes are usually funny.”

He laughed anyway as he retreated, louder than necessary, feeding off the attention before disappearing down the hall.

Patty let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Her jaw ached from how hard she’d been clenching it.

“You okay?” Marge asked quietly.

Patty nodded. “Yeah.”

Rhonda bumped her shoulder with hers. “He’s an idiot. Always has been.”

“Correction,” Elaine added. “Always will be.”

The bell rang, sharp and final.

“Come on,” Elaine said, already turning. “We’re gonna be late.”

They fell into step together, the hallway swallowing them up as they moved. The whispers didn’t stop, but they faded into background noise, less sharp now. Patty kept her eyes forward, flanked on both sides, her pace steady.

Class settled into its usual morning rhythm—half-listening bodies slumped in chairs, someone already asleep two rows over, quiet conversations whispered like secrets that didn’t matter. Patty sat back in her seat, one leg hooked around the chair rung, picking at the chipped polish on her nails until it flaked away in uneven crescents.

Her eyes kept drifting left.

Lilly sat a few rows ahead, back straight, hair falling neatly down her spine. Patty was aware of it—how often she looked, how long she lingered before forcing herself to stop. She told herself she was being subtle. She told herself it didn’t mean anything. She was, in some quiet way, grateful that Lilly never turned around.

The morning announcements washed over her in pieces. Attendance reminders. A fundraiser. Something about lost-and-found. None of it stuck.

Then Principal Dunleavy’s voice cut in, louder, ceremonial.

“Good morning, students. I’d like to take a moment to remind everyone that Junior Prom will be held—”

The room shifted instantly.

Heads lifted. Chairs scraped. Someone gasped like they’d been personally summoned.

“—two weeks from now,” Dunleavy continued, clearly pleased with the reaction.

The class erupted in low excitement. Whispers turned animated. Plans bloomed out loud—dresses, suits, dates, groups, after-parties. Patty felt it all happen around her like a wave she hadn’t decided whether to step into or let pass.

Her gaze went back to Lilly without permission.

Lilly stiffened almost imperceptibly, then turned in her seat—not back, but sideways. Toward Matty. Patty watched the exchange unfold in fragments: Matty leaning closer, saying something she couldn’t hear. Lilly’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. There was a flicker there, something uncertain, almost worried.

Patty’s chest gave a small, sharp twinge.

She looked away first.

Elaine tapped her shoulder hard enough to jolt her. “Did you hear that?” she whispered, eyes bright. “Prom. Two weeks. We’re doing something. Like, actually doing something.”

Patty forced a smile, nodding along. “Yeah. Yeah, totally.”

Rhonda leaned over from the other side. “We’re not letting you skip. I don’t care what excuse you come up with.”

Marge hummed in agreement. “You don’t get suspended and then disappear from prom. That’s illegal.”

Patty snorted softly, letting herself be carried by it. “Okay. Okay. I get it.”

She glanced forward once more, quick this time.

Lilly had turned back to the front, posture composed again, hands folded on her desk like nothing had happened. Like she hadn’t just looked unsettled. Like Patty hadn’t noticed.

The announcements wrapped up. The bell rang. Chairs shifted again as the day restarted.

Patty tucked her hands into her sleeves and stared at the board, her thoughts already two weeks ahead, her heart caught somewhere between anticipation and dread, and the quiet, unspoken question she wasn’t ready to ask yet. 

By the end of classes, the hallway had thinned into pockets of waiting students and echoing lockers. Patty stood just outside the main doors with Elaine, Rhonda, and Marge, backpack slung low, phone dark in her hand as she waited for her mom’s car to appear at the curb.

Elaine was mid-rant about a quiz when the air around them shifted.

Patty felt it before she saw them.

Tim and his friends drifted over like they owned the concrete, easy smiles, loud voices, the kind of confidence that came from never being told no in a way that stuck. Tim stopped a little too close, leaning back on his heels, eyes flicking over Patty in a way that made her shoulders tense.

“So,” he said, casual, like they were already familiar. “Guess you’re back for good, huh.”

“Looks like it,” Patty replied, neutral, polite by effort alone.

Tim grinned, encouraged. “For the record,” he added, lowering his voice just enough to feel intentional, “I like slightly violent girls.”

One of his friends snorted. Another laughed like it was the best line they’d heard all day.

Patty forced a tight smile, every instinct in her screaming to do the opposite. “That’s… great,” she said, stepping half a pace back. “I’m really just waiting for my ride.”

Tim didn’t take the hint. He moved with her, smooth as oil. “Yeah, well. Prom’s coming up. Thought maybe—”

“Stanton.”

The voice cut in sharp and unimpressed.

Everyone turned.

Ronnie stood a few feet away, backpack slung over one shoulder, expression flat in that way that meant she was already annoyed. Her gaze flicked once over Tim, then settled back on Patty.

“Dunleavy’s looking for you,” Ronnie said. No softness. No theatrics. Just fact. “Said to send you in if I saw you.”

Tim blinked. “You serious?”

Ronnie raised a brow. “Do I look like I joke about the principal?”

One of the boys scoffed. “Way to kill the mood, Grogan.”

Ronnie didn’t even look at him. She stepped closer to Patty instead, positioning herself just enough that it was clear whose side she was on. “Come on,” she said, already turning. “You don’t need to be out here listening to this.”

Patty felt the heat spike in her chest—anger, yes, but also something steadier underneath it. Relief.

She shot Tim one sharp look, the kind that promised consequences if he pushed it further, then followed Ronnie without another word.

Behind them, someone laughed awkwardly. Someone else muttered something under their breath. Patty didn’t care.

As they crossed back toward the building, the noise dulled, like the world had shifted a step farther away.

Ronnie slowed just enough to glance at her. “You good?”

Patty nodded once. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Ronnie shrugged, like it was nothing. “He’s an idiot,” she said. “Not worth your energy.”

The doors swung open, swallowing them back into the school. And for the first time since the bell rang, Patty felt like she wasn’t bracing for impact—just walking forward, backed by someone who didn’t ask questions first.

Patty let out a short laugh, shaking her head lightly. “Wow, you make it sound like I’m some kind of ticking time bomb,” she said, her tone playful but warm.

“Relax a little, Veronica.”

Ronnie smirked faintly, corners of her mouth twitching. “I’m Veronica only on paper,” she replied, her tone dry, but there was a flicker of amusement in her eyes. “Call me Ronnie. Makes it easier.”

Patty arched a brow, smiling wider now. “Then I guess you can call me Patty. Stanton’s getting a bit old,” she teased, slinging her backpack strap higher over her shoulder.

Ronnie gave a mock salute, still holding that serious edge. “Patty. Noted,” she said, letting the words land with understated weight.

Just then, a familiar car horn cut through the quiet. Patty turned to see her mom’s car pulling up, the engine humming, windows glinting in the late afternoon sun. She let out a small sigh of relief.

Holding her arm out for a handshake, Patty smiled. “Thanks again, Veronica—”

Ronnie interrupted with a slight roll of her eyes. “Call me Ronnie,” she reminded her, her lips quirking again.

Patty laughed, shaking her hand firmly. “Then you can call me Patty. Deal?”

Ronnie nodded, the faintest smile tugging at her mouth. “Deal.”

Patty waved as her mom rolled down the window, holding the door open. “See you around, Ronnie,” she said, hopping into the car, hair falling over her shoulder as she settled in. She gave a quick wave, playful and confident, then called back: “And watch yourself—I’ll hold you to that warning!”

Ronnie watched her go, hands still tucked in her hoodie pockets, the corner of her mouth lifted slightly as she muttered under her breath, “I’ll keep an eye on you, Stanton,” before turning back toward the building.

Patty’s mom pulled away, and the car merged with the flow of traffic. Patty leaned back in her seat, smiling to herself, feeling lighter somehow. She had people in her corner—Lilly, the girls, now even Ronnie—and for the first time since the suspension, she wasn’t just walking back into school. She was walking back into her world, on her own terms. 

Chapter Text

Lilly swung her locker open, sliding her books inside with practiced ease. The clatter of notebooks and folders filled the small space, and she balanced her backpack on one shoulder as she rifled for her planner. Her fingers lingered on the edges of the pages, straightening corners and checking the day’s schedule almost automatically.

That’s when she saw him—Matty, leaning against the lockers a few steps down, head tilted slightly as if lost in thought. She gave him a quick, casual nod, expecting the usual easy acknowledgment. But he barely lifted his eyes and only returned the faintest, almost reluctant nod.

A small crease formed between her brows. Something was off.

Closing her locker with a soft click, Lilly adjusted her backpack and moved toward him, her pace measured, steady. “Hey,” she called lightly as she caught up. “You should join us for lunch today. You’ve been disappearing during lunch lately.”

Matty straightened, glancing at her with a polite, practiced smile, but his eyes betrayed him—there was something in the way he held himself, cautious, guarded, as if standing too close to her made him uneasy.

“I—uh, thanks,” he said, voice careful. “I just… I’ve got some stuff to do.”

Lilly tilted her head slightly, not letting him brush her off. “Stuff?” she prompted, her tone soft but not insistent, curiosity threading through. “You don’t have to sit alone, you know. You’re part of the group—even if you’re trying to vanish like a ninja.”

Matty let out a small, almost nervous laugh, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He shifted his weight, glancing down the hall before meeting her gaze again. “I… I’m fine,” he said, carefully neutral. “Really.”

Lilly studied him for a moment, her expression gentle, patient. She could see the effort he was putting into keeping a polite distance, but she also knew that beneath the surface, there was something pulling at him—a hesitation she didn’t need to name out loud.

“Alright,” she said finally, letting her tone soften even more. “But… we’ll be waiting. No pressure. Just… don’t disappear too long, okay?”

Matty nodded again, the faintest flash of appreciation in his eyes, though his body still kept that careful space between them. Lilly smiled lightly and gave a little wave before heading down the hall to meet the others, feeling that quiet tug of worry—but also hope—that maybe, just maybe, he’d let them back in.

"I think he doesn't like Patty that much, thinks she doesn't deserve your kindness." 

Lilly’s breath caught slightly, a sharp little hitch that she tried to swallow down before it became noticeable. She pressed her lips together, her fingers tightening just a fraction around the edge of the tray.

“That… that’s what he really thinks?” she asked quietly, voice barely above a whisper, though both Will and Rich leaned in enough to catch it.

Rich shrugged, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, but there was no humor in his eyes this time—just honesty. “Pretty sure. I mean, I’ve seen it. He doesn’t say much, but you can tell when he’s uncomfortable. And whenever Patty’s around… well, it’s obvious.”

Will leaned back, exhaling slowly, glancing at her as if giving her a moment to process it. “He hasn’t said anything outright, obviously. He’s not the type. But yeah… you’re right about it. He’s not thrilled.”

Lilly’s stomach twisted in a way that was equal parts irritation and something she didn’t want to admit even to herself. Her eyes flicked briefly toward the center again, toward Patty—who was leaning casually against the table, laughing at some offhand joke, totally unaware—and she felt a rush of heat flare across her chest and ears.

“Of course he wouldn’t be,” Lilly muttered under her breath, a bitter laugh escaping. She clenched her jaw and swallowed, forcing her attention back to her tray. “Why does it even matter so much?” she added, more to herself than them, though Rich just raised a brow knowingly.

“You care,” Rich said simply, leaning back in his seat with a shrug that somehow carried all the weight of someone who already knew the answer.

Lilly froze, the words landing harder than she expected. She couldn’t deny it—didn’t want to—but she also didn’t want to look like she cared in front of Will or Rich. Not yet. Her gaze flicked back toward Patty again, and she felt that same tight coil in her chest—the pull, the awareness, the unsteady thrum of something she wasn’t ready to name.

“Yeah… maybe I do,” she admitted quietly, voice low, almost swallowed by the hum of the lunchroom.

Will and Rich exchanged a glance, neither saying anything, letting her digest it, letting the tension hang like it had weight. Lilly took a breath, trying to steady herself, though the sight of Patty laughing just a few tables away made her grip the edge of her tray a little tighter.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew this wasn’t just about lunch. Or Patty. Or even Matty. It was about how much she was willing to let herself feel—and how careful she had to be not to let those feelings show.

And for now… she wasn’t ready. Like a sharp cue. Lilly gathered her tray and followed Will and Rich toward the locker rooms, the chatter of students buzzing around them as they prepared for gym.

Inside the locker room, the air was a mix of deodorant, sneakers, and the faint tang of damp towels. Lilly slipped off her sweater, folding it carefully, then swung her gym shirt over her head, feeling a blush creep up her cheeks as her eyes flicked across the room.

Patty was there—leaning casually against a bench, arms crossed, watching her with an easy smile that made Lilly’s pulse skip. It was harmless, she told herself. But every glance, every tilt of Patty’s head, made her hyperaware of her own body, of how quickly her heart raced.

“Hey,” Lilly called quietly as she tied her hair up, glancing toward the doorway. “Where have you been? We didn’t see you at lunch.”

Ronnie stepped inside, backpack slung over one shoulder, expression calm and unreadable. “Had some stuff to take care of,” she said, shrugging lightly. “Nothing important. Just… errands.”

Lilly blinked, letting the question hang. “Errands, huh?” she said, tone teasing just enough to mask the curiosity. “Seems like you’ve got a lot going on.”

Ronnie smirked faintly. “You have no idea,” she replied, then glanced at Patty before looking back at Lilly. “Anyway, I’m here now. Don’t get too comfortable without me.”

Lilly forced herself to focus on tying her hair quickly, the heat in her ears refusing to fade as her eyes flicked across the room. She was about to sling her bag over her shoulder and head out when a hand gently grabbed her wrist.

She froze, glancing down. Marge stood there, her expression calm but serious, tugging lightly. “Don’t leave yet,” she said softly. “After this… I need to talk to you.”

Lilly blinked, caught off guard, then nodded. “Okay,” she whispered, letting Marge’s hand go as the last few students finished changing.

With a final glance toward Patty—whose eyes were still casually on her—Lilly followed Will, Rich, and the others out of the locker room. Ronnie fell into step beside her, quiet, her presence grounding in a strange way.

The sun spilled across the schoolyard as they stepped onto the court, the familiar stretch of asphalt and painted lines grounding her slightly.

Marge fell in step beside her, eyes steady. Lilly kept her gaze forward, though the coil of nerves in her chest reminded her that the conversation wasn’t far off.

The gym smelled of polished wood and sweat, the echoes of bouncing balls and sneakers squeaking across the floor reverberating off the walls. Lilly adjusted the straps of her gym shirt and glanced at her teammates, Will and Rich flanking her, Matty a step behind looking slightly unsure but game, and a few others scattered across their side of the court.

On the opposite side, Patty and Ronnie stood as throwers, their classmates lined up behind them—Elaine, Rhonda, Marge, and a small cluster of others. The whistle blew, sharp and piercing, and the first balls were hurled into the air with cheerful chaos.

Lilly ducked a fastball from Elaine, twisting just in time as Will yelped beside her, tripping over his own feet in a failed attempt to dodge. Matty fumbled backward, arms flailing, narrowly avoiding a direct hit from one of Rhonda’s throws. Rich, trying to be strategic, tripped over a stray ball and fell flat, groaning dramatically as Lilly bit back a laugh.

“This is… ridiculous,” Lilly called over the din, ducking another throw, her legs pumping fast. “Are we even allowed to fall this much?”

Will groaned from where he’d sprawled on the floor. “I think not! And yet somehow—” he threw a ball upward, only to watch it bounce off the gym wall and hit him squarely in the back.

Matty groaned, hiding behind Lilly as if she could shield him from the storm. “I didn’t sign up for this,” he muttered, voice muffled.

“You’re doing fine!” Lilly called, though her words were partially drowned out by the chaos. She caught a glimpse of Patty and Ronnie across the court. Ronnie’s throws were precise and fast, each one finding its target with unerring accuracy. Patty, on the other hand, moved like she owned the court, laughing as she aimed, sidestepped, and taunted with a casual smirk.

Then one of Patty’s teammates—a boy with a competitive streak and a mean glint in his eye—tossed a ball fast, high, and straight toward Lilly. Lilly’s heart skipped a beat. She barely had time to react, but a flicker of recognition passed through her: she knew where Patty would be in the next second.

Patty launched herself forward just as the ball was about to make contact with Lilly. She went down hard, sprawling across the floor as if caught completely by surprise, arms splayed, and let out a dramatic grunt. “Ah! What the—” she cried, glancing at the boy who threw it. “Seriously, Ryan? Watch where you’re aiming!”

Lilly froze, stomach tight, cheeks burning. She bent slightly to check on Patty, but Patty rolled her eyes and rubbed her side, exaggerating the impact. “I’m fine!” she snapped, her tone half-irritated, half-playful,

“Just—don’t do that again!”

Coach came running over, concern on his face. “Stanton! Are you okay?” he asked, crouching beside her.

Patty shot a glare at Ryan, then back at Lilly, letting her get a quick, subtle nod of reassurance—an unspoken “I’ve got you” behind her staged irritation. “I’m fine,” she said again, voice laced with mock annoyance. “Totally fine. Just… a little bruise. Accident, obviously. Didn’t mean to get in the way of anyone.”

Lilly exhaled slowly, heart still thudding, cheeks warm. Patty’s whole performance was flawless—everyone else thought it was an accident, but Lilly knew. She caught Patty’s brief, almost imperceptible glance, the one that said everything without a word.

Patty pushed herself up, brushing off her gym shorts and huffing dramatically. “Alright,” she said, shaking her head, “let’s go. Game’s not over.” She jogged back into position as if nothing had happened, leaving Lilly behind with a mix of relief and something hotter, more aware than ever, curling in her chest.

The game roared on, laughter, shouts, and squeaking sneakers filling the gym. Will and Rich flailed around in comic disaster, Matty stumbled in exaggerated panic, and Lilly, despite herself, found herself laughing along—her pulse racing not just from the game, but from knowing that Patty had been watching her, protecting her, even if no one else could ever tell.

Students groaned and laughed as they shuffled toward the sidelines, the chaotic energy slowly dissolving into post-game chatter.

Lilly wiped at her forehead with the back of her sleeve, still catching her breath. Across the court, Patty was arguing animatedly with Ryan again—clearly milking the “watch where you’re aiming” bit for all it was worth. A few kids laughed. Coach shook his head, already moving on.

“Lilly.”

She turned.

Marge stood a few feet away, arms crossed tightly over her chest, expression sharp. 

They drifted toward the far side of the gym, near the folded bleachers where the noise faded just enough to talk without being overheard.

The second they stopped, Marge blurted, “What the heck was that?”

Lilly blinked, still a little flushed from the game. “What are you talking about?” she asked evenly, almost too evenly, her hands folding behind her back like a kid waiting outside the principal’s office.

Marge stared at her.

“That,” she said again, gesturing vaguely toward the court. “Patty and you. What the hell is going on with you two?”

Lilly paused.

She genuinely didn’t know which part Marge meant. The dodgeball dive? The look? The way Patty’s eyes tracked her every time she moved?

She chose the safest answer.

“I’m civil with her, Marge,” Lilly said carefully. “I try to be.”

Marge’s jaw tightened. “Civil? Lilly, don’t do that. Don’t pretend I’m blind.”

“I’m not pretending anything.”

“Yes, you are.” Marge stepped closer, lowering her voice. “There is obviously something going on between you two. And don’t say ‘nothing’ because I’ve seen the way she looks at you. And the way you look at her.”

Lilly felt her pulse spike, but she kept her face neutral. “We’re just… getting along better.”

“Getting along?” Marge let out a short, disbelieving breath. “She literally threw herself in front of a dodgeball.”

“It was an accident.”

“Oh please.”

Lilly’s composure cracked just slightly at that.

“It was,” she insisted, but the words didn’t carry conviction.

Marge’s eyes narrowed. “You knew.”

That one landed.

Lilly’s silence stretched just a fraction too long.

“You knew,” Marge repeated, softer now—but more certain.

Lilly looked down at the polished gym floor, watching a scuff mark under her sneaker. Her shoulders loosened just a little.

“I didn’t ask her to,” she said quietly.

“I didn’t say you did.”

Another pause.

The noise of the gym swelled behind them—lockers slamming, sneakers squeaking, someone laughing too loudly.

Marge stepped closer. “Lilly.”

Lilly exhaled slowly through her nose.

“She’s just…” She searched for something neutral, something safe. “She’s been different lately.”

“Different how?”

Lilly hesitated.

“She’s… attentive,” she admitted. “And annoyingly confident about it.”

Marge blinked. “Confident?”

“She just—” Lilly huffed out a small, almost helpless laugh. “She stands too close. And she looks at me like she knows something I don’t. And she says things that sound casual but aren’t. And then she pretends none of it matters.”

Marge’s irritation flickered into something more curious.

“And you don’t hate it.”

It wasn’t a question.

Lilly’s ears warmed instantly.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Lilly sighed, rubbing her hands together nervously now. The polished calm she’d been clinging to started to slip.

“Patty has been quite the charm for me these days,” she said finally, the words coming out softer than she meant them to.

Marge froze.

Lilly kept going, as if once the door cracked open she couldn’t quite close it again.

“She’s… she’s frustrating and loud and impossible half the time,” Lilly said, a faint smile tugging at her mouth despite herself. “But then she’ll notice something small. Like when I’m overwhelmed. Or when I’m about to get hit by a dodgeball.” She glanced up briefly. “She doesn’t make a big deal out of it. She just… steps in.”

Marge’s expression shifted, surprise slowly replacing irritation.

“And she challenges me,” Lilly continued, voice steadier now. “She doesn’t treat me like I’m fragile. Or like I need to be handled carefully. She just—expects me to keep up. And I like that.”

Her cheeks were undeniably pink now.

“She’s ridiculous,” Lilly added quickly, as if that might balance it out. “And she gets under my skin. But lately…” She swallowed. “Lately, when she walks into a room, I notice. And when she’s not there, I notice that too.”

Marge stared at her.

Lilly finally looked up—and immediately wished she hadn’t, because Marge’s eyes were wide.

“Oh my god,” Marge breathed.

Lilly’s stomach dropped.

“You like Patty!” Marge repeated, her voice dropping into a harsh whisper. “Do you realize what this means?”

Lilly’s fingers curled slightly at her sides. “Marge—”

“No, listen to me.” Marge ran a hand through her hair, agitation clear now. “You’re going to be the school’s laughingstock for liking a girl. And not just any girl—Patty. Patty Stanton. She’s basically the master of rumors. If this goes wrong, Lilly, it won’t just go wrong quietly.”

The words hit harder than Lilly expected.

She straightened a little, chin lifting instinctively. “It’s not like I’m going to confess to her,” she said, trying to keep her voice calm. “And besides… I don’t think Patty would do something that cruel.”

Marge stared at her like she’d just said something outrageous.

“She’s Patty Stanton, for God’s sake,” Marge shot back. “You think she doesn’t know exactly what she’s doing? She flirts. She pushes. She makes people feel special. That’s her thing. And then she gets bored.”

“That’s not fair,” Lilly replied quickly, though her confidence wavered just a fraction. “She’s not—she’s not heartless.”

“She doesn’t have to be heartless to hurt you.”

That one lingered.

Marge stepped closer again, lowering her voice even further. “You think she won’t tell Ronnie? Or someone else? And then it spreads. And suddenly it’s a joke. And you’re the punchline.”

Lilly’s jaw tightened. “You don’t know that.”

“And you don’t know that she won’t.”

Silence settled between them, heavier this time.

Across the gym, Patty’s laugh rang out—bright, effortless, completely unaware of the conversation happening in her name.

Lilly’s chest tightened at the sound.

“She’s not playing with me,” Lilly said, softer now. Not defensive. Just… hopeful.

Marge’s expression shifted—not angry, not mocking. Worried.

“You don’t know that,” she repeated, but this time it sounded less like an argument and more like fear.

Lilly swallowed.

“She wouldn’t throw herself in front of a dodgeball just to start a rumor,” she murmured.

Marge crossed her arms again. “Or maybe she would. For the drama. For the attention. That’s what she thrives on.”

“That’s not why she did it.”

“You’re sure about that?”

Lilly opened her mouth.

Nothing came out.

Because she wasn’t completely sure.

Marge noticed.

“That’s what scares me,” Marge said quietly. “You’re already defending her.”

The noise in the gym swelled again as students started heading toward the exits. Coach blew another whistle, signaling them to clear out.

Marge stepped back, shoulders stiff.

“I’m not trying to be mean,” she said, more composed now. “I’m trying to protect you.”

Lilly’s eyes flicked up.

“You think I haven’t noticed the way people look at you?” Marge continued. “You’re careful. You’ve always been careful. And now you’re slipping. For her.”

Lilly’s throat felt tight.

“I just don’t want you to confuse attention with affection,” Marge finished. “Because Patty is very good at attention.”

That one landed deeper than the rest.

Marge grabbed her gym bag and started to walk away, then paused, glancing back over her shoulder.

“Just ask yourself this, Lilly,” she said, voice quieter but firm. “If she really likes you… would she keep it private? Or would she turn it into a spectacle?”

And then she left.

Lilly stood there, frozen near the folded bleachers, the sounds of the gym fading into a dull blur around her.

Across the room, Patty was still laughing, nudging Ronnie with her shoulder, completely at ease.

Would she keep it private?

Or would she turn it into a spectacle?

The question echoed in Lilly’s mind, stubborn and sharp.

And for the first time since this all started, doubt slipped in beside the warmth.

Chapter Text

Patty sat at the long, rectangular table, clipboard in hand. Streamers, balloons, and half-rolled posters were scattered across the surface, a chaotic preview of what the Junior Ball could become. The committee was buzzing, each member taking turns pitching ideas for the theme, the decorations, the music, and the refreshments.

“So,” began Emma, chairing the meeting, “we need to decide on colors. Patty, what do you think? You’ve been in charge of decorations for the past two years—you have taste.”

Patty tapped her pen against her clipboard, considering. “Gold and navy,” she said finally. “Classic, elegant. Doesn’t distract from the lighting or the stage setup.”

“Love it,” said another girl, nodding enthusiastically. “We’ll need matching ribbons and centerpieces. Patty, you can handle that, right?”

“I’ll handle it,” Patty replied, her tone crisp but polite. She glanced around the table. “I also want a clear layout of the entrance. No messy clusters of balloons—students should see the dance floor as soon as they walk in.”

The group nodded, busy scribbling notes, until a sudden, teasing voice broke through. “So…” said one committee member, smirking at Patty, “who are you taking to the ball? Surely someone’s asked you already.”

Patty froze for a heartbeat, pen mid-air. She looked up slowly, meeting their amused eyes. “I’m here to decorate, not to date,” she said evenly, but the corners of her mouth twitched slightly.

“Oh, come on!” Emma laughed, nudging another member. “Patty Stanton, master of rumors, master of everything—there has to be someone.”

Patty rolled her eyes, tapping her clipboard again. “If someone is brave enough to ask, I’ll let them know I’m fully capable of rejecting them.”

A few snickers ran around the table. “You’re terrifying,” someone whispered, mock shivering.

“Exactly,” Patty said, voice calm, letting the silence stretch for a second before returning to business. “Now, tablecloths. Should we do navy with gold accents, or gold with navy accents?”

The committee dove back into details, but a few glances lingered on Patty, playful smirks and whispered comments occasionally threading into her ears. She didn’t react, focusing instead on the centerpieces and ribbon arrangements, but inside… the teasing left a small, undeniable flutter.

By the end of the meeting, tasks were assigned, timelines set, and Patty’s clipboard was full of notes. As the committee filtered out, Emma leaned toward her. “You know,” she said softly, “people are going to talk… a lot.”

Patty smirked faintly. “I know. Let them. I have decorations to plan.”

Emma shook her head, laughing. “You’re impossible. But seriously… someone’s going to ask you to the ball. And it’s going to be fun to watch.”

Patty rolled her eyes again, but a small corner of her mind lingered on that thought, already imagining the chaos the Junior Ball could bring—not just with decorations, but with rumors, teasing, and unexpected tension.

By the time Patty packed her clipboard into her bag, the sun had dipped low outside the classroom windows, painting the rows of desks in a warm amber glow. Most of the committee had left, leaving only the scattered scraps of paper and a few errant streamers as evidence of the day’s planning. Patty slid her bag over her shoulder and paused at the doorway.

That’s when she noticed him.

Matty was sitting near the back of the room, hunched slightly, his fingers fumbling at a stubborn clump of gum stuck in his hair. He had that familiar, slightly sheepish expression she had seen before, the one that made him seem smaller somehow despite being taller than most.

“Need some help with that?” Patty asked, her voice casual, though a flicker of amusement tugged at her tone.

Matty looked up, caught off guard, and blinked. “Uh… if you don’t mind,” he said, shifting his weight slightly, embarrassed.

Patty stepped closer, careful not to crowd him, and reached for the sticky knot. Their hands brushed briefly as she began working the gum free, and Patty felt that small spark of tension she always did when she was near him—something unspoken hanging in the air, heavy and sharp.

“Careful… it’s delicate,” Matty muttered, his voice low, and she couldn’t help the small smirk that tugged at her lips.

“I’ve dealt with worse,” Patty replied evenly, though her fingers lingered a second longer than necessary, teasingly careful as she worked. There was a pause where neither spoke, just the subtle scrape of hair and gum, and the quiet tick of the clock filling the room.

Finally, the last bit of gum came free. Patty stepped back, brushing her hands on her skirt. “All done.”

Matty exhaled, running a hand through his now-tidy hair. “Thanks,” he said simply, and there was a weight in his voice she couldn’t quite place.

“You’re welcome,” Patty replied, voice steady, though she kept her eyes on him a moment longer than needed.

Matty lingered near the doorway, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. His gaze flicked to Patty, measuring, cautious. He ran a hand through his hair, as if to steady himself.

“I… I don’t know how much to believe about you,” he said slowly, voice low. 

“Pardon?” Patty asked, one brow lifting slightly. Her tone wasn’t sharp, but it wasn’t soft either.

Matty shifted, clearly aware he’d stepped into something delicate. “I just mean…” He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “You and Lilly are… close now. That’s new. And—well—it’s unusual. No matter how you explain it.”

Patty’s expression didn’t change, but her posture stiffened just a fraction.

“You have a reputation,” he continued, quickly adding, “I’m not saying that to insult you. It’s just—people know you. You can be… tough. And Lilly isn’t.” He paused, glancing down before meeting her eyes again. “So it’s strange. That’s all.”

Patty let out a small scoff, not loud enough to echo, but sharp enough to cut. She adjusted the strap on her shoulder and tilted her head.

“And where exactly does that put me?” she asked coolly. “In your book.”

Matty blinked, caught off guard by the ambiguity. “I—what?”

“If I’m not what people say,” Patty went on evenly, “but I’m not not what they say either… where does that leave me?” Her voice wasn’t defensive. It was measured. Almost curious.

Matty frowned slightly, confusion knitting his brows. He searched her face as if trying to decode whether she was deflecting or being sincere. The ambiguity unsettled him.

“I don’t know,” he admitted after a moment. Then his expression hardened—not angry, just resolute. “But I don’t trust you. Not yet.”

The words sat plainly between them.

Patty didn’t flinch. She only gave a small, unreadable smile.

Matty picked up his satchel. “If you’re serious about Lilly,” he said quietly, “I guess time will tell.”

He turned and walked out, footsteps steady down the hallway.

Patty remained where she was for a long moment, the late sunlight stretching thin across the classroom floor. Her jaw tightened slightly, though whether from irritation or something else entirely, even she couldn’t quite tell.

Not yet, she thought.

And somehow, that stung more than she expected.

The house was quiet when Patty stepped inside.

Too quiet.

She set her bag down by the staircase, smoothing her skirt out of habit, already sensing it before she reached the hallway — the low murmur of a voice, the faint scrape of a chair, the heavy air that always meant the same thing.

Her father’s office door was ajar.

“Patty?” Jim’s voice carried out, a little too loud, a little too slow. “That you?”

She closed her eyes briefly before turning toward the door.

“Yes, sir.”

“Come here a minute.”

She stepped inside.

The room smelled thick and sour, sharp enough that she had to breathe carefully through her nose. The desk lamp cast a yellow glow over scattered papers, a tie loosened at his collar, his jacket slung over the back of his chair. A bottle sat open near his hand.

Jim looked up at her and smiled — wide, unfocused.

“How was school?” he asked, as if this were any ordinary evening.

“It was fine,” Patty replied evenly, hands clasped behind her back so he wouldn’t see them tense.

“Fine,” he echoed with a soft chuckle, leaning back in his chair. “That’s my girl.” He reached for the bottle and lifted it slightly in her direction.

“Want some?” he asked, almost playfully.

The smell hit her stronger then, and she swallowed hard, forcing her expression to stay neutral.

“No, thank you.”

Jim laughed — not angry, not cruel. Just careless.

“Suit yourself,” he said, waving his hand loosely. “More for me.”

He leaned forward again, already losing interest, already drifting.

“Go on then,” he added. “Don’t let me keep you.”

Patty didn’t hesitate. She stepped out of the office and pulled the door almost closed behind her, leaving it cracked the way he preferred.

The kitchen light was on.

Her mother stood at the stove, calm and composed as ever, stirring something in a pot. Helen didn’t look up immediately when Patty entered.

“He’s drunk again,” Patty said quietly.

Helen’s hand paused only for a moment before continuing its steady motion. “Let him be.”

Patty’s jaw tightened. “But—”

“He’s had a rough day,” Helen said gently, finally turning around. Her expression was soft but firm. “It will be fine. I’ve got it under control.”

Patty’s fingers curled slightly at her sides.

“Now go to your room,” Helen added, her tone brooking no argument. “I’ll bring you your dinner.”

There it was. The end of it.

Patty nodded once. “Yes, ma’am.”

She turned and walked down the hallway, each step measured, controlled. She climbed the stairs and closed her bedroom door behind her, leaning against it for a moment in the quiet.

The house below continued on as if nothing were wrong.

As if everything were fine.

Patty pushed away from the door and crossed to her desk, staring down at her clipboard from the committee meeting — gold and navy, elegant and precise. Things she could control.

Not yet, she thought again.

Not yet.

And this time, the words meant something different entirely.

Patty lay back against her pillows without changing out of her clothes.

The house had settled into its nighttime rhythm — floorboards cooling, pipes ticking softly, distant muffled sounds from downstairs she tried not to interpret. The faint scent of her mother’s cooking lingered in the air, untouched on the tray that hadn’t yet arrived.

She stared at the ceiling.

Gold and navy.

Streamers.

Matty’s voice.

Not yet.

Her eyes grew heavy before she could organize the thoughts pressing against her skull.

Sleep took her quietly. They were lying on cool grass. The sky above was endless and deep, scattered with stars that shimmered like pinpricks in velvet. The air felt lighter here — clean, open. Safe.

Lilly rested against her, head on Patty’s stomach, breathing slow and even. Patty’s fingers moved absentmindedly through Lilly’s hair, soft as silk between her hands. The strands slipped easily through her fingers, catching faint starlight.

There were no rumors here. No watchful eyes. No expectations.

Just the sound of crickets and Lilly’s quiet laugh as she pointed lazily at a constellation she couldn’t name.

Patty felt something unfamiliar in her chest.

Peace.

She could stay here forever, she thought. Just like this. With the stars above and Lilly warm against her.

A knock echoed.

Soft at first.

Then again.

Louder.

The sky flickered.

The grass faded.

Patty’s eyes snapped open. Another knock at her bedroom door. She pushed herself up too quickly, heart still caught halfway between dream and waking. “Yes?”

“It’s me,” Helen’s voice came through, quieter than usual. Patty crossed the room and opened the door. The hallway beyond was dark, lit only by the dim wall sconce near the staircase. Shadows stretched long across the carpet. Helen stood there holding a tray. Patty’s breath caught.

There was something off about her mother’s hands. At first, Patty thought it was just fatigue—tension, maybe cold. But when Helen shifted the tray slightly, the light caught her knuckles. Redness. Small. Uneven. Fresh enough to look unhealed. Helen kept her posture straight, expression composed, as though nothing were out of place.

“I brought your dinner,” she said gently.

Patty’s fingers curled into the fabric of her dress so tightly her knuckles ached.

“Mom—” she began. Helen stepped inside just long enough to set the tray on Patty’s desk. The plates clinked softly against the wood.

“Just leave it outside your room when you’re done,” Helen said. Her voice was steady. Practiced. Patty stood frozen. She wanted to ask, to reach out, to stop her from turning away. But her mother was already stepping back toward the hallway.

“It will be fine,” Helen added, almost automatically. The words lingered a second too long.

The hallway swallowed her silhouette. Patty remained in the doorway for several seconds after she was gone, staring into the dark like something inside it might answer her.

Then she slowly closed the door. The latch clicked. She didn’t move toward the tray. Didn’t look at the food.

Instead, her strength seemed to drain out of her all at once, and she slid down the door until she was sitting on the floor.

Her hands were still clenched in her dress.

In her mind, there was still Lilly’s voice. The softness of her laughter. The way things felt when they weren’t heavy yet.

Peace.

Patty pressed her forehead against her knees. Downstairs, the house was quiet again. As if nothing had shifted at all. And this time, the silence didn’t feel empty. It felt like something that had been carefully held together for far too long.

Chapter Text

Saturday morning came in soft and gray, light barely slipping through the thin curtains of Lilly’s bedroom. She was still folded into sleep when a gentle knock touched her door.

“Lilly,” her mother’s voice called quietly. “Sweetheart.”

Lilly stirred, groaning softly into her pillow. “Mm…”

The door creaked open. Footsteps crossed the room. Then a hand — warm, familiar — brushed her shoulder.

“Lilly,” Terri said again, softer this time. “It’s Saturday.”

Lilly blinked her eyes open slowly. The room felt heavier than usual. Still. Like it was holding its breath.

“What time is it?” she murmured, voice thick with sleep.

“Eight,” Terri replied. She was already dressed — not in house clothes, but in something darker. Simple. Neat. Careful.

Lilly pushed herself up onto her elbows, hair falling into her face. “Why’re you up so early?”

There was a pause.

Terri sat gently on the edge of the bed. “You know what day it is.”

The words slipped into the room quietly. No sharpness. No drama.

But they landed.

Lilly’s stomach dropped before her mind caught up.

July 15, 1961.

Her father’s death anniversary.

The date had a way of existing separately from the rest of the calendar. It didn’t feel like summer. Didn’t feel like Saturday. It felt like a stain pressed into time.

Lilly swallowed and sat up straighter.

“Oh.”

Terri’s hand found hers, squeezing lightly. “We’ll go by the cemetery after breakfast. Just us.”

Just us.

Lilly nodded. She didn’t trust her voice yet.

She remembered flashes, not full memories — a laugh that filled rooms too easily, hands that smelled faintly of brine and metal from the pickle factory, the way he used to lift her onto his shoulders as if she weighed nothing. The mood ring. The stupid, bright little band he’d promised to fix when it snapped.

He never made it home with it.

Terri stood slowly. “Wash up. I’ll make pancakes.”

Pancakes.

Her mother always made pancakes on July 15. As if sugar and warmth could soften the edge of something that never dulled.

When the door closed again, Lilly sat still for a long moment.

Eight years.

Eight years since summer of 1961.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed and looked toward her window. The sky outside was clear, deceptively bright. Birds already moving. The world carrying on without hesitation.

Her chest felt tight — not sharp, not overwhelming. Just heavy. Familiar.

She wondered, briefly, if Patty knew what today was.

The thought surprised her.

Then she pushed it away gently, standing and moving toward her dresser.

Downstairs, she could already smell butter hitting a hot pan.

And for a moment — just a small, fragile one — Lilly imagined her father at the kitchen table, smiling, tapping his fingers impatiently while waiting for the first pancake.

The image flickered. Then it was gone.

The cemetery was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of leaves in the summer wind. Lilly followed Terri down the narrow path, the gravel crunching softly beneath their shoes. As they approached the plot, her heart sank. The grave was overgrown, vines curling across the headstone and moss clinging stubbornly to the stone’s edges.

“Three months ago, Lilly,” Terri muttered under her breath, exasperated. “I had it cleaned up three months ago, and already look at this.” She shook her head, brushing at the vines futilely with her gloved hand. “Some of these groundskeepers don’t take pride in their work anymore.”

Lilly watched her mother frown and then step away, heading toward a distant shed to locate the groundskeeper for proper cleaning. She let herself stand alone for a moment, surveying the grave in silence.

With a quiet sigh, Lilly knelt and retrieved the small bouquet she had brought—white lilies, soft and delicate, a gentle tribute she had chosen carefully. The petals brushed against her fingertips as she placed them atop the headstone. Her eyes lingered on the engraved letters, her father’s name standing solid yet immovable, as if frozen in the years he’d been gone.

When had she last been here? She couldn’t remember exactly. She hadn’t come often; visiting meant facing the permanence of his absence, the weight of loss she had tried to avoid. After his death, panic had claimed her in waves, leaving her chest tight, her breaths shallow. She had tried to move forward, yet the act of standing here now reopened the corners of grief she had tried to hide.

The memories arrived unbidden. The sound of his laughter echoing in the kitchen, the rough warmth of his hands when he lifted her onto his shoulders, the smell of his old cologne drifting from his coat left in the hall. They pressed against her chest, leaving her breath ragged. Her throat felt tight, and tears threatened to spill, stuck somewhere between sorrow and remembrance.

A sharp, wet gasp escaped her lips as she tried to inhale. The air in her lungs seemed not enough, her breathing coming in stuttered, uneven bursts. Panic teased the edges of her mind, memories of past attacks sharpening the fear.

A gentle tap on her shoulder startled her. Terri knelt beside her, arms opening without hesitation. “You’re okay, sweetheart. You’re okay,” her voice whispered, steady and soothing. “I know it’s hard, but you managed to come here with me—and that’s a step.”

Lilly’s control broke. She sank into her mother’s chest, the bouquet of lilies dropping slightly as she clutched Terri tightly, sobbing. Terri’s arms wrapped around her, steady and warm, grounding her as her tears flowed freely at last. The weight of years, of grief, of memories long buried pressed down, and for the first time that morning, Lilly let herself simply feel it.

“You’re here,” Terri murmured softly, rubbing her back. “That’s what matters. You’re here.”

And in that embrace, among the creeping vines and stubborn moss, Lilly allowed herself to breathe, however raggedly, and to grieve. 

The drive home was quiet at first, the hum of tires on asphalt and the occasional birdcall from the roadside filling the space between them. Terri glanced at Lilly, her eyes soft but curious.

“So,” Terri began gently, “how’s school going?”

Lilly shifted slightly in her seat. “We’ve got the Junior Ball coming up,” she said quietly, voice just above the hum of the car.

Terri’s eyes brightened, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Oh! That sounds exciting. We’ll have to pick out a dress this Saturday, then. Something perfect—you and I can make a little day of it.”

Lilly allowed a small smile to flicker, but she didn’t speak. The road stretched out before them, trees casting long, dappled shadows as the car moved steadily through the afternoon.

After a pause, Terri’s tone softened, a note of concern threading through it. “How are you, Lilly? Really. Are you… experiencing any panic attacks lately?”

Lilly turned her gaze to the passing scenery, out the window, voice quiet but firm. “Not so far.”

Terri reached over instinctively, brushing a thumb lightly across Lilly’s hand. “And how long has it been?”

“Almost a month now,” Lilly admitted, eyes following the blur of trees and houses outside.

Terri’s chest lifted in relief, pride warming her expression. “See? That’s wonderful, sweetheart. As long as you manage it well…”

Lilly didn’t let her mother finish. She cut the words off with a small sigh, staring out the window again, letting the passing light and shadows carry her thoughts. Almost a month. It felt longer. Feels shorter. The memory of the cemetery and the weight of the day clung to her chest.

She thought of her father, of Patty, of the quiet moments alone when grief and relief tangled together. Almost a month… yet here she was, still clinging to control, still measuring herself in silences and small victories.

Her fingers tightened lightly on the edge of the car seat. Almost a month, she repeated quietly in her mind, letting the words echo and settle, and wondered what it would mean tomorrow. What it would mean if she let herself falter, even just a little, and let the grief back in.

The road continued, sunlight waning, and Lilly let herself just watch it go by.

Monday morning carried that strange brightness that follows a heavy weekend — too loud, too ordinary, as if nothing important had happened at all.

The hallways of St.Margaret’s were alive with the usual noise: lockers slamming shut, laughter ricocheting off tile, the faint scent of floor wax lingering in the air. But threaded between it all were fresh posters, taped neatly along the walls in alternating strips of navy and gold.

JUNIOR BALL — VOLUNTEERS WANTED.

Help with décor, lighting, stage set-up.

Sign-up sheet in Room 204.

The letters were careful. Precise. Controlled.

Ronnie stopped in front of one, hands on her hips, head tilting as she read it.

“Well,” she said flatly, “there’s a perfectly good way to ruin a perfectly good afternoon.”

Will leaned in beside her, squinting at the fine print. “Or,” he countered thoughtfully, “a perfectly good opportunity.”

Rich snapped his fingers. “Exactly.”

Ronnie glanced at them both. “Opportunity for what? Untangling streamers?”

“For strategy,” Will said, lowering his voice as though the lockers themselves might be listening. “If we volunteer, we’ll know the layout before anyone else does.”

“Table placement,” Rich added eagerly. “Lighting. Where the band sets up.”

Matty shifted his weight, eyes still on the poster. “When they dim the lights.”

Ronnie looked between the three of them slowly. “You’re all insane.”

“Prepared,” Will corrected.

Lilly hadn’t spoken.

She stood just slightly behind them, fingers hooked loosely into the strap of her bag, staring at the gold border of the poster rather than the words themselves.

Volunteers.

Planning.

The ball.

The thought of crowded rooms and spinning lights pressed faintly at her ribs.

Ronnie noticed the silence first.

“You’re on the committee, aren’t you?” Ronnie asked, turning toward Lilly.

Lilly blinked, pulled back from wherever her thoughts had been wandering. “No,” she said, shaking her head lightly. “I’m not.”

Ronnie paused at that, studying her for a second longer than necessary.

“You’re not?” Rich cut in. “I thought you were.”

Lilly’s mouth twitched faintly. “No. That’s Patty.”

There it was — subtle, but it shifted something.

Ronnie’s brows lifted, interest sharpening. “Well,” she said slowly, “all the more reason we should sign up.”

Lilly frowned faintly. “Why?”

Ronnie shrugged, but there was a spark in her eye. “Because I refuse to walk into that gym blind. If I’m going to suffer through the Junior Ball, I’d at least like to know where everything is.”

Rich grinned. “See? She gets it.”

Matty’s gaze shifted to Lilly, quieter than the rest. He studied her face for a moment — not pressing, not teasing. Just watching.

“You don’t have to,” he said.

The words were simple.

But they cut through the noise.

Ronnie blinked at him. “What do you mean, she doesn’t have to? It’s volunteering.”

“I know,” Matty replied evenly. “I’m just saying.”

Lilly felt the weight of their attention settle on her again. It made her shoulders tense.

“I didn’t say I didn’t want to,” she said, perhaps a little too quickly.

Ronnie’s lips curved in triumph. “There it is.”

Lilly’s jaw tightened, though she wasn’t entirely sure why. She glanced once more at the poster — at the careful lettering, the navy border, the promise of music and movement and too many people in one place.

Almost a month.

Her chest felt steady.

She nodded, more to herself than to them.

“Fine,” she said quietly.

Ronnie grinned. “Room 204, after class.”

As the group started walking again, the noise of the hallway swallowing them whole, Lilly lingered half a step behind.

Her eyes drifted toward the far end of the corridor — toward where Room 204 sat.

Where Patty would be.

And for a moment, she couldn’t tell whether that thought made it better.

Or worse.

Room 204 smelled faintly of old paper and sanitizer. The gang shuffled in, Ronnie and Lilly at the front, Matty and Will trailing behind. The tables were pushed together, stacked with forms and folders, and Marge stood behind them, a clipboard in hand and that efficient, knowing smile that suggested she’d done this a hundred times before.

“Welcome,” Marge said, hands resting lightly on her hips. “Glad to see you all. Take a seat wherever you like.”

Rich’s gaze landed on Marge immediately, and for a second, his usual confidence faltered. He fidgeted with his pen, cleared his throat, and muttered something under his breath. “Uh… wow.”

“Rich,” Will hissed sharply, elbowing him. “Focus.”

Matty snorted, amusement tugging at his lips. “Yeah, man. You’re making a scene.”

Rich flushed, tugging at his collar and muttering a quiet apology, but he couldn’t hide the flustered energy that radiated from him. Lilly bit back a smile, shaking her head at him, silently enjoying the small moment.

Her eyes drifted to the usual corner Patty might have occupied, clipboard in hand, already planning and organizing. But the corner was empty. She felt a small pang in her chest.

Marge glanced at her knowingly, lowering her voice. “She went home early today.”

Lilly nodded, understanding. That was all she needed to hear.

“Alright,” Marge continued, straightening. “Let’s get started. These forms are for signing up as volunteers for the Junior Ball. Over the next few weeks, you’ll be helping with decorations, organizing games, managing the refreshments, setting up tables, and keeping track of supplies. We’ll rotate responsibilities so everyone gets a chance to try different tasks. I’ll also be checking in regularly to make sure everything’s on schedule.”

Ronnie’s eyes lit up. “Sounds fun.”

Will grinned. “And maybe useful. We can see the setup before everyone else.”

Matty nodded, smirking. “Exactly. Advantage, in a way.”

Lilly stayed quiet, her pen hovering over the form. Ronnie leaned toward her. “Come on, you should sign up too.”

Lilly didn’t answer immediately, staring out the window at the afternoon sunlight spilling across the parking lot. She picked up her pen, letting it hover above the paper before finally beginning to write.

Marge walked among them, checking their forms. “Make sure you fill in your areas of interest and availability. This isn’t just busywork — it’s how we make the Junior Ball run smoothly. I’m looking forward to seeing what each of you brings to the team.”

The room settled into a quiet rhythm of scribbling pens, occasional whispers, and the soft shuffle of chairs. Rich kept glancing at Marge, cheeks pink but eyes attentive, as he tried to focus on the form. Matty leaned back, smirking at his friends’ reactions. Ronnie tapped her pen impatiently, ready to get moving.

Lilly wrote carefully, letting the words anchor her thoughts. She wasn’t on the committee, but signing up as a volunteer felt… enough. Enough to be part of this, enough to keep herself grounded for now.

The sun cast long shadows across the tables, and for a moment, it felt ordinary — a small, safe corner of her world. And somewhere, quietly, she thought of Patty, smiling faintly to herself, knowing that whatever chaos was coming, they’d both manage it in their own way.

Chapter Text

The afternoon light slanted through the blinds, casting thin stripes across Patty’s desk. Papers were stacked haphazardly, half-filled forms, sketches for centerpieces, and a notebook where she had scribbled potential table layouts. A pencil rolled across the page, spinning once before stopping against the edge of her notebook.

Patty rubbed at her eyes. Her head felt heavy, the kind of weight that came not just from physical tiredness, but from thinking too much, doing too much. She had been running around all day—checking the gym, coordinating with the committee, and making sure everyone signed up for volunteer shifts.

The idea to involve more volunteers had been brilliant. The extra hands would ease the load, give her breathing room—but that didn’t mean she got to breathe just yet. Every new signature, every question about ribbons or tablecloths, chipped away at her already fraying energy.

She picked up a sheet of paper, trying to focus on the schedule for next week, but the words seemed to blur and sway on the page. She pinched the bridge of her nose and leaned back in her chair. Just a minute. Just a moment.

Her eyelids flickered. One blink… then another. The pencil slipped from her fingers. The page tilted, and her notebook sagged against the edge of the desk. Her cheek rested on the rough corner of a binder. The sound of her pencil tapping against the wood became a soft, rhythmic lullaby.

Patty’s breathing slowed, her shoulders sagged, and the world of color-coded plans and careful lists dissolved into shadows behind her eyelids. She didn’t even hear the faint hum of the ceiling fan anymore.

When she finally slumped forward fully, head resting on her arms, a quiet sigh escaped her lips. The pencil rolled onto the floor, and a single piece of paper folded over the edge of the desk. She was asleep before she could even wonder how late it had gotten—or how much work still waited for her.

For the first time all day, there was nothing pressing on her chest. Just the soft ache of exhaustion and the fragile, fleeting peace of letting go.

The gym smelled faintly of polished wood and old sweat, the echo of bouncing basketballs and squeaking sneakers lingering in the air. Patty pushed open the doors and stepped inside, clipboard clutched tightly in her hands. The rows of chairs were mostly stacked along the sides, the few tables that had been set up wobbled in spots, and a few torn ribbons fluttered from the basketball hoops. The decorations weren’t due until next week, but any damage now had to be fixed before then—or else she’d have to redo everything herself.

“Alright, everyone,” she called, voice steady and firm, though the exhaustion clinging to her shoulders made it sound thinner than she wanted. “We’re not decorating yet, but we need to check the setups. Chairs, tables, hoops, walls—anything damaged, we fix it today. Understood?”

Murmurs of assent rippled through the small group of volunteers, and Patty started pacing along the first row of chairs, inspecting for scuffs and uneven stacks. She was jotting notes when her eyes landed across the gym and froze—just for a heartbeat.

Ronnie. Will. Rich.

Her chest betrayed her with a tiny, unwelcome skip. She blinked, forcing herself to look at something else—anything else—but it was impossible to ignore them, standing casually near the bleachers, grinning at something Will had just said.

And then, her pulse skipped again—not because of the guys, but because Lilly wasn’t there.

Patty tightened her jaw. “Alright, everyone, let’s get to work,” she barked, raising her voice just enough to regain control. She moved along the tables, checking for uneven legs and loose screws, trying not to think too hard about her heartbeat hammering against her ribs every time she glanced toward the trio.

The gym doors creaked open, and a familiar shuffle of footsteps echoed against the hardwood. Patty glanced up—and her heart stuttered.

Lilly and Matty.

They moved together, quiet but deliberate, a little late, unbothered by the small chaos of chairs and volunteers around them. Patty’s tongue felt thick in her mouth. She opened it, ready to scold—but as her eyes swept over the scene, she realized she couldn’t scold Lilly—not truly. The words that would have sliced across the air bounced uselessly in her throat.

So her gaze sharpened on Matty instead. “You,” she said, tone firm, eyes meeting his. “Don’t think you can stroll in late and slack off while everyone else is actually working.”

Matty stiffened, a flash of guilt crossing his face, and Patty felt the tension in her shoulders ease just a fraction. Lilly, catching her eyes, gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, and returned to helping stack chairs.

Patty let out a quiet breath she hadn’t realized she was holding and gestured to the volunteers. “Get to work. Everyone, move. Let’s make sure this gym doesn’t look like a disaster by the time we leave.”

Her eyes lingered on the gang for just a moment longer, heart still fluttering, before she focused on the tasks in front of her. Chairs needed aligning. Tables needed leveling. Hoops needed securing. The clipboard grew heavier with each scribbled note, but for now, Patty let the work take over—letting her responsibility, rather than her surprise, guide her.

And though her chest still throbbed faintly when she glanced at Matty and Lilly, she told herself firmly: the gym comes first.

Patty walked the length of the gym, clipboard in hand, ticking off small victories—chairs aligned, tables leveled, hoops secured. Volunteers bustled around, the hum of quiet conversation and occasional laughter filling the space. For a moment, she allowed herself the satisfaction of order restored, the proof that her plan for volunteers was working.

Then she caught sight of them.

Matty and Lilly.

They were near the far corner, stacking chairs together, but it wasn’t just work. Matty was grinning at something Lilly had said, and she, for her part, laughed freely, tossing a stray chair cushion at him playfully. The sound, light and easy, made Patty’s chest tighten in a way she didn’t like. It wasn’t just irritation—it was a sharp, unmistakable pang of something she hadn’t expected to feel watching them.

Patty’s jaw clenched. She marched over, clipboard clutched a little too tightly.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded, voice sharper than intended. Heads turned; a few volunteers paused mid-task to glance over.

Matty froze, caught off guard. “Uh—we’re just—”

“Having fun?” Patty cut in, eyes narrowing. “This isn’t a playground. You’re supposed to be working. Focus on the task, or step aside so someone who can manage it actually does the work.”

Lilly blinked, caught between amusement and embarrassment, while Matty shifted awkwardly, trying to meet her glare without collapsing entirely under it. Patty’s eyes locked on his, unwavering, a silent challenge. Matty swallowed hard, nodding stiffly, and returned to the chairs, less relaxed than before.

Satisfied—or at least momentarily appeased—Patty turned and strode away, her heels clicking against the polished floor. A few volunteers exchanged glances, some suppressing smiles, but she ignored them, pretending not to notice.

From across the gym, Marge let out a quiet, low chuckle, covering her mouth with a hand. Rich, nearby, noticed and tilted his head toward her.

“What’s up?” he asked, voice casual, curious.

Marge shook her head, eyes still twinkling. “Nothing. Just… Patty.” She waved a hand toward the other side of the gym. “You know how she gets.”

Rich’s eyes lit up. “Oh! Can I… help with something?” His enthusiasm was immediate, genuine, and he practically bounced toward her.

“Fine,” Marge said, brushing it off with a shrug. “Grab those extra chair cushions over there and help me get them stacked neatly along the side. And make sure the ribbons aren’t tangled this time.”

Rich nodded eagerly, grinning. “On it!” His energy filled the space as he bounded toward the pile, already chatting with Marge about the quickest way to get the chairs stacked.

Patty, meanwhile, kept walking, trying to focus on her checklist, but the sight of Matty and Lilly working together—so effortlessly, so easily—lingered in her mind, a quiet, insistent annoyance she couldn’t quite shake.

And she knew, with a small, reluctant exhale, that the next few weeks were going to be more complicated than just chairs and tables.

By the time the last chair was stacked and the last ribbon straightened, the gym had emptied, leaving Patty alone with the lingering smell of polished wood and faint sweat. She exhaled, finally allowing herself a moment of relief.

Just as she reached the doors, she saw someone waiting—Lilly, leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed, eyes following her every move.

Patty’s pulse stuttered, and she tried to mask it with a brisk, clipped tone. “You leaving?” she asked, already starting to walk past.

Lilly matched her pace effortlessly. “I—uh, I wanted to say sorry,” she said, voice light, teasing, “for earlier. You know… in the gym.”

Patty shot her a quick, tight-lipped smile. “It’s fine,” she said, brushing past, trying to sound indifferent.

But Lilly wasn’t having it. She slid closer, eyes playful, and without warning, cupped Patty’s face in both hands. Patty’s cheeks were squished comically between her palms.

“Lilly—hey!” Patty exclaimed, trying to wriggle free, puffing her cheeks in protest.

Lilly grinned mischievously, pressing a little more. “You look funny when you’re mad,” she said, eyes sparkling.

Patty flicked Lilly’s forehead with a sharp little jab and backed up, hands raised defensively. “Funny? You mean annoying. And stop squishing my face!”

Lilly leaned in again, undeterred, her grin widening. “Maybe annoying, but cute too,” she teased, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

Patty groaned, half exasperated, half flustered, trying to regain control. “I am not cute,” she said, voice clipped, but the corner of her mouth twitched despite her best effort.

Lilly laughed, a soft, musical sound that made Patty’s chest tighten in an entirely different way. “Uh-huh, sure. Not cute at all,” she echoed, letting go just enough to let Patty regain her space—but keeping the teasing glint in her eyes.

Patty huffed, straightening her jacket and adjusting her bag strap. “I really should be going,” she muttered, tone sharp but tinged with something softer, and she flicked Lilly lightly again—playful, a warning—but Lilly only giggled.

Lilly tilted her head slightly, voice quiet but steady. “Then… maybe we could go home together?” she said, soft, almost like she was testing the waters.

Patty froze mid-step, one hand on the door handle, the other brushing off Lilly’s lingering grip on her sleeve. “Together…?” she repeated, eyebrows knitting.

“Yes,” Lilly murmured, glancing down for a moment before meeting Patty’s eyes. 

Patty opened her mouth, ready to protest, but words tangled somewhere between irritation and… something else entirely. Instead, she narrowed her eyes and gave Lilly a half-scowl, half-soft look. 

 “Fine,” she said, clipped but with the faintest hint of softness. Lilly just nodded, quiet and patient, falling into step beside her as they exited.

The late afternoon air was cooler outside the school, the sky beginning to soften into pale gold as the sun drifted lower. Patty and Lilly walked side by side along the sidewalk, their footsteps quiet against the pavement.

For a while, neither of them spoke.

Patty kept her hands in her pockets, gaze forward, but the silence eventually started to itch at her patience.

“…Where’s your bike?” she asked suddenly, glancing sideways at Lilly.

Lilly blinked once, like she’d been pulled from a thought. “Oh… um. I left it at home today,” she said simply. “I walked.”

Patty frowned faintly. “You walked to school?”

Lilly shrugged lightly. “It’s not that far.”

Patty huffed under her breath but didn’t argue. After a moment, Lilly tilted her head a little.

“…What about you?” she asked. “Doesn’t someone usually pick you up?”

Patty’s shoulders shifted slightly. “Sometimes,” she said vaguely. “Not today.”

Lilly nodded, accepting the short answer without pushing further. They continued down the sidewalk, the distant shape of the bus stop slowly coming into view ahead of them.

A few leaves skittered across the pavement in the breeze. Just as they were nearing the stop, Lilly slowed. Then she stopped completely. Patty walked two more steps before noticing. She turned back, brows furrowing.

“…What?” she asked.

Lilly stood there for a second, looking oddly thoughtful, like something had just occurred to her.

Then suddenly—

“We could just walk home.”

The words came out a little fast.

Patty blinked.

“…What?”

Lilly rubbed the back of her neck slightly, but she met Patty’s eyes. “Instead of taking the bus,” she said. “We could… walk. The long way.”

Patty stared at her like she’d just suggested climbing a mountain.

“Are you serious?”

Lilly nodded once.

Patty scoffed, looking away toward the bus stop, then back at Lilly again like she was weighing something.

“…You’re unbelievable.”

But after another second, Patty lifted her hand and crooked her finger in a quick come on gesture before turning and starting down the street away from the stop.

She didn’t even look back.

It was answer enough.

Behind her, Lilly’s face brightened instantly.

“Oh—okay!”

She hurried forward, then broke into a light, happy skip as she caught up to Patty’s side, matching her pace.

Patty glanced sideways at her.

“…Stop skipping.”

“I’m not skipping,” Lilly said, though she very obviously had been.

Patty rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitched.

And together, they headed down the longer road home.

Chapter Text

The gym looked completely different from the quiet, echoing space it had been earlier in the week. Now it buzzed with activity. Ladders scraped against the polished floor, fabric rustled as decorations were unfurled, and the murmur of students filled the air as volunteers moved from one task to the next.

The Junior Ball was only a few days away—Wednesday—and the entire place felt like a controlled storm.

Patty stood near the center of the gym floor with a clipboard tucked firmly against her chest, her eyes moving constantly from group to group. Student council members clustered nearby, checking lists and whispering updates, but Patty was clearly the one steering the operation.

“Those chairs need to be aligned with the tape marks,” she called across the room without even looking up from her notes. “If they’re crooked now, they’ll look worse once the tables are set.”

A few volunteers quickly shifted the chairs again.

Across the gym, Lilly and Ronnie stood near the stage, wrestling with a long stretch of deep blue curtain fabric meant to drape along the back wall. Ronnie held the ladder steady while Lilly carefully pinned the cloth along the top rail.

“Higher,” Ronnie said, squinting up.

“I am going higher,” Lilly replied softly, stretching onto the tips of her shoes.

Meanwhile, near the opposite side of the gym, Matty, Rich, and Will were crouched around a cluster of wooden stands meant to hold the string lights and banners. Tools clinked softly as Rich tightened a bolt while Will steadied the frame.

“Hold it still,” Rich said.

“I am holding it still,” Will protested.

Matty adjusted one of the supports and stepped back to check the balance.

From across the gym—

“Clements.”

Matty’s shoulders stiffened immediately.

Patty was already walking toward them.

“That support beam is uneven,” she said sharply, pointing to the structure. “If the lights sag during the dance, guess who has to fix it? Not you. Me.”

Matty exhaled through his nose. “We just finished tightening it.”

“Then you tightened it wrong,” Patty replied flatly.

Rich blinked between them.

Will slowly looked up from the screwdriver in his hand.

Matty crouched again, adjusting the bolt without another word.

Patty watched for a moment, arms crossed. “And Clements—”

Matty paused again.

“Don’t lean on the frame while you’re working. That’s basic physics.”

“I wasn’t leaning,” he muttered.

“You were.”

“I—”

“Just fix it.”

There was a beat of silence.

Matty tightened the bolt again, jaw tight.

Patty didn’t move.

She stayed right where she was, arms crossed, clipboard tucked against her side as she watched the three of them work. Her eyes followed every movement—every adjustment of the frame, every shift of the stand.

Matty could feel it.

That steady, unmoving stare pressing against the back of his neck.

He tightened the bolt once more, a little harder than necessary.

Rich noticed it first. He glanced sideways at Matty, then back at Patty, then back again.

Will shifted awkwardly. “Uh… I think that’s straight now,” he muttered.

Patty didn’t answer.

Instead, she leaned forward slightly, studying the structure like it was under inspection.

“…Clements,” she started.

The wrench in Matty’s hand stopped.

He closed his eyes for half a second.

“—that corner is still—”

“Would you just stop?”

The words snapped out before he could catch them.

The sound of the wrench hitting the floor echoed louder than it should have.

Rich froze.

Will’s head snapped up.

Even across the gym, a few nearby volunteers went quiet.

Matty pushed himself up to his feet, running a hand through his hair in frustration. His face was flushed, jaw tight.

“We’ve been fixing the same thing for the last ten minutes,” he said, voice strained. “It’s straight. The bolts are tight. The frame’s stable.”

Patty’s expression hardened immediately.

“Oh really?”

“Yes, really,” Matty shot back, gesturing toward the stand. “You’ve been hovering over us the whole time like we’re about to collapse the entire gym.”

Rich slowly took a step back.

Will carefully picked up the wrench from the floor like it might explode.

Patty lifted her chin slightly. “Maybe if you did it correctly the first time, I wouldn’t have to.”

Matty let out a sharp, incredulous laugh.

“See? That. That’s exactly what I mean.”

“What do you mean, Clements?” Patty said coolly.

“You keep acting like we’re incompetent,” he said, spreading his hands. “Every five seconds it’s ‘Clements this’ and ‘Clements that.’”

A few nearby volunteers had fully stopped working now.

Even Ronnie, still holding the ladder across the gym, leaned slightly to see what was happening.

Lilly’s hands stilled on the curtain.

Patty’s voice dropped colder.

“If you can’t handle basic instructions—”

“We can handle it,” Matty interrupted.

Rich quietly whispered to Will, “Oh no…”

Will nodded grimly.

Matty gestured toward the frame again. “It’s done. It’s fine. But you keep coming back like you’re waiting for me to screw it up.”

Patty stared at him for a long moment.

Then she spoke slowly.

“If you’re feeling singled out, Clements, maybe that says more about your work than my supervision.”

Matty blinked at her, stunned for a second.

Then he let out a breath through his nose.

“Unbelievable.”

He bent down, grabbed the wrench again, and gave the last bolt one final turn—hard enough that the metal creaked slightly.

“There,” he muttered, stepping back. “Happy?”

The stand didn’t move.

The frame stayed perfectly straight.

Patty’s eyes flicked over it.

For a moment, neither of them said anything.

The tension hung thick in the air.

Then Patty tapped her clipboard once against her palm.

“…We’ll see how it holds,” she said flatly.

And with that, she turned and walked away again.

Rich waited until she was several steps away before exhaling.

“Dude.” Will rubbed the back of his neck.

“That was… wow.” Matty dragged a hand down his face. Across the gym, Lilly was still watching him. Her brow was slightly furrowed now. Something definitely wasn’t right.

The noise in the gym slowly softened as someone from student council finally called out for a short break.

“Ten minutes!” a voice echoed across the gym. “Grab water or something, but don’t disappear!”

Immediately the busy clatter of tools and fabric gave way to the low buzz of tired students stretching, grabbing drinks, and dropping into chairs along the sides of the gym. A few volunteers sat on the bleachers while others wandered toward the vending machines down the hall.

The place still had people in it, but the pace had relaxed.

Matty wiped his hands on the back of his jeans and stepped away from the light stand. Rich and Will followed him, both still looking a little uneasy after the earlier exchange.

“Man,” Rich muttered under his breath, “what was that?”

Will snorted quietly. “You mean the part where you almost got executed in front of the entire decorating crew?”

Matty shot him a look but didn’t answer.

They ended up near one of the side walls where a few folded chairs had been stacked. Ronnie and Lilly wandered over not long after, Ronnie carrying a bottle of water while Lilly brushed bits of curtain thread off her hands.

Ronnie dropped onto a chair backwards, resting her arms over the backrest. “Okay,” she said casually, glancing between the boys. “What happened back there?”

Will didn’t hesitate.

“Patty happened.”

Rich nodded immediately. “Yeah, seriously. She’s been on Matty all day.”

Matty leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, staring at the floor.

Ronnie lifted a brow. “She’s the one running this whole thing. Of course she’s on everyone.”

“Not like that,” Rich said quickly. “Did you hear how many times she said ‘Clements’?”

Will held up his fingers like he’d been counting. “I lost track after seven.”

Ronnie took a sip of her water, unimpressed. “Maybe he just keeps messing up.”

“I did not—” Matty started.

“You kinda snapped though,” Will added.

“Because she keeps hovering,” Matty shot back. “It’s like she’s waiting for me to screw up.”

Across from them, Lilly had been quiet up until now, fiddling with the hem of her sleeve.

“…She’s under a lot of pressure,” she said softly.

Matty looked up.

Will glanced between them.

Rich shrugged. “Yeah, but she doesn’t have to take it out on him.”

Ronnie tilted her head slightly. “She’s not taking it out on him. She’s making sure things are done right.”

“Ronnie,” Will said flatly, “she literally walked across the entire gym just to yell at him.”

Ronnie shrugged one shoulder. “Maybe his section is important.” Rich laughed. “The curtains are important too and she didn’t yell at you.”

“That’s because we’re doing them right,” Ronnie replied without missing a beat. Matty let out a short breath through his nose. “Oh, come on,” Rich said. “You’re telling me that wasn’t personal?” Ronnie shrugged again, though her tone stayed casual.

“Patty’s just intense.”

Lilly nodded slightly. “She… really cares about the ball.” Matty gave a quiet, incredulous laugh.

“Yeah. I noticed.” Lilly looked at him.

“…She didn’t mean to embarrass you,” she said gently. Matty’s jaw tightened a little.

“You don’t know that.”

“I do,” Lilly replied softly. Rich glanced between them. “I mean—she did keep saying his name like a drill sergeant.”

“Clements,” Will added in a stiff imitation.

Ronnie snorted. Lilly looked down for a moment before speaking again.

“She just… wants everything to work out.”

Matty pushed off the wall slightly.

“Then she can talk to me like a normal person instead of barking orders.” Ronnie crossed her arms over the back of the chair. “You did talk back.”

“Because she wouldn’t stop!”

“She wouldn’t stop because you were arguing,” Ronnie said. Will raised his hands slightly. “Okay, referee Ronnie—”

“I’m just saying,” she said calmly.Matty rubbed the back of his neck, clearly getting more frustrated. Rich leaned forward. “Dude, even Lilly’s defending her.”

That made Matty look over again. Lilly shifted a little where she stood, clearly aware of the attention.

“…I’m not defending her,” she said quietly.

“You kinda are,” Will said. Lilly shook her head slightly.

“I just… think she’s trying her best.” Matty stared at her for a second. “Yeah,” he said slowly. “Right.” The tone wasn’t angry, just a bit tired. Lilly’s brows pulled together a little.

“I didn’t mean—”

“It’s fine,” Matty said quickly. He pushed himself fully off the wall.

“I’m gonna grab some water.” Rich straightened. “Wait—” But Matty was already walking away, heading toward the gym doors without looking back. The group watched him go. Will scratched the back of his head.

“…Well.” Ronnie took another sip of water.

“That went great.”Lilly stared toward the doors where Matty had disappeared, her expression thoughtful and a little troubled. Across the gym floor, Patty was still talking with two other student council members, completely unaware of the small storm that had just passed through the other side of the room.

Lilly watched the gym doors swing shut behind Matty. Her hands were still loosely clasped in front of her, fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve. For a second she didn’t move—but the troubled crease between her brows deepened.

“I should—”

She took a step forward. Ronnie immediately reached out and caught her wrist.

“Hey,” Ronnie said calmly.

Lilly looked at her.

Ronnie shook her head once. “Leave him.”

Lilly hesitated. “…But—”

“He just needs to cool off,” Ronnie said, still holding her lightly but firmly. “If you chase him right now it’ll just turn into another argument.” Lilly glanced toward the doors again.

Will leaned back against the wall with a sigh. “Yeah. Ronnie’s right. Give the guy a minute before he starts throwing wrenches at innocent people.”

“I threw one wrench,” Rich muttered.

Will pointed at him. “Exactly.”

Ronnie finally released Lilly’s wrist, but her tone stayed easy. “He’ll come back when the break’s over.” Lilly didn’t look entirely convinced, but she slowly settled back into place beside them.

The silence lingered for a moment. Then Rich suddenly straightened a little.

“…You know,” he said thoughtfully, rubbing the back of his neck, “speaking of the ball…”

Will groaned. “Oh no.”

Rich ignored him. “I was thinking… maybe I should’ve asked Marge already.” Ronnie blinked.

“Wait,” she said. Will turned toward him slowly. “You haven’t asked her yet?” Rich looked between them. “…No?”

Ronnie’s eyes widened. “Rich!” Will slapped a hand over his face. “Are you serious?” Rich looked genuinely confused. “What? I was waiting for the right time!”

“The ball is Wednesday!” Ronnie exclaimed.

“That is the right time!” Will added. Rich held up his hands defensively. “Okay, okay! I was going to!” Ronnie leaned forward in her chair, staring at him.

“Then why didn’t you?” Rich hesitated. Then he shrugged, a little sheepish.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I guess… I just figured she wouldn’t want to go with someone shorter than her.”

The group went quiet. Will lowered his hand from his face. Ronnie stared at Rich. Lilly’s expression softened instantly.

“Oh,” she murmured.

Rich gave an awkward little laugh. “You know. She’s tall. I’m… not.” The pity hit the group all at once. Will immediately straightened. “That’s not a reason!”

“Yeah,” Ronnie said firmly. “That’s a terrible reason.” Rich blinked at them. “She likes talking to you,” Lilly added gently. Ronnie pointed at her. “Exactly.”

Will nodded vigorously. “You literally spent twenty minutes talking about chair cushions with her yesterday.”

“That was a good conversation,” Rich defended weakly.

“It was,” Ronnie agreed. Then her eyes suddenly lit up.

“Wait.” Everyone looked at her.Ronnie grinned.

“We should help you.”Rich blinked. “…Help me what?”

“Ask her to the ball.” Will’s face lit up instantly. “Oh, that’s good.” Rich immediately looked alarmed. “No—no, that sounds dangerous.” Ronnie waved a hand dismissively. “Relax.”

“We’ll just drop by her house,” she continued casually. Rich’s jaw dropped. “Her house?!”

“Yes,” Ronnie said matter-of-factly.

Will snapped his fingers. “That’s actually perfect.”

“See?” Ronnie said.

Rich looked horrified. “You people are insane.” Lilly let out a small laugh, the sound soft but genuine. Ronnie leaned back with a satisfied grin. “We’ll help you practice first.”

“Oh no,” Rich muttered. Will clapped him on the shoulder. “Buddy, you’re getting a date whether you like it or not.” Rich stared at the floor. “This feels like a trap.”

“It’s not a trap,” Ronnie said brightly.

“It’s a plan.” Lilly tilted her head slightly, the earlier tension easing as she spoke.

“…You could bring flowers.” Everyone looked at her. Rich blinked. “Flowers?” Lilly nodded a little, warming up to the idea now. “Or… maybe something small,” she said thoughtfully. “Like… candy.”

Will pointed at her. “See? Lilly’s got strategy.” Ronnie snapped her fingers again. “We could do a whole thing. Like a surprise.” Rich groaned. “Please don’t make it a whole thing.”

“It’s definitely going to be a whole thing,” Will said.

Lilly laughed quietly again, covering her mouth slightly.

For the first time since Matty walked out, the mood around the group started to lift.

Even Rich, despite his clear dread, couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at his mouth as Ronnie and Will immediately began throwing around increasingly ridiculous ideas for how he should ask Marge to the Junior Ball.

Chapter Text

Matty realized it was a bad idea about halfway there. At first it had felt fine—reasonable, even. The kind of decision you make when you're annoyed enough that moving feels better than sitting still. So he'd grabbed his bike, pedaled away from the school, and told himself he just needed air.

But somewhere between the second streetlight and the quiet turn toward Lilly’s neighborhood, the realization crept in.

This was a bad idea.

The chain of his bike clicked steadily beneath him as he rode, the evening air cool against his face. Houses blurred past in sleepy rows, porch lights flickering on as the sky dimmed. A dog barked somewhere down the block. The whole neighborhood had that quiet, ordinary calm that made his current plan feel even more ridiculous.

Matty exhaled through his nose.

He could still turn around.

He didn’t.

Instead he slowed when a familiar house came into view.

Lilly’s house sat near the corner, porch light glowing warm against the dusk. The upstairs windows were lit, curtains half-drawn. Matty coasted to a stop at the curb and rested one foot on the pavement.

For a moment he just sat there on the bike.

“…This is stupid,” he muttered to himself.

But he leaned the bike against the fence anyway.

The yard was quiet except for the soft buzz of crickets. Matty stepped onto the grass and looked up toward the second floor.

He knew which window was hers.

Second from the left.

A faint yellow glow behind the glass.

Matty bent down and picked up a small rock from the gravel by the driveway. He turned it over in his palm once, twice.

“Alright,” he murmured.

He tossed it.

Tap. The rock hit the window lightly and dropped back to the grass. Nothing happened. Matty waited. A few seconds passed.

“…Okay.”

He grabbed another one.

Tap.

Still nothing.

Matty frowned, crouching again to grab a third rock. He pulled his arm back to throw—

The window suddenly slid open. Lilly popped into view and immediately raised both hands in front of her face.

“Don’t throw—!”

The rock was already in the air.

Matty flinched. “Wait—!” It bounced harmlessly off the window frame. Lilly slowly lowered her hands. Matty froze below with another rock still sitting in his other palm. For a long second they just stared at each other.

“…Matty?” Lilly said.

He quickly dropped the rock.

“Hi.”

She leaned slightly out of the window, her hair a little messy like she’d been lying down before. The warm light from her room spilled around her shoulders.

“…Why are you throwing rocks at my window?” she asked softly. Matty rubbed the back of his neck.

“Movie logic.” Lilly blinked at him. Then a small laugh escaped her.

“…You could’ve just knocked on the door.”

“Yeah,” Matty admitted.

A pause.

“…Didn’t think of that.” She rested her arms on the windowsill now, watching him with quiet curiosity.

“…Why are you here?” Matty opened his mouth. Closed it again. Then the words came out all at once.

“…Do you want to go to the dance with me?” The yard went still. Lilly blinked.

“…What?”

“The Junior Ball,” Matty said quickly, gesturing vaguely. “Wednesday. That one.” Lilly stared down at him, clearly trying to process the scene in front of her.

“…You rode your bike here,” she said slowly.

“…Yeah.”

“And threw rocks at my window.”

“…Technically three.” Lilly pressed her lips together like she was trying very hard not to laugh. For a moment neither of them spoke. The quiet hum of evening filled the space between them. Then she leaned a little farther out of the window.

“…You could’ve asked me at school.” Matty shrugged awkwardly. “Probably.” A small smile tugged at the corner of Lilly’s mouth.

“…You look really serious about it though.” Matty exhaled.

“Yeah.” Another quiet beat passed. Then Lilly’s expression softened.

“…Okay.” Matty blinked up at her.

“…Okay?” She nodded gently.

“I’ll go with you.” For a second Matty just stared like his brain hadn’t quite caught up yet. Then the tension left his shoulders all at once.

“Cool,” he said. Lilly smiled down at him, warmer now. “…You should probably stop throwing rocks at windows though.” Matty rubbed the back of his neck again.  “Yeah,” he admitted.

A pause.

“…Good advice.”Matty didn’t leave right away. He stood there for a second longer than necessary, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket while Lilly leaned out of her window above him. The warm light from her room spilled into the yard, catching the edges of her hair as the night settled in around them.

“…Well,” Matty said finally.

Lilly nodded slightly.

“…Well.” Neither of them moved. Then Matty glanced back toward his bike like he had just remembered it existed.

“Guess I should head home.”

“Probably,” Lilly agreed gently. He walked over and pulled the bike upright, the metal frame creaking softly as he swung one leg over it. When he looked back, Lilly was still there at the window, watching him. He lifted a hand in a small half-wave.

“See you Monday.” Lilly returned the gesture.

“See you.” Matty pushed off the curb and began pedaling down the street. Behind him, he heard the window slide closed. The quiet night swallowed the sound of his tires rolling over pavement. Streetlights flickered above him one by one, casting pale yellow pools across the road as he rode through them. For a few moments, he just biked.

Just the steady rhythm of the pedals and the cool air brushing past his face. Then, slowly, a grin started pulling at the corner of his mouth. Matty bit his lower lip, trying—and failing—to hide it from absolutely no one. She said yes.

The thought made something warm bloom in his chest. He let out a small breath that almost sounded like a laugh.

Yeah.

She said yes.

But the feeling didn’t stay simple for long. Because right behind the happiness came the other thought. Matty’s smile softened a little as he rode past another row of houses.

He already knew.

He’d known for a while.

The way Lilly’s eyes drifted across the gym sometimes. The way her attention seemed to settle somewhere else even when she was standing right next to him. The small things people usually missed—but Matty didn’t.

Lilly liked someone else.

He wasn’t stupid.

He wasn’t blind.

The bike rolled over a crack in the pavement and he adjusted his grip on the handlebars, the grin still lingering faintly on his face.

Even so…

She still said yes.

Matty exhaled slowly, the sound quiet in the empty street.

“Good enough,” he murmured to himself.

And with that, he pedaled a little faster toward home, the night air rushing past him as the lights of the neighborhood stretched ahead.

The hiding spot had been Ronnie’s idea.

Lilly still wasn’t sure it had been a good one.

She crouched slightly behind the thick trunk of a tree across the street, peeking through the leaves toward the warm yellow lights glowing from the windows of Marge’s house. The evening air was cool, and the quiet neighborhood felt far too calm for the ridiculous operation currently unfolding in the bushes.

“Can you see him?” Will whispered.

“Yes,” Ronnie replied, leaning a little to the side. “He’s still standing there.” Across the street, under the porch light, Rich looked like he was moments away from fainting.

He had actually committed to the outfit.

Suspenders stretched neatly over his shoulders, his white button-down tucked properly into his slacks, and a small bowtie sitting proudly beneath his collar—although slightly crooked now from the way he kept nervously tugging at it.

In his hands were the flowers.

Simple daisies, wrapped in brown paper.

Lilly had insisted on those.

Earlier that afternoon the whole group had gathered on the bleachers, watching Rich spiral into increasingly dramatic plans.

“What if I bring roses?” he had asked anxiously.

“No,” Ronnie said immediately.

“Too intense,” Matty added.

“What about chocolates?”

“You’re not courting someone in a Victorian novel,” Will muttered.

That was when Lilly had quietly spoken up.

“Marge likes simple things,” she had said, thinking of the little details she’d noticed over the past weeks. “She keeps daisies on her desk sometimes.”

Rich had stared at her like she had just handed him the answer key to a test.

“Daisies,” he repeated.

“And just ask her normally,” Lilly added gently. “Don’t rush.”

“Also breathe,” Matty said.

Now, back outside Marge’s house, Lilly watched Rich pace a small circle on the sidewalk.

Matty crouched beside her behind the tree.

“He’s going to wear a hole into the pavement,” he whispered.

Ronnie folded her arms.

“At least he showed up.”

Will leaned forward through the branches. “Wait—wait—someone’s coming.”

The front door opened.

All five of them ducked instinctively behind the tree trunk like a flock of startled birds.

Lilly slowly peeked out again.

Marge stepped onto the porch, adjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder. She had changed out of her school clothes, now wearing a simple sweater and slacks, her hair loosely pulled back.

She paused when she saw Rich standing at the end of the walkway.

“…Oh,” Ronnie murmured quietly.

Rich froze.

Completely.

Matty whispered urgently, “Move, man. Move.”

Rich did not move. Lilly could practically feel the panic radiating off him from across the street. Then finally—like someone had restarted his brain—Rich walked up the path. He said something. From the distance, they couldn’t hear the words. But they could see the way his hands moved nervously as he spoke.

Marge blinked, clearly surprised. Behind the tree, Will grabbed Matty’s sleeve. “What is he saying?”

“How would I know?” Rich suddenly held out the flowers. Marge looked down at the daisies. Her expression softened. Lilly watched quietly, her head tilting slightly as she studied the interaction. Marge laughed—soft and surprised—and accepted the flowers carefully.

Behind the tree—

Ronnie grabbed Lilly’s arm.

“That’s good, right?”

“I think so,” Lilly whispered. Rich said something else now, a little more confidently. Marge listened. Then she smiled. And nodded. Rich’s shoulders lifted like a balloon finally filled with air.

Behind the tree, the group erupted into silent chaos. Will clapped both hands over his mouth. Matty punched the air.

Ronnie whispered loudly, “HE DID IT.” Lilly couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped her. Across the street, Rich was still talking—much less like he was about to pass out now—while Marge held the daisies against her side, amused.

For once, everything had actually worked. Ronnie nudged Lilly’s shoulder with a grin.

“You’re the mastermind,” she whispered.

Lilly just smiled softly, eyes still on the porch as Rich continued nervously but happily talking.

“Not really,” she said quietly.

But the small proud warmth in her chest said otherwise.

They ended up at the small ice cream stand two blocks from Marge’s street.

It wasn’t part of the plan. None of them had actually planned anything after the mission. But the night had that restless kind of energy that comes after something big works out, and no one felt like going home yet. So now they walked slowly down the sidewalk under the dim streetlights, cones in hand, the quiet neighborhood echoing with their voices.

Rich, unfortunately, had become unbearable.

“I told you,” he was saying, pacing a few steps ahead of the group like someone giving a lecture. “Confidence. That’s the key. Women respect confidence.”

Will stared at him.

“You literally forgot how to speak.”

“That was a pause.”

“You froze.”

“A calculated pause.”

Matty snorted quietly beside them.

“Yeah,” he muttered, “you calculated it for like twenty seconds.” Rich waved him off, taking a dramatic bite of his ice cream like someone who had just completed a heroic quest. Ronnie rolled her eyes but didn’t hide her smile.

“Just remember who actually helped you,” she said.

“You guys were emotional support.”

“We planned the whole thing,” Will protested. Lilly walked beside Ronnie, listening more than speaking, her own ice cream slowly melting in the warm air. The night felt easy now. The tension from earlier had dissolved into the comfortable noise of friends teasing each other.

For a moment, the conversation drifted between jokes and exaggerated retellings of Rich’s near collapse on Marge’s porch. Then Rich turned suddenly.

“Wait,” he said.

He pointed his spoon at Lilly.

“So who are you going with?” The question landed lightly—but it shifted the air all the same. Lilly blinked.

“…To the dance?”

“Yeah,” Will said. “You’re not just going alone, right?” Matty’s steps slowed slightly. He didn’t look up. Instead, he focused on the pavement ahead, carefully licking the edge of his cone like it required his full attention. Lilly hesitated for only a moment.

“…Matty asked me,” she said.

The reaction was immediate. Ronnie stopped walking. Will stopped walking. Rich nearly dropped his cone. “You’re kidding,” Rich said. Matty sighed quietly through his nose.

“Please don’t start.” Ronnie looked between them slowly, a slow grin spreading across her face as she connected the dots.

“…Oh,” she said. Will’s eyebrows shot up.

“Oh.” Rich pointed dramatically between the two of them.

“OH.” Matty scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck.

“It’s not a big deal.”

“It’s a huge deal,” Rich said. Ronnie nudged Lilly’s shoulder lightly. “Well,” she said, amused, “look at that.” Lilly smiled faintly, though there was a small stiffness behind it now that the attention had shifted toward her. Matty glanced briefly at her—just once—before looking away again.

The teasing lingered for a few steps. Then Lilly spoke again, her voice soft but curious.

“…Ronnie?”

Ronnie glanced over.

“Yeah?”

“…Who are you going with?” The question seemed harmless. Ronnie shrugged.

“No one.” The group slowed. Will blinked.

“…What?” Ronnie took another bite of her ice cream like she hadn’t just dropped something strange into the conversation. “Not worth the trouble,” she said lightly.

They stopped walking, completely. Rich stared at her.

Matty frowned slightly. Lilly tilted her head. “…What do you mean?” Rich asked. Ronnie shrugged again, casual. “It’s just a dance.”

The answer hung there. Will had gone quiet beside her. Matty noticed first. His eyes shifted toward Will. Rich followed the movement. Then Lilly did too. Ronnie looked between them slowly.

“…Why are you all looking at him?” Will straightened suddenly, like he had just realized something important and unfortunate at the same time.

Before Ronnie could question it— Matty placed a firm hand on Will’s shoulder and shoved him forward.

“Go.”

Will stumbled.

“Hey—!”

Rich stepped in immediately, pushing him another half-step closer.

“Yeah, go.”

Ronnie blinked in confusion.

“…What are you doing?” Will looked like he had just been thrown onto a stage without rehearsal. His ears turned red instantly.

“I—uh—” Matty crossed his arms.

“Well?” Will shot him a look of betrayal. Rich leaned forward encouragingly.

“Say it.” Ronnie stared at Will, completely baffled now.

“…Will?” Will rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly fascinated by the ground.

“…Do you—”

He stopped.

Tried again.

“…Do you maybe want to go to the dance with me?” The sidewalk went quiet. Ronnie froze. Her ice cream hovered halfway to her mouth.

“…Wait.” Will swallowed.

“…Yeah.” She stared at him for a moment, clearly trying to process the situation she had just been pushed into.

“…You’re asking me?”

“…Yes.” Another pause stretched between them. Behind Will, Matty and Rich stood like two very invested supervisors. Lilly watched quietly, her expression soft and patient. Ronnie exhaled slowly, shaking her head.

“…You guys are unbelievable.” But there was a small smile forming now. She looked back at Will.

“…Okay.” Will blinked.

“…Okay?” Ronnie rolled her eyes lightly.

“Yes, okay.” Behind them, Rich threw his hands into the air.

“Two for two!” Matty shook his head, laughing quietly under his breath. Will still looked stunned. Ronnie nudged his shoulder as they started walking again.

“…Next time,” she said, “maybe ask me before assembling a committee.” Will huffed a small embarrassed laugh.

“…Yeah.” Behind them, Lilly walked beside Matty again, the two of them falling naturally into step with the rest of the group. The night stretched ahead, easy and warm with laughter as they continued down the quiet street together.

Chapter Text

Lilly lay across her bed with one arm folded beneath her head, staring quietly at the ceiling while the fan turned in slow circles above her. The room was dim except for the small lamp on her bedside table, its warm light stretching softly across the walls.

Outside, the night had settled into a comfortable silence. The window beside her bed was open just enough to let the cool air drift inside, carrying the faint chirp of crickets and the occasional distant hum of a passing car.

Her eyes wandered.

They landed on the corner of her room. Her dress hung from the wardrobe door, carefully placed there earlier that evening. Her mom had brought it home only a few days ago after Lilly mentioned the Junior Ball. Lilly hadn’t expected much from the quick shopping trip, but when the garment bag opened she had been quietly surprised.

The dress was blue.

A calm, gentle shade that deepened when the light shifted across it. The fabric fell smoothly from the waist, the skirt draping in soft folds that would sway easily with every step. The material looked light enough to move freely, almost floating when she imagined turning or walking.

The sleeves were short and delicate, sitting neatly along her shoulders, and the neckline curved simply across her collarbone. No heavy decorations. No glitter or loud patterns.

Just clean lines and flowing fabric that made the whole thing look effortlessly graceful.

Perfect for her.

Lilly smiled faintly to herself as she studied it.

The gym would look completely different on Wednesday. Curtains, lights, music echoing across the polished floor. Students dressed in clothes that made them seem older for a few hours.

It would be fun. Her smile lingered for a moment longer. Then her thoughts drifted somewhere else. Not to the dance.

To someone.

Her gaze softened as she stared up at the ceiling again.

Patty.

Lilly hadn’t properly spoken to her in days. Every time she saw her at school, Patty seemed to be moving in three directions at once—organizing volunteers, talking with the council, carrying papers tucked under one arm while giving instructions to someone else.

She always looked busy. Lilly shifted slightly on the bed, turning her head toward the window as the thought settled in her chest. Slowly, another image crept into her mind.

The gym again. Music playing softly. Strings of decorations hanging from the ceiling. But now Patty was there too. Not pacing around with a clipboard. Not calling out instructions across the room.

Instead she stood among the crowd wearing a dress, something simple that moved when she walked. Her strawberry-blonde hair falling loose around her shoulders, bouncing lightly every time she turned her head or laughed at something someone said.

And that smile.

Bright and sudden, the way it appeared whenever she forgot to be serious.

The image arrived so vividly that Lilly felt warmth rush to her cheeks before she even realized what she was thinking.

She sat upright on the bed immediately.

“…Lilly,” she muttered softly to herself.

Her face felt hot.

She pressed both hands briefly over her cheeks, then dragged them down slowly like she was trying to wipe the thought away.

Why was she thinking about that?

She shook her head once, firmly.

Patty was busy.

Busy running the entire dance, probably.

And Lilly—

Lilly already had someone to go with.

The room was quiet again as she lay back down, turning onto her side and pulling the blanket slightly higher around her shoulders. The blue dress still hung in the corner of the room, swaying faintly from the movement in the air. Lilly closed her eyes.

She forced her thoughts to settle, pushing away the lingering image of strawberry-blonde hair and bright laughter until the quiet of the night slowly pulled her toward sleep.

The house had been quiet all morning.

By late afternoon, it wasn’t.

“Lilly, hold still—just for a second.”

“I am holding still.”

“You moved.”

“I breathed.” Terri let out a quiet, familiar sigh behind her, the kind that carried more care than annoyance. Her hands moved gently through Lilly’s hair, smoothing, adjusting, then pausing like she was reconsidering everything she had just done.

Lilly sat in front of the mirror, shoulders relaxed, watching the reflection of the two of them. The room was filled with soft evening light, warm and golden where it slipped through the curtains, catching on the edges of the dresser and the small glass bottles lined neatly beside it.

Her dress stood out most of all. The fabric fell cleanly from her waist, draping in quiet folds that moved when she shifted even slightly. It brushed just past her knees, light enough to sway with every step, every turn.

The neckline curved gently across her collarbone, simple and unadorned. The sleeves rested neatly at her shoulders, delicate without feeling fragile.

Terri stepped back slightly, tilting her head as she looked at Lilly through the mirror. Her brows pulled together in quiet concentration, like she was searching for something out of place.

“…There,” she said at last.

A pause.

“…I think.”

Lilly’s lips curved faintly.

“You said that already, Mom.”

“I can say it again.” Lilly let out a soft breath that almost turned into a laugh. Terri’s hands lowered slowly, lingering for a second before falling to her sides. She didn’t speak right away this time.

She just looked.

Really looked.

Her expression shifted—something softer settling in, something that made her shoulders ease just slightly.

“…You look just like—” Terri started, then stopped.

Lilly caught it immediately.

“…Like who?” she asked gently. Terri shook her head once, brushing it aside with a small, controlled smile.

“…You look beautiful,” she said instead. Lilly held her gaze through the mirror for a moment, something quiet passing between them.

“…Thank you.” Terri nodded, then, almost as if she had to ground herself again, she straightened.

“What time did you say he’s coming?”

“Soon.”

“And I’m driving you,” Terri said, already shifting into something more practical, more familiar. “I’ll take both of you.”

“Mom—”

“It’s getting dark,” she continued, matter-of-fact. “And I’d rather know exactly how you’re getting there.”

“It’s just the school,” Lilly said softly.

“I’m aware,” Terri replied dryly. Lilly turned in her seat to face her fully now, her voice calm.

“It’s Matty,” she said. “You’ve met him.” Terri paused. Her eyes flickered briefly—thinking, measuring.

“…That doesn’t mean I won’t drive,” she said after a moment. Lilly smiled, small but warm.

“…Okay.” That seemed to settle it. Terri nodded once, satisfied, and stepped forward again, fingers brushing lightly over Lilly’s shoulder, smoothing something invisible.

“Just… be careful,” she said, quieter now.

“I will.”

“And stay where there are people.”

“It’s a school dance.”

“I know.”

“And I’ll be with everyone.”

“I know,” Terri repeated, softer. For a second, neither of them spoke. Then Lilly reached up and gently took her mom’s hands.

“I’ll be fine.”

Terri looked at her for a long moment.

Then she nodded.

“…Alright.”

The knock came a moment later. Lilly paused at the bottom of the stairs, her hand resting lightly against the railing as her chest rose in a quiet breath. Behind her, she could hear her mom moving—already heading toward the door before Lilly could even take a step.

“I’ll get it,” Terri called. Matty stood on the porch, one hand still half-raised from knocking, the other awkwardly shoved into the pocket of his slacks. He had clearly tried—his shirt neatly buttoned, sleeves straight, shoes cleaner than usual. His hair looked like he had attempted to fix it more than once before giving up halfway through.

For a second, he just stared.

“…Oh.” It slipped out of him before he could stop it. Lilly froze just inside the doorway, suddenly very aware of herself. Matty blinked once, then huffed a quiet, almost embarrassed breath.

“…Wow.” The word landed softer this time. Lilly’s fingers curled slightly at her sides, her gaze dropping for just a second before lifting again.

“…Hi,” she said quietly.

“Hi,” he echoed.

Behind her—

“Oh, don’t move.” Lilly barely had time to react before Terri had already disappeared for half a second and come back holding a small camera.

“Mom—”

“Just one,” Terri said, already raising it. Matty straightened immediately.

“Yes, ma’am.” Lilly glanced at him, a hint of amusement flickering across her face. He looked like he had no idea what to do with his hands.

“Stand closer,” Terri added.

They did.

A little awkwardly. Not quite touching—but close enough that the space between them felt noticeable.

“Good,” Terri murmured. The moment froze in a quiet flash. Terri lowered the camera, clearly satisfied.

“…Alright,” she said, her tone shifting briskly again. “Let’s go before you’re late.” Lilly exhaled softly, the small tension in her shoulders easing. Matty stepped back slightly, instinctively moving aside to let her pass through the doorway. She brushed past him, the fabric of her dress shifting lightly as she stepped onto the porch.

He followed just behind her, still a little stiff, still adjusting to everything all at once. Terri locked the door quickly before turning toward the driveway.

“Come on,” she said, gesturing toward the car. “In.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Matty said again without thinking.

Lilly bit back a small smile. They climbed into the car—Lilly sliding into the back seat first, Matty following after a second’s hesitation.

And just like that, the house was left behind as they pulled out into the evening, the quiet street giving way to the soft hum of the road ahead.

The school looked different at night.

Lights spilled out from the gym windows, warm and golden against the darkening sky. Music—faint but steady—carried out through the open doors, mixing with the low buzz of voices and laughter gathered outside.

Terri pulled the car to a stop near the curb.

“We’re here,” she said, glancing at them through the rearview mirror. Lilly nodded, fingers smoothing lightly over the fabric of her dress again, more out of habit than anything else. Beside her, Matty shifted, suddenly looking a little more aware of everything—the lights, the people, the fact that this was actually happening.

“Thank you, ma’am,” he said as he reached for the door. Terri gave a small nod. “Be safe. Stay together.”

“We will,” Lilly said softly. The doors opened. Cool evening air rushed in. They stepped out, the sound of the dance growing clearer now—music echoing faintly, shoes scraping against pavement, voices overlapping in excited bursts.

For a moment, Lilly just stood there, taking it in.

Then—

“Hey!”

They both turned. Ronnie stood a few feet away near the walkway, already dressed, one hand lifted in a loose wave. Beside her was her dad, taller, relaxed, watching the scene with quiet amusement as students passed by in clusters.

“You made it,” Ronnie called.

“We’re not late, are we?” Matty asked, instinctively checking.

“No,” Ronnie said. “You’re fine.”

A little further down, near the steps—

Will stood with his mom, who was adjusting his collar while he tried (and failed) to look like he wasn’t mildly embarrassed by it.

“Mom, it’s fine—”

“It’s crooked.”

“It’s not—”

“It is.” Matty snorted quietly under his breath. Lilly’s lips curved faintly. Across the way, Rich was already there too, pacing in small, tight circles like he had too much energy and nowhere to put it.

“Wow,” Matty muttered. “He looks worse than earlier.”

“That’s because he’s actually nervous now,” Ronnie said, walking over to join them. “Different kind of pressure.” Lilly’s gaze moved across the scene slowly. Everyone was here.

Everyone looked… different.

Dressed up. Put together. A little older, even if it was just for tonight. Her eyes lingered for a moment longer— Then drifted, almost without thinking—

Toward the entrance.

Toward the light spilling out from inside.

Somewhere past those doors—

Patty would be there. Probably moving around, still organizing, still making sure everything was perfect. Lilly swallowed lightly, pulling her thoughts back before they could settle too long.

“…Should we go in?” she asked softly.

Ronnie grinned. “Yeah.”

Matty stepped forward first, glancing back briefly. “Come on.” And together, they headed toward the doors—toward the music, the lights, and everything waiting inside.

The moment they stepped inside, the warmth wrapped around them all at once.

The gym barely resembled itself.

Where there had once been bare walls and the dull shine of polished wood, there were now curtains draped in deep blue along the stage, soft lights strung carefully overhead, and tables arranged with a kind of effort that showed in every detail. The decorations didn’t overwhelm the space—they softened it, made it feel smaller, more intimate, like something held together by careful hands rather than just a school event thrown together at the last minute.

Music filled the air, low but steady, blending with the hum of voices and laughter. Students clustered in groups near the edges of the room, some already dancing, others lingering by the tables, adjusting sleeves, fixing hair, pretending not to be watching everyone else do the same.

Lilly slowed slightly as they walked in, her eyes moving across the room, taking everything in. There was something strange about it—seeing familiar faces in unfamiliar ways. People she saw every day now looked different under soft lighting and neatly pressed clothes, like they had all stepped just slightly outside of themselves for the night.

Matty let out a low breath beside her. “They really went all out.”

“They had to,” Ronnie replied, scanning the room with a small nod. “Patty would’ve lost her mind otherwise.” That name settled quietly somewhere in Lilly’s chest, but she didn’t let herself linger on it.

Instead, she followed as they moved further in, weaving past clusters of students until they found a space near the side of the gym where it was just a little less crowded.

“Okay,” Will said, adjusting his sleeves again like he still wasn’t convinced they were sitting right. “This is… actually kind of nice.”

“That’s because you’re not the one who had to set it up,” Ronnie said.

“I helped,” he protested.

“Barely.” Before Will could argue back, a familiar figure slipped into their circle.

Rich.

He looked like he had been pacing—again. His hair was slightly out of place, his bowtie no longer perfectly centered, and there was a restless energy in the way he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

“Okay,” he said immediately, not even bothering with a greeting. “I think I’m going to pass out.”

Matty raised a brow. “You’ve been saying that for the past hour.”

“This is different,” Rich insisted, running a hand through his hair. “This is the actual event. This is—this is real.”

Ronnie crossed her arms, amused. “You already asked her. She said yes. What exactly are you panicking about now?”

“I don’t know!” Rich said, voice pitching slightly. “Everything? What if I say something stupid? What if I trip? What if—”

He stopped. Mid-sentence. Like someone had hit pause on him.

The rest of them followed his line of sight. Marge had just stepped into the gym. For a moment, the movement around them seemed to blur—not because anything actually slowed, but because Rich had gone completely still.

She looked… effortless.

Her dress wasn’t extravagant, but it didn’t need to be. It fell neatly along her frame, the fabric moving lightly as she walked, catching the glow of the overhead lights in soft shifts. Her hair was pulled back just enough to keep it out of her face, though a few loose strands framed it naturally, moving when she turned her head.

She spotted them almost immediately.

And smiled.

Rich didn’t move.

“Go,” Matty muttered under his breath. Rich did not go. “Move,” Ronnie added, nudging him slightly. Still nothing. So Marge closed the distance herself.

“You made it,” she said, her voice easy, warm as she came to a stop in front of them.

“Hi,” Will said quickly, like he was compensating for Rich’s complete lack of response.

“Hi,” Ronnie echoed, grinning. Lilly stepped forward before the moment could get any more awkward.

“Marge.”

She wrapped her arms around her in a quick, natural hug—something familiar, something easy. “You look really nice,” Lilly said softly as she pulled back. Marge smiled, a little softer now. “So do you.” Lilly’s lips curved faintly.

“Your dress suits you,” she added, eyes flicking briefly over the details. “Yours too,” Marge replied. “It’s… very you.”

Behind them—

Rich finally seemed to reboot.

“Oh—hi,” he said, a little too late, a little too stiff. Marge turned to him, her smile returning, but gentler this time—amused, not unkind.

“Hi, Rich.” And just like that, whatever panic had been building in him seemed to settle into something quieter.

Rich cleared his throat once, then again, as if trying to summon every ounce of dignity he possessed. He straightened his back, squared his shoulders, and then—without warning—bowed. Really bowed, the kind of deep, theatrical dip that belonged in a period drama rather than a middle school gymnasium.

“May I?” he asked, extending a hand toward Marge, his fingers trembling slightly despite his impeccable posture.

There was a beat of stunned silence.

“Oh my—” Ronnie choked, pressing her hand to her mouth and turning slightly to hide her grin. Will leaned closer to Matty and whispered, “He’s gone full gentleman.”

Matty snorted, shaking his head. “Someone get him a top hat.” Marge didn’t laugh, not immediately, but the corners of her mouth tugged upward. Her eyes softened, amused yet patient, as she placed her hand lightly in his. “You may,” she said, and her voice carried a warmth that made Rich’s stiff form relax almost instantly.

He straightened again, a mixture of triumph and terror in his posture, as though the world had just knighted him and also forgotten to tell him the rules.

The group around them dissolved into quiet laughter, voices low with shared amusement, as they moved further into the gym. The hum of the crowd and the swell of music wrapped around them, the shuffle of shoes over polished floor blending with the soft glitter of ribbons and lights. For a moment, Rich’s awkward solemnity seemed perfectly at home amidst the chaos of the Junior Ball, the kind of absurd, earnest energy that made nights like this unforgettable.

The gym was a blur of light and color, ribbons spiraling from the ceiling, soft golden glows catching the edges of every stream of tulle and satin. Students drifted past in clusters, laughing, chatting, hands clasped and legs brushing across the polished floor. Lilly moved with the current of the crowd, Matty’s arm lightly around hers, his presence a grounding weight she welcomed without thinking.

And then the world shifted.

Patricia Stanton appeared at the entrance, a figure that seemed to command the space without even trying. Her dress was red, vibrant and fluid, catching the light in ways that made it seem almost alive, a perfect echo of her presence. Her blonde hair was pinned up, loose strands brushing the curve of her neck, catching the glow from the chandeliers above. And her smile—Patty’s smile—radiated effortlessly, dazzling, warm yet impossibly precise, the kind of smile that could silence a room without a word.

Lilly’s chest constricted, her heart skipping uneven beats as her eyes met Patty’s across the crowd. Time seemed to fold in on itself, the chatter around her fading into white noise, the laughter of other students dissolving into the background hum of her own quickening pulse. Patty’s gaze was sharp, cutting through the movement and the noise, settling on her with a clarity that made Lilly’s skin prickle.

And then, as if the universe were teasing, Patty started toward her. Lilly’s stomach twisted with anticipation and something more—something she couldn’t name. But before Patty could close the distance, Tim stepped in, guiding her gently by the arm, unaware of the intensity of the eyes Patty had just held on Lilly.

Matty, quiet beside her, murmured, “You okay?” His voice was low, calm, steady.

Lilly drew a shaky breath, forcing herself to nod, though her pulse continued to hammer in her ears. “I’m fine,” she said, though the words felt small and hollow against the weight of the look she’d just received.

He offered his arm again, a silent invitation, and she looped hers through his. The warmth of his hand against hers grounded her, and together they moved back toward the group, the laughter and chatter washing over them once more, but Lilly’s gaze kept flicking to the entrance, to the space where Patty had stood, radiant and untouchable.

Even as they rejoined the others, even as Rich fumbled to compliment Marge and the other kids chatted and joked, Lilly couldn’t shake the image of that red dress, the glint of blonde hair, the sharp brilliance in those blue eyes. The world had stopped for a heartbeat, and she knew—though she would never say it aloud—that it wouldn’t quite start again the same way.

Chapter Text

The music softened as the student council stepped forward, clearing the center of the gym. Lights caught the sequins and tulle of the gowns, reflecting in warm glimmers across the polished floor. Lilly stayed close to Matty, his arm brushing hers occasionally, steady and grounding.

A student council member raised a hand, smiling over the crowd. “Welcome, everyone, to the Junior Ball!” His voice carried over the chatter, smooth and bright. “We’re so glad you could all join us tonight. Please remember—while you enjoy the music, the decorations, and the dancing—don’t forget to cast your votes for Junior Ball King and Queen. Your ballots are at the tables along the side.”

The announcement seemed to hit the crowd like a wave. Excited chatter rippled through the gym as students nudged each other, laughed, and whispered predictions about who would win. Lilly stayed close to Matty, letting the warmth of his arm around hers steady her, though she couldn’t help smiling at the bubbling energy around her.

Ronnie fell in step beside Lilly, Marge just behind, and the three drifted along the edges of the polished floor. “I bet it’ll be one of the Patty Cakes,” Lilly said, nodding toward where Patty had disappeared into the crowd earlier. Her eyes flicked briefly to the red of her dress, the way she moved effortlessly among the students.

Marge smirked, a playful tilt to her lips. “Oh? Confident?”

Lilly shrugged, feigning casualness. “Just a hunch.”

Ronnie glanced between the two of them, then lowered her voice. “Should I tell her?” she asked quietly, nodding toward Lilly. Marge’s smile sharpened, a foxlike glint in her eyes that made Lilly blink.

“What do you mean?” Lilly asked, curiosity piqued.

“I voted for you,” Ronnie said suddenly, her grin mischievous, like she’d just dealt a secret hand.

Lilly froze, a sharp jolt of shock running through her. She hadn’t expected that. Her mouth opened, closed, and opened again, words tangling in her throat.

“Wait… what?”

Marge laughed softly, a light, teasing sound that seemed to wrap around them. Lilly’s cheeks flushed, warmth spilling over, and for the first time that night, the excitement of the ball mixed with a thrill she hadn’t anticipated.

The three of them drifted a little further into the crowd, laughter and chatter wrapping around them, the music soft beneath the clinking of cups and whispers of excitement. Marge glanced at Lilly with that playful glint still in her eyes. “We all pitched in,” she said casually, a hint of amusement in her tone. “Boys included.”

Lilly blinked, surprised. “Why would you guys do that?”

“Oh, you know,” Marge said, tossing her hands lightly, “because reasons.”

Ronnie leaned in, grinning. “Because Lilly deserves it, obviously.” Will added, “Because she’s fast at dodgeball.” Rich chimed in, almost seriously, “Because she makes the best peanut butter sandwiches in the cafeteria.”

Lilly laughed despite herself, shaking her head. “You all are ridiculous.” Marge’s expression softened, her voice quieting just a touch. “Because, in case you didn’t know… you’re beautiful, Lilly.”

A warm, unexpected blush crept up Lilly’s cheeks, and before she could respond, Ronnie elbowed her gently. “And Matty is one lucky guy.” Then, with a grin, Ronnie drifted back toward the boys, leaving Lilly and Marge slightly behind.

Marge lingered a step closer, looking at Lilly with something unreadable in her gaze. “So… did Matty pick you up?”

Lilly nodded, trying to keep the blush from spreading. “Yeah. Mom dropped us off.”

Marge’s eyes flicked toward the crowd, as if considering whether to say something more, before letting out a small breath. “Patty looks… really pretty in that dress.”

Lilly’s heart stumbled for just a moment, taken aback by the name, though she managed a small nod. The two of them weaved through the clusters of students, laughter and music surrounding them, and Lilly kept her attention partly on Marge, partly on the sparkling gym floor.

Lilly let herself drift back into the movement of the gym, the music swelling again as the crowd loosened after the announcement. The lights blurred into soft gold and blue as people began to scatter—some toward the dance floor, others toward the tables, laughter rising in small bursts. Matty stayed close, never quite touching unless she shifted nearer first, but always there, a quiet presence just at her side like he understood she needed something steady without asking for it.

Across the room, a few meters away, Patty stood with Tim.

They looked—Lilly hesitated, eyes catching on them longer than she meant—like something out of a picture. The red of Patty’s dress against the darker tones of Tim’s suit, the way they stood aligned without trying, both composed, both striking in that effortless, put-together way that made people glance twice without realizing it.

Lilly’s chest tightened, something small and sharp slipping between her ribs.

“They look better together,” she murmured under her breath, so quiet it barely existed.

“…What?” Matty asked, leaning slightly toward her, not quite catching it.

Lilly blinked, snapping out of it. “Nothing,” she said quickly, already stepping back. “I—uh, I’m just gonna go to the bathroom.”

Matty nodded without pressing. “Yeah. I’ll be here.” She slipped away before anything else could be said.

The hallway outside the gym was quieter, the music muffled behind closed doors, replaced by the hum of fluorescent lights and the distant echo of footsteps. Lilly pushed into the restroom, the sharp brightness of it making her squint slightly.

A few stalls were already occupied.

At first it was just the usual—shifting feet, the rustle of fabric—but then—

A sound.

Wet and uneven.

Lilly froze mid-step. Two pairs of shoes beneath one stall door. Her face flushed instantly, heat crawling up her neck as the noise continued—soft, breathy, careless in a way that made her stomach twist.

“God,” she muttered under her breath, turning sharply toward the sinks instead. She didn’t want to be there. Not even for a second.

Lilly avoided the mirror at first, then forced herself to look anyway, bracing her hands against the counter. Her reflection stared back—slightly flushed, eyes a little too bright, lips pressed thin like she was holding something in.

She exhaled.

Checked her face quickly. Smoothed a stray strand of hair behind her ear. The sounds didn’t stop. That was enough.

She turned and left almost immediately, pushing the door open a little harder than necessary, stepping back into the hallway like she needed air.

The quiet hit her all at once.

Her breathing picked up before she could stop it, shallow and quick, her chest tightening in that familiar way she hated—the kind that crept in without warning and refused to leave when asked.

“Okay,” she whispered to herself, already reaching into her bag.

Her fingers found the small container easily. One pill. She didn’t hesitate. A dry swallow, a small wince, then she leaned back against the cool wall, sliding down just enough to sit, elbows resting loosely on her knees as she forced herself to breathe slower.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

The hallway stayed empty. Still. A few minutes passed—she didn’t count how many. Her shoulders loosened first. Then her chest followed, the tightness easing just enough to let her breathe without thinking about it. She let out a quiet sigh, tilting her head back against the wall.

“…You were in there for a few minutes and you’re already running away.” The voice came from her right. Lilly didn’t even flinch. She didn’t need to look. Her heart had already reacted before her head could.

“…I wasn’t running away,” she said, though the argument felt weak even to her own ears.

Patty shifted slightly beside her, the soft rustle of her dress brushing against the quiet of the hallway. For a moment, she didn’t say anything, just sat there with her back against the wall, one knee bent, fingers loosely resting against the fabric at her side like she was trying to decide how to approach it.

Then, quieter this time, stripped of the sharp edge she usually carried—

“…Are you okay?”

Lilly let out a small breath through her nose, eyes still fixed somewhere ahead instead of turning to her. “Yeah,” she answered, a little too quick, a little too automatic.

Patty didn’t respond immediately. Lilly could feel it—that pause. That look. 

“You don’t sound okay,” Patty said after a beat, her voice softer now, but steady. Lilly’s fingers curled slightly against her sleeve. “I’m fine,” she repeated, quieter this time, like if she lowered the volume it might sound more believable.

Patty exhaled, tilting her head back against the wall.

“You always say that.” 

Lilly finally glanced at her then.

Up close like this, the details were sharper. The careful way Patty’s hair had been pinned, a few loose strands falling against her neck. The red of her dress, deeper in this lighting, less bright but somehow warmer. And her expression—still composed, still controlled, but not as rigid as it had been out on the gym floor.

“…You look tired,” Lilly said instead, the words slipping out before she could stop them.

Patty let out a short, quiet huff—almost a laugh, but not quite. “That obvious?”

“A little,” Lilly murmured.

Patty shifted her shoulder against the wall, rolling it slightly like she was easing out tension. “Been running around all night,” she said. “People keep asking questions like I printed the answers on the back of my hand.”

Lilly’s lips curved faintly.

“…You kind of act like you did.”

Patty glanced at her sideways. “I have to,” she said simply. “If I don’t, nothing gets done.”

There it was again, that firmness. But softer now. Less sharp. Like it wasn’t meant to push people away this time. Silence settled between them. Lilly looked down at her hands. “It looks good, though,” she said after a moment. “The gym. You did a good job.”

Patty didn’t answer right away. When she did, her voice was quieter than before.

“…Thanks.”

Patty shifted, planting her palm against the floor as she pushed herself up. The fabric of her dress fell back into place in a smooth line, catching the dim hallway light as she straightened. For a second, it looked like she was going to leave it there—just a quiet pause, a small exchange, and then back to the noise and expectations waiting for her beyond the doors.

She turned.

Took a step.

And stopped.

Lilly hadn’t moved. She was still sitting there, back against the wall, hands resting loosely in her lap, her breathing finally even, her gaze lowered like she was trying not to think too hard about anything at all.

Patty drew in a slow breath. Then she glanced back over her shoulder.

“…You look—” she started, and for once, the words didn’t come out sharp or certain. They faltered slightly, like she had to decide to say them at all.

“…beautiful.” It landed softer than anything else she’d said that night. Lilly blinked. The words caught her off guard in a way that made her chest tighten, not with anxiety this time, but something warmer—quieter, deeper. Heat rose to her cheeks almost immediately, and she sat up a little straighter without meaning to.

“…You too,” she said, voice gentler now, the edges of it smoothing out. “You look… as beautiful as ever.”

For a moment, Patty just looked at her. Then she huffed a small laugh, rolling her eyes in that familiar way—half dismissive, half something else she didn’t quite let show. “Yeah, okay,” she muttered, though there was no bite behind it.

She adjusted the strap at her shoulder, regaining that composed posture like slipping back into something well-practiced. “Don’t stay out here too long,” she added, glancing toward the gym doors. “They’ll think you disappeared.”

Lilly’s lips curved faintly. “Maybe I did.” Patty tilted her head slightly, like she almost had something else to say—but didn’t.

“…See you on the dance floor,” she said instead.

And then she turned, heels soft against the hallway floor as she walked back toward the light and music, the sound of the gym swelling again as the doors opened and closed behind her.

Lilly stayed where she was for a moment longer. Her fingers brushed lightly against her  cheek, still warm, still lingering with the echo of something she couldn’t quite name. Then, slowly, she exhaled, and stood.

Chapter Text

The music had changed by the time Lilly returned to the gym. The harsh buzz of conversation had melted into something warmer, easier, students gathering closer beneath the hanging lights while the glittering decorations swayed faintly overhead. Gold reflections rippled across the polished floor every time the disco lights turned, catching on sequins, dress shoes, bracelets, strands of curled hair.

For a moment, Lilly lingered near the entrance, smoothing her hands against the sides of her dress as she searched through the crowd.

Then Matty spotted her.

Relief crossed his face almost immediately as he stepped away from the others. His tie had loosened slightly since earlier, one side sitting lower than the other, and there was still that nervousness about him—subtle, tucked beneath the smile he gave her.

“There you are,” he said. “I thought you got kidnapped by the bathroom line.”

Lilly laughed softly. “Almost.” Matty looked at her for a second longer, like he was checking something silently, making sure she was alright without asking outright. Then he rubbed the back of his neck and glanced toward the dance floor.

“…Do you wanna dance?” The question came out careful. Casual on the surface, but Lilly could hear the hope tucked underneath it. Her chest tightened faintly. Matty had been good to her all night. Gentle. Patient. Steady in the way only Matty knew how to be. So Lilly smiled.

“Okay.” His entire face brightened.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Matty grinned quickly before trying—and failing—to hide how happy he looked. He held out his hand awkwardly, almost formal about it, and Lilly slipped hers into his.

The warmth of the gym wrapped around them as he guided her toward the center of the floor. Couples swayed beneath the lights, shoes gliding softly across the polished wood while laughter drifted around the edges of the room. Matty’s hand settled carefully at her waist. Lilly rested hers lightly against his shoulder. They started moving slowly, more swaying than actual dancing, but Matty looked relieved just to have found a rhythm at all.

“You’re better at this than Rich would be,” Lilly teased quietly. Matty snorted. “Rich dances like he’s fighting invisible bees.” She laughed again, softer this time.

But then—

Her eyes drifted.

Across the dance floor.

And landed on Patty.

Patty stood near the far side of the gym with Tim’s hand resting at her waist, the red fabric of her dress catching the low lights every time she moved. Even from across the room, she looked radiant—composed and striking in a way that pulled attention naturally, effortlessly.

Tim leaned down toward her, saying something Lilly couldn’t hear.

Then he smiled.

Cocky in that infuriating way that made Lilly’s stomach twist instantly.

The look on his face made irritation flare hot beneath her ribs so suddenly she almost blinked from it.

God, she wanted to slap him. The thought arrived so fast and so vividly that Lilly nearly startled herself.

Tim laughed at something, clearly pleased with himself, and Lilly had to look away before the annoyance crawling under her skin became obvious on her face. Matty noticed the shift immediately.

“…You okay?” he asked quietly, slowing slightly.

Lilly blinked, pulling herself back. “Yeah,” she answered, though her voice came a touch delayed.

Matty followed her gaze briefly across the room. Understanding flickered over his face almost too quickly. But he didn’t comment on it. Didn’t force anything. Instead, his hand tightened just slightly against hers.

Lilly looked back at him.

Matty offered a small smile. “C’mon,” he said gently. “At least pretend I’m the most interesting person here.” That pulled a laugh out of her despite herself.

“…You’re doing okay so far.”

“Only okay?” he gasped dramatically. And slowly, carefully, he guided her back into the rhythm of the music while the lights spun lazily above them, warm gold washing over the gym floor like something almost dreamlike.

Time slipped by easier after that.

The music carried the night forward in warm waves, slow songs bleeding into louder ones while the gym glowed beneath strings of lights and hanging ribbons. Students drifted from the dance floor to the refreshment tables and back again, cheeks flushed from dancing, shoes abandoned beneath chairs, laughter rising loud enough to drown out the speakers sometimes.

Lilly let herself exist inside it for a while.

Matty stayed close almost the entire night, never clingy, never demanding. Just there. They danced when the songs slowed enough to sway to and laughed when Rich nearly tripped trying to spin Marge dramatically across the floor. Ronnie stole drinks off other people’s tables with zero shame while Will complained loudly about his dress shoes hurting his feet. At some point, even Patty’s carefully organized decorations started looking slightly crooked from how many students had brushed past them all night.

And somehow, that made the gym feel even prettier.

Real.

Alive.

By the time the next slow song faded out, the room had grown warmer, noisier, softer around the edges. Groups clustered together near the bleachers while couples lingered near the center of the floor beneath the hanging lights.

Then the microphone squealed lightly.

A collective groan echoed through the gym.

“Oh no,” Rich muttered dramatically.

At the front, one of the student council hosts stepped onto the small stage beside the DJ table, laughing as they tapped the microphone once.

“Alright, alright—everyone settle down for a second!”

The music lowered gradually beneath the chatter. Students whined jokingly but started turning toward the stage anyway, some still holding hands, others dragging chairs closer.

The host grinned. “First of all, thank you guys for not destroying the gym.”

That earned scattered laughter immediately.

“Seriously,” he continued, “we know some of you were dangerously close.”

Will pointed at Ronnie instantly. “That’s her.”

Ronnie gasped. “Traitor.”

The host kept talking, smiling warmly now. “But really—thank you to everyone who helped make tonight happen. The volunteers, the decorating committee, student council, all the teachers and facilitators who stayed late setting everything up…”

Applause rippled through the room.

Then—

“And especially Patty Stanton.” The cheering doubled instantly. Lilly looked up automatically.

Across the gym, Patty stood near the side of the stage, clearly caught off guard by the sudden attention. Her face flushed faintly as students shouted her name from different corners of the room. Someone near the back wolf-whistled loudly enough to make her roll her eyes.

But she was smiling.

Really smiling.

The lights caught against her pinned blonde hair as she glanced across the crowd—and found Lilly almost immediately. Lilly smiled before she could stop herself.

Patty’s expression softened for half a second, something quieter slipping through before the moment disappeared beneath the noise again.

The host raised the microphone once more dramatically. “Now…” he said, dragging the word out while students immediately started screaming again.

“I think it’s finally time.” The entire gym erupted.

“Oh my God,” Ronnie groaned excitedly. Rich grabbed Will’s shoulders. “This is it.”

Beside Lilly, Matty laughed quietly under his breath. The host opened the envelope slowly, milking the moment for all it was worth while students shouted names from every direction.

“Your Junior Ball King…”

A pause.

“…Timothy Hargrove!”

The gym exploded into applause. Tim lifted both hands immediately like he’d expected nothing less, grinning broadly as his friends hollered from somewhere near the back tables.

“And your Junior Ball Queen…” Lilly already knew before the name was said.

“…Patricia Stanton!” Cheers crashed through the room again, louder this time. Patty blinked once, visibly startled despite how expected it was, before students rushed to push her gently toward the center. The red of her dress shimmered beneath the lights as the crown was carefully placed over her pinned hair.

Lilly clapped hard enough her palms stung slightly. She couldn’t stop smiling. Because of course it was Patty.

Of course.

Patty looked radiant standing there beneath the lights, bouquet held against her chest while students shouted her name from across the gym floor.

Beside her, Tim leaned closer with that same cocky grin he always wore. And beside Lilly,  Matty had gone quiet. Lilly barely noticed at first. Her eyes stayed fixed on Patty, on the way she laughed breathlessly while fixing the crown slightly atop her head.

Then she felt it. The weight of someone looking at her. She turned. Matty wasn’t watching the stage anymore. He was watching her. And slowly, painfully, understanding settled across his face.

Ah.

So that’s how it is.

The realization sat there between them without either of them saying a word. Before Lilly could react, Tim suddenly reached for the microphone again. The crowd screamed immediately.

Patty turned sharply toward him. “Tim—”

But he was already laughing into the mic.

“Well,” he said smoothly, throwing an arm around her shoulders while the gym lost its mind again, “since we already won king and queen…” Students immediately started shrieking. Ronnie buried her face into Will’s shoulder. “Oh brother.”

Tim turned fully toward Patty now, grin widening.

“Patty Stanton,” he announced dramatically, “will you date me?” The gym exploded. Noise crashed against Lilly all at once—clapping, screaming, stomping feet against bleachers, voices overlapping so loudly it stopped sounding separate.

Her smile disappeared instantly. The lights suddenly felt too bright. Her chest tightened sharply as the crowd surged with excitement around her.

And through all of it—

Patty looked up.

Straight at her.

The screaming went on for several seconds.

Tim stood there grinning like he’d already won, microphone still in hand while students practically lost their minds around him. A few people were already chanting “SAY YES” from near the bleachers, stomping loudly against the floor.

Patty, meanwhile, looked almost frozen beside him.

Then slowly, she exhaled through her nose and reached for the microphone.

“Ohhhh,” Ronnie whispered immediately. “She’s about to kill him.” Tim laughed nervously as Patty pulled the mic from his hand with surprising ease. The crown atop her blonde hair glinted beneath the lights as she stepped forward slightly, red dress flowing around her legs while the gym gradually quieted again.

Patty tapped the microphone once.

Then she smiled.

It was dangerous when Patty smiled like that.

Sharp around the edges but beautiful enough to make an entire room wait for whatever she was about to say next. “Well,” she started smoothly, voice echoing through the gym, “I admire your bravery, Tim.” The crowd laughed instantly. Tim placed a hand dramatically against his chest like he’d been honored already. Patty tilted her head slightly, smile widening just enough to turn sly.

“But,” she continued, drawing the word out carefully, “you’ll have to work better than that.”

The room erupted again. Students shouted loudly while Tim laughed in disbelief beside her, clutching at his tie like he’d just been publicly assassinated.

But Patty kept going. Her expression softened—not completely, but enough for something real to slip through the cracks.

“And besides…” she said quieter now, gaze drifting briefly across the crowd. Lilly felt her stomach twist immediately.

“There’s somebody I like.”

The reaction was instant. The entire gym exploded into noise again, students yelling over one another while others physically grabbed onto their friends in shock.

“No way—”

“WHO?”

“Patty Stanton has a crush?!” Patty rolled her eyes lightly at the chaos, though amusement flickered across her face.

“This person is quiet most of the time,” Patty continued once the noise softened slightly. “Blends into crowds like they want to disappear into them.”

Lilly’s heartbeat stumbled. Beside her, Matty had gone very still. “This person kind,” Patty said. “Kind enough to actually see me as a person instead of… whatever this is.” She gestured vaguely to the crown, the stage, the screaming gym. For the first time all night, Patty suddenly looked tired.

The room quieted more now, students hanging onto every word. Then from somewhere near the back—

“IS IT THE CLEMENTS KID?”

The gym burst apart again. Will choked so violently Ronnie had to slap his back while Rich physically doubled over. Matty blinked like someone had thrown cold water directly at him. “What?!” Lilly startled so hard her shoulders jerked. Heat rushed violently to her face. Tim looked absolutely delighted by the chaos unfolding beside him.

Patty, somehow, only smiled.

Slowly.

Ambiguously.

“Who knows?” she said lightly.

But then—

Her eyes shifted.

Straight toward Lilly.

And Lilly swore the entire gym disappeared around her.

The gym remained suspended in chaos for a few seconds longer.

Students were still yelling over one another, throwing out guesses, laughing, practically climbing over chairs trying to figure out who Patty Stanton had just indirectly confessed to liking. Tim stood beside her with both hands raised dramatically like he was encouraging the madness instead of helping stop it.

Patty only shook her head once, smiling despite herself. Then she lifted the microphone again.

“Alright, relax,” she said, laughter slipping into her voice now. “You people are terrifying.”

That earned another wave of noise from the crowd. Patty waited it out before pointing lightly toward the DJ booth. “Resume the party before I regret planning this entire thing.”

The gym cheered immediately.

Music surged back to life, bass vibrating through the floor as students scattered back toward the dance floor in a frenzy of chatter and speculation. Everywhere Lilly looked, people were already whispering excitedly to each other.

Did you see who she looked at?

No, who?

I think it’s—

No way—

Onstage, Tim leaned closer while Patty handed the microphone back. She said something low enough nobody else could hear, one hand briefly touching his sleeve.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Tim’s cocky grin softened into something more genuine for half a second. He nodded once. “Go,” he murmured back. Patty didn’t answer. She only stepped down from the stage carefully, red fabric gathered slightly in one hand as students immediately tried stopping her to talk, congratulate her, ask questions. But she barely slowed.

Her eyes swept across the crowd once.

And landed on Lilly.

Everything inside Lilly lurched.

Patty held her gaze only briefly before turning toward the gym doors, slipping through the moving crowd with surprising speed despite the crown still resting atop her blonde hair.

Lilly’s body moved before her brain caught up.

“I—” she started, already stepping back from Matty. “I need to—” Her wrist caught gently. Just enough to stop her.

Lilly turned immediately. “Matty?” The look on his face nearly shattered her. He was smiling.

But barely.

Something fragile sat behind it, held together too carefully, too quietly. His eyes glistened beneath the gym lights like he was trying very hard not to let himself feel too much all at once. And somehow that hurt worse. For a second neither of them spoke. Then Matty let out a shaky breath through his nose and loosened his grip on her wrist slightly.

“…Go get her,” he said softly. Lilly’s eyes widened. The words hit her all at once, sharp and overwhelming and impossibly real.

Matty already knew.

Maybe he always had.

Her throat tightened instantly. “Matty…”

But he just shook his head once, smiling smaller now.

“Go,” he repeated quietly. Behind them, the music swelled louder again. Students rushed past laughing, completely unaware of the tiny heartbreak unfolding in the middle of the dance floor.

Lilly stared at him one last second.

Then she nodded.

And ran.

Straight into the crowd.

The gym blurred around her in streaks of gold and navy and flashing lights as she pushed past groups of dancing students, eyes fixed only on the red dress disappearing through the doors ahead.

And somewhere behind her, Matty stood still beneath the hanging lights, watching her go.

Lilly pushed through the crowd as fast as she could without knocking into somebody.

The gym had dissolved back into noise behind her—music thundering through the speakers, students laughing too loudly, shoes squeaking against the polished floor—but her focus stayed fixed on the doorway ahead where Patty had disappeared only moments earlier.

She was almost there when someone grabbed her arm.

“Whoa—hey!”

Lilly turned sharply.

Ronnie stood there half out of breath, still clutching her wrist while colored lights flashed across her face.

“Where are you going?” she asked loudly over the music. Lilly glanced toward the doors again, pulse hammering against her ribs.

“I have to go,” she said quickly. “Please.” Something in her voice must have given her away. Ronnie’s expression shifted almost immediately. The teasing disappeared first. Then the confusion. And suddenly she was looking at Lilly like she’d solved something that had been sitting in front of her the entire time.

“Oh my God,” Ronnie breathed. Lilly’s cheeks flushed instantly. Ronnie stepped closer, tugging Lilly down slightly so she could hear her over the music. “I know Patty was talking about you.” The words landed like a match against gasoline. Lilly’s stomach flipped violently.

“What?” she whispered, though her face had already betrayed her completely. Ronnie stared at her for half a second before breaking into the biggest grin Lilly had ever seen.

“I KNEW IT.”

“Ronnie—”

Before Lilly could combust on the spot, another figure slipped beside them.

Marge.

Unlike Ronnie, she looked entirely unsurprised. In fact, she looked almost smug. Marge glanced once toward the gym doors, then back at Lilly. “Well?” she said simply.

Lilly blinked at her.

Marge tilted her head slightly, eyes softening. “Go get her, Bainbridge.” Something warm and terrifying rushed through Lilly all at once. Behind them, Ronnie made an impatient noise. “Why are we still talking?”

And before Lilly could answer—

Ronnie shoved her lightly toward the exit.

“MOVE.” Lilly stumbled forward with a startled laugh escaping her. Then she looked back once. Ronnie was grinning wildly. Marge lifted her hand in a small shooing motion.

Go.

Lilly smiled so suddenly it almost hurt. Then she turned and ran. Out of the gym. Out into the quieter school halls where the music faded into distant echoes behind her while her heartbeat took over everything else.

Chapter Text

The second the gym doors swung shut behind her, the noise dulled into a distant pulse.

The hallways stretched long and empty beneath the fluorescent lights, quiet except for the faint bass still vibrating through the walls from the dance. Lilly hurried through them anyway, breath uneven, eyes darting from corner to corner searching for even the smallest glimpse of blonde hair or red fabric.

Nothing.

Her heels were killing her.

Every hurried step sent sharp aches up the backs of her ankles, the straps biting against her skin hard enough that she knew they’d leave marks later. But she barely noticed anymore. Her chest was pounding too loudly for anything else to matter.

All she wanted was to find Patty.

Lilly turned another corner too quickly, nearly slipping against the polished floor before catching herself on the wall. Her breathing had gone ragged now, shallow from running and nerves and everything building too fast inside her chest.

Where did she go?

The hallway ahead stayed empty.

Then—

Red.

Just at the edge of her vision.

Lilly stopped so abruptly her heel scraped loudly against the floor.

She turned back slowly.

The music room.

Its door sat slightly open, warm light spilling faintly through the narrow gap.

Lilly stared at it for half a second before moving again, slower this time, pulse hammering violently beneath her ribs.

She pushed the door open carefully.

The room was dim except for the low lamp near the piano, soft amber light spilling across polished black wood and empty chairs stacked near the walls. Outside the windows, the night pressed dark against the glass.

And there—

Patty sat atop the piano itself, one leg crossed loosely over the other, red dress cascading around her like spilled velvet. Her crown still rested against her pinned blonde hair, slightly crooked now, less pristine than before. She looked almost unreal sitting there beneath the warm light, hands resting beside her against the piano lid as she lifted her gaze toward the doorway.

Toward Lilly.

And smiled.

Small.

Knowing.

“I knew you’d find me,” Patty said softly.

Lilly could barely breathe.

She stepped inside slowly, shutting the door behind her before the distant music from the gym could follow. The click of the lock echoed louder than it should have in the quiet room. Patty’s eyes flicked briefly toward the sound. Then back to Lilly again.

Lilly walked toward her carefully, heartbeat so loud she was sure Patty could hear it too. The closer she got, the more unreal everything felt—the crown still sitting on Patty’s head, the red dress slipping slightly off one shoulder now, the exhaustion softened into something quieter across her face.

“You disappeared,” Lilly said finally, voice breathless.

Patty let out a quiet hum. “So did you.” Lilly stopped right in front of the piano. For a second neither of them moved. The silence between them felt alive somehow, stretched thin with weeks of glances and unfinished conversations and feelings shoved down so deeply they had started spilling out anyway.

Up close, Patty looked tired again. Not the polished student council president everyone else saw tonight.

Just Patty.

And Lilly suddenly realized how hard Patty was breathing too.

“The person you like,” Lilly said suddenly, the words leaving her before she could lose the nerve for them,

“who is it?”

Patty tilted her head slightly. Then, slowly, she rested her chin against her hands, elbows propped behind her on the piano as she looked down at Lilly with something dangerously amused flickering in her eyes.

“Who knows,” she said lightly. Lilly stared at her in disbelief.

“Patty.”

“What?” Patty replied innocently, though the corners of her mouth were already pulling upward.

“You practically confessed in front of the whole school.”

“And yet,” Patty said, “you’re still asking.” Lilly felt irritation bubble up instantly. “Because I want to be sure.” Patty laughed softly under her breath.

Lilly crossed her arms tightly, refusing to look away even as her heart continued slamming itself against her ribs. “Was it Matty?” she asked bluntly.

Patty blinked once. Then actually laughed, just genuinely amused.

“Oh my God,” she muttered, shaking her head slightly.

“Well, you looked at me!” Lilly defended immediately, cheeks burning now. “And somebody yelled his name and you didn’t deny it!” Patty’s shoulders shook faintly with another laugh. “You think I’d confess to liking somebody by staring at his date?”

“When you put it like that, it sounds stupid.”

“It is stupid.” Lilly groaned quietly, dragging both hands down her face. “You are actually the worst person to talk to.” Patty grinned at her now, softer than before. Fond, almost. And somehow that only made Lilly more embarrassed.

“Forget it,” Lilly muttered quickly, looking away.

“Nevermind.” Patty kept smiling. Lilly could feel it without even looking. The silence stretched for a few seconds before Patty spoke again, quieter this time.

“You came after me anyway.”

Lilly swallowed. Her embarrassment sat hot beneath her skin now, crawling all the way to the tips of her ears. She could still leave. She probably should leave. Every instinct inside her screamed that she was seconds away from humiliating herself completely.

But Patty was looking at her like that. Like she already knew. And suddenly Lilly was too tired to keep hiding.

“I don’t care who that person is,” she blurted out, voice shaking despite herself. “I just want you to know that—” Her throat tightened. Patty’s expression softened immediately. Lilly forced herself to continue anyway.

“I like you, Patty.” The room went completely still. Lilly’s hands trembled slightly at her sides now, but she kept talking before fear could stop her.

“I think I’ve liked you for a while,” she admitted quietly. “And I tried not to because you stress me out all the time and you’re bossy and terrifying and somehow always yelling at people—”

Patty let out a startled laugh through her nose.

“But then you smile at me,” Lilly continued helplessly, eyes finally lifting back to hers, “or you look at me like I’m actually important and suddenly I can’t think properly anymore.”

Patty had gone very still now. Lilly’s chest ached so hard she thought it might split open.

“I know you probably don’t feel the same way,” she said softly, “and maybe I misunderstood everything and maybe this ruins things and maybe I shouldn’t have said anything at all but—”

“You really talk a lot when you’re nervous.”

Lilly stopped abruptly. Patty had slipped off the piano without her noticing. Now she stood directly in front of her. Lilly’s breath caught instantly. Patty looked up at her through lowered lashes, the crooked crown still sitting atop her blonde hair, lips curved into the smallest smile.

Then, gently—

“So you finally figured it out,” Patty whispered.

Lilly could only stare at her.

Her thoughts had completely dissolved somewhere between finally figured it out and the way Patty was standing so close that Lilly could see every tiny detail she’d memorized without meaning to—the loose strand of blonde hair brushing her cheek, the faint smudge of lipstick near the corner of her mouth, the tiredness still lingering beneath her eyes despite the smile there now.

“You…” Lilly breathed, blinking rapidly. “You mean—” Patty smiled softly.

“You’re really slow sometimes, Bainbridge.” The name should’ve sounded teasing. Instead it came out unbearably gentle. Before Lilly could answer, Patty lifted her hand slowly. Like she was giving Lilly time to pull away. But Lilly never would have.

Patty’s fingers brushed carefully against her cheek, cool from the air outside the gym. The touch was impossibly light at first, almost cautious, before her palm settled fully against Lilly’s face.

Lilly inhaled sharply.

And without thinking—

Leaned into it.

The movement happened unconsciously, immediate and honest, like her body had already decided this was where it wanted to be long before her mind caught up.

Something in Patty’s expression shifted then. Her thumb brushed lightly beneath Lilly’s eye, slow enough to make Lilly’s heart ache.

“You have no idea,” Patty whispered, almost laughing under her breath, “how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

Lilly’s chest tightened painfully. Patty looked beautiful like this. Not composed for student council meetings or crowded hallways or perfectly organized gym decorations.

Just Patty.

Warm and tired and looking at Lilly like she mattered more than the crown still tilted crookedly on her head.

Lilly’s hands twitched at her sides before finally lifting hesitantly, fingers brushing against the fabric at Patty’s waist like she still couldn’t fully believe this was happening.

Patty didn’t move away. Instead she stepped closer. Their breaths tangled softly in the quiet room. Outside, the muffled bass from the dance still pulsed faintly through the walls, but in here everything felt slower somehow, suspended carefully between them.

Patty’s gaze dropped briefly to Lilly’s lips. Just long enough to make Lilly’s pulse stumble violently in her chest. Then, slowly, Patty lifted her hands to the crown resting crookedly atop her own head. The metal glimmered softly beneath the amber light as she pulled it free, loose strands of blonde hair falling more freely around her face afterward. For a second she simply held it between them, turning it slightly in her hands like she was considering something.

Lilly watched her quietly, breath caught somewhere high in her throat.

“Patty…” she whispered. Patty didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she stepped even closer.

Carefully—far more carefully than somebody like Patty Stanton ever seemed to do anything—she lowered the crown onto Lilly’s head instead. The cool metal settled against her hair slightly unevenly, and Lilly blinked in surprise as Patty adjusted it gently with both hands, fingertips brushing near her temples.

“There,” Patty murmured softly, a faint smile pulling at her mouth. “Looks better on you anyway.” Lilly felt heat rush instantly to her face.

“That’s not true,” she said weakly.

Patty tilted her head. “No?” Lilly could barely think with Patty standing this close. The scent of her perfume lingered faintly in the air—something soft and clean underneath the lingering warmth of the gym—and Lilly suddenly became painfully aware of every inch separating them.

Patty’s eyes lingered on her for a long moment. Then her hand lifted again. This time, her thumb brushed slowly against Lilly’s lower lip.

The touch was featherlight.

Gentle enough that Lilly shivered anyway.

Patty exhaled softly through her nose at the reaction, something almost unbearably fond flickering across her face now, stripped entirely of the sharp confidence she wore around everyone else.

“You’re blushing really hard,” she whispered.

Lilly let out the smallest, most helpless laugh.

“Whose fault is that?”

Patty smiled.

God, that smile. It made Lilly’s chest ache. Patty’s thumb lingered near her mouth another second before sliding gently along her jaw instead, fingertips resting beneath her chin. Lilly leaned into the touch without even realizing she was doing it again, eyes fluttering briefly shut from how warm Patty’s hand felt against her skin.

“You know,” Patty said softly, “I had this whole speech planned in my head.”

Lilly opened her eyes again. “You did?”

“Mhm.”

“And?”

Patty’s lips twitched upward slightly. “I forgot all of it the second you walked into the room looking at me like that.”

Lilly’s breath caught. Patty looked at her so openly now it almost hurt to hold her gaze. 

Patty was the one holding her first.

Both hands cupping Lilly’s face like she had been doing it without thinking for a while now, thumbs resting lightly near her cheekbones as if she was afraid to let go too quickly.

Lilly stayed still under it for a moment.

Then her hands lifted. She gently took Patty’s wrists, not pulling away but guiding them down just slightly so she could see her better. Patty let her, easy, watching her with that same quiet attention that made Lilly feel like she was the only thing in the room that mattered.

Lilly didn’t release her hands.

Instead she brought Patty’s fingers up and pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles.

Once.

Then again.

Slower the second time, like she was testing what it felt like to do something like this without overthinking it.

Patty’s breath hitched.

“…Lilly,” she said softly, like she was already losing patience in the most dangerous way.

Lilly finally looked up.

Her hands were still holding Patty’s, still pressing them gently against her own face now, as if she couldn’t decide whether to keep them there or let them go.

Her eyes were wide.

Uncertain.

Soft in a way that made Patty visibly pause.

And then Lilly said it.

“Can I kiss you?”

It came out quieter than everything before it.

Careful.

Honest.

Patty froze completely.

For a second, she looked like she forgot how to breathe. Then her gaze dropped to Lilly’s face properly. And that was what did it.

The way Lilly was looking at her. Shy, open, and completely unguarded. Patty exhaled sharply through her nose like she was trying very hard not to lose control of the entire situation.

“…You’re going to be the end of me,” she muttered under her breath.

Lilly blinked. “Is that a no?” Patty let out a small, strained laugh.

“No,” she said immediately, softer now. Then she stepped closer. Just enough that Lilly had to tilt her head slightly to keep looking at her. Patty’s hands slid back up instinctively, returning to Lilly’s face like it was the only place they were supposed to be.

Patty’s hands settled back into place on Lilly’s face like it was instinct rather than thought, thumbs resting lightly near her cheekbones again, steadying her there.

Lilly stayed still for a second too long.

Her pulse was loud enough that she was sure Patty could feel it through her fingertips.

Even though she was the one who asked, nervousness still crept in anyway, slipping under her skin like it didn’t care about logic or timing. Her breath hitched slightly as her eyes flickered between Patty’s, searching for something—permission, reassurance, anything.

Patty noticed immediately.

“…Hey,” she said softly, thumb brushing once under Lilly’s eye. “Don’t be nervous.”

Lilly let out a small, shaky breath. “I’m not— I just— I’ve never—” Patty’s expression softened.

“That’s fine,” she interrupted gently. Lilly swallowed, gaze dropping for half a second before snapping back up again like she couldn’t stop herself from looking.

Her mind started running ahead of her anyway.

Was this Patty’s first kiss too?

Did it matter if it wasn’t?

What if she was doing it wrong?

What if—

“Lilly.”

Patty’s voice cut through the spiral immediately. Lilly stopped. Patty tilted her head slightly, closer now, their foreheads nearly brushing.

“Close your eyes,” she murmured again. “And just… trust me.”

That did it.

Lilly hesitated for a heartbeat.

Then her lashes lowered.

The world narrowed down to warmth and breath and the faint sound of music still leaking through the walls from far away. Her fingers tightened slightly against Patty’s wrists without meaning to, grounding herself there.

And then—

Patty moved.

Soft lips met hers, careful at first, like she was giving Lilly time to adjust, time to leave if she wanted to.

But Lilly didn’t leave.

The thought didn’t even make it far.

There was something faint there too—sweet, almost subtle, like raspberry lingering on the edge of it, soft and warm and unmistakably Patty.

Lilly’s breath caught against her.

Then she leaned in.

Just slightly.

Like she was chasing it without realizing she was allowed to. Patty didn’t pull away.

If anything, she shifted closer, one hand sliding more securely against Lilly’s cheek as if anchoring her there too. Lilly’s thoughts, which had been spiraling just seconds ago, went completely quiet.

Everything narrowed to that feeling.

Warm.

Soft.

Real.

When they finally parted, it was only by a breath.

Lilly’s eyes opened slowly.

Patty was still right there.

Looking at her like she had just done something irreversible and didn’t regret a single second of it.

And Lilly realized, a little dazed, that she wanted more.

Lilly didn’t move for a second.

She just stared at Patty like she was trying to memorize the exact shape of the moment before it could slip away.

Then her hands lifted again.

Careful at first, then certain, cupping Patty’s face like she had done earlier but firmer now, like she wasn’t afraid of it anymore.

Patty blinked.

A quiet, breathless little laugh escaped her. “You’re really red right now.”

Lilly’s lips parted like she wanted to argue, but no words came out fast enough.

Patty smiled a little wider, eyes softening. “I think I might’ve—”

Lilly didn’t let her finish. She pulled Patty in again. This time it wasn’t hesitant. It was quicker, a little bolder, like something in her had finally decided it didn’t want to wait anymore. Lilly kissed her properly, still a bit inexperienced, but full of feeling, holding Patty closer as if she was scared she might disappear if she let go.

Patty made a small sound of surprise against her lips. Then softened almost immediately. Her hands came back to Lilly’s face again, steadying her, but this time there was no teasing in it anymore—just warmth, returning the kiss in a way that made Lilly’s chest tighten.

It didn’t last long before Patty gently pulled back first. Just enough to break it. Her forehead rested briefly against Lilly’s.

“…Hey,” she murmured, slightly out of breath. “Slow down.” Lilly blinked at her, dazed, still holding on like she wasn’t sure she was supposed to let go yet. Patty’s thumb brushed lightly along her cheek again.

“Breathe,” she said softer this time, a small smile returning. Lilly exhaled shakily, nodding a little like she had just remembered how. The tension in her shoulders slowly eased, but she still didn’t move away.

Neither did Patty.

Instead, Patty shifted first.

She buried her face gently against the side of Lilly’s neck, arms sliding around her in a quiet, unguarded hug that felt completely different from everything before it.

Lilly froze for half a second.

Then her arms wrapped around Patty too, holding her carefully like she had learned how in the span of minutes. Patty let out a soft breath against her skin.

“I’m so happy right now,” she murmured, voice muffled but real.

Lilly closed her eyes.

And held her tighter.

Lilly stayed still for a moment, like she was afraid moving too fast might break something fragile between them.

Patty was still tucked against her neck, arms wrapped around her, warm and steady in a way Lilly hadn’t known she needed until now.

Her fingers tightened slightly at Patty’s back.

Then, softly—

“Me too,” Lilly said.

Her voice came out smaller than she expected, but it didn’t shake anymore.

Patty made a quiet sound against her skin, something between relief and a smile she didn’t bother hiding.

Lilly leaned her cheek against the top of Patty’s head for a second, eyes closing again like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“I think…” Lilly added after a pause, a little breathless but gentle now, “I’ve been happy for a while, when I'm with you. I just didn’t know it yet.”

Patty lifted her head slightly at that. Just enough to look at her. Her expression was soft—no teasing now, no sharp edges, just something open and unguarded that made  Lilly’s chest ache in a good way.

“You’re really bad at realizing things,” Patty murmured. Lilly let out a quiet laugh. “Yeah.”

A beat passed. Neither of them moved away. Patty’s hand slid slowly from Lilly’s back to her waist, anchoring her there like she had decided she wasn’t letting go anytime soon.

Chapter Text

The hallway felt louder than it should have, though nothing about it had actually changed.

Lilly noticed Ronnie first, then Marge beside her, both of them already waiting like they had decided this moment would happen without telling anyone.

Ronnie looked her up and down once. “There you are.”

Marge didn’t even bother easing into it. “You saw her.” Lilly slowed. “…Saw who?” Ronnie blinked slowly. “Lilly.” Marge’s expression barely shifted. “Don’t pretend.” Lilly stopped walking.

Ronnie sighed, but she was smiling. “Patty.”

Lilly’s gaze dropped instantly. “Oh.”

Marge hummed softly like that confirmed everything she needed. There was a pause then Ronnie leaned back against the lockers. “It’s already started.”

Lilly frowned slightly. “What has?” Marge answered simply. “People noticing she’s different.” Lilly went still. “Different how?” Ronnie tilted her head. “Not like that,” she said quickly, like she was correcting the direction of Lilly’s thoughts before they even formed. “Just… people see she’s distracted. Less sharp. Smiling at the wrong times.”

Marge added, calm as ever, “And people do what they always do. They fill in gaps.”

Lilly swallowed. “…Fill them with what?”

Ronnie let out a short breath. “Boys.”

Lilly frowned. “Boys?” Marge nodded once. “It’s the only language they have for it.” Ronnie added, almost bored, “Quiet ones. Safe guesses. No imagination involved.” Marge’s eyes flicked briefly to Lilly. “Matty’s name came up once or twice.”

Ronnie barely even acknowledged it. “Doesn’t matter though.” Marge agreed immediately. “It’s not him.”

Lilly hesitated. “…Then why even mention it?”

Ronnie gave her a look. “Because people are predictable.”

Marge’s tone softened slightly, but only in the way someone speaks about something obvious. “They guess what they understand. That’s all.” Lilly looked away.

A beat passed.

Then—

Patty walked through. Composed, familiar, and controlled. But the moment her eyes landed on Lilly, something subtle changed. A glance that held a fraction too long to be accidental.

Then a smile.

Small.

Soft.

For her.

Lilly forgot how to breathe for a second. Ronnie exhaled quietly beside her. “There she is.” Marge didn’t look surprised at all.

She just watched Lilly. Patty passed. Close enough that the air between them changed, then disappeared into the crowd. The hallway resumed like nothing had happened. But Lilly didn’t.

Ronnie nudged her lightly. “Yeah,” she said. “That’s not going to stay invisible for long.”

Lilly shook her head quickly. “It is invisible.”

Marge tilted her head slightly. “To them.”

A pause.

Then, more quietly, Ronnie added:

“Not to us.”

Lilly didn’t answer. Because she couldn’t. And behind her, the world kept moving like it hadn’t just shifted at all.

The classroom had settled into a quiet rhythm, the kind that came right before the end of the day when everyone’s attention started slipping toward the clock instead of the board.

Lilly sat with her notes half-open in front of her, though she hadn’t really been writing for the past few minutes.

Her focus kept drifting.

To the side of the room.

To Patty.

Patty stood near the front, chalk in hand, listening as the teacher pointed out the next equation on the board. There was a small pause, just long enough for someone else to have answered if they wanted to.

But Patty already had her hand raised.

Of course she did.

Lilly watched as she pushed away from the desk and started walking forward. In that effortless way she carried herself without even trying to. And somehow, without meaning to, Lilly’s eyes followed her the entire way.

It wasn’t dramatic.

Just… steady attention she didn’t know how to turn off anymore. Patty passed her desk. Just for a second, her gaze flicked sideways. A quick glance. But it landed. Lilly didn’t look away fast enough.

Patty didn’t either. Then she continued to the board like nothing had happened. Lilly exhaled quietly through her nose and looked down at her notebook, pretending she had been focused the entire time. Patty solved the equation without hesitation. Chalk moved cleanly across the board.

The teacher gave a small approving nod. “Good. Well done, Patty.” A few scattered murmurs of admiration moved through the room. Patty stepped back slightly, that familiar composed look settling into place again—except now there was a faint smugness tugging at the corner of her mouth. Like she knew exactly how easily she had just done that.

Lilly rolled her eyes without thinking, lips pressing into a small, almost fond line.

Show off.

Patty caught it.

Or maybe she didn’t.

But she smiled anyway.

The bell rang suddenly, sharp and final, breaking the quiet tension in the room. Books shifted. Chairs scraped. The atmosphere loosened instantly as students began packing up. Patty returned to her seat, movements calm and unhurried.As she passed Lilly’s desk again, her eyes flicked down for the briefest second.

Intentional enough that Lilly’s chest tightened slightly before she even processed it.

Then she sat down.

Ronnie’s voice cut in from the side almost immediately.

“God damn,” she muttered, grabbing her bag. “Bainbridge, not subtle at all.”

Lilly blinked. “What?” Ronnie looked at her like the answer was obvious. “You were basically watching her like she hung the moon.”

Lilly immediately flushed. “I wasn’t—”

Marge, passing behind them, gave a quiet hum that sounded suspiciously like agreement.

“Sure,” she said mildly. Ronnie hooked her bag over her shoulder and leaned in slightly. “Let’s go before you combust.” Lilly groaned, but stood up anyway. They were halfway to the door when Ronnie suddenly turned back toward the room.

“Hey,” she called casually.

Patty looked up. Ronnie tilted her head. “Wanna go home with us?” There was a brief pause. Patty’s gaze moved—past Ronnie—briefly landing on Lilly again.

Then she nodded.

“Yeah,” she said simply. “Okay.”

She stood, gathering her things. Elaine and Rhonda caught up just as Patty finished gathering her things, the two of them falling into step with their usual easy rhythm near the doorway. Patty glanced over briefly. “I’m heading home with Ronnie and Lilly.”

Elaine nodded like it made perfect sense. “Alright. Text if you need anything.” Rhonda waved lightly. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” Patty gave a small, almost amused exhale. “That doesn’t narrow much down.”

Then she turned, and the group slipped out into the hallway together. Outside, the late afternoon air had that soft in-between warmth, sunlight thinning as it stretched across the pavement. The walk home didn’t feel rushed the way everything at school had.

Ronnie placed herself firmly between them at first like it was intentional, hands behind her head as she walked backward for a few steps.

“So,” she said, looking between Patty and Lilly, “this is weirdly peaceful.”

Lilly gave a small, uncertain sound in response, eyes flicking anywhere but forward.

Patty didn’t say much. Just walked with her hands loosely at her sides, occasionally glancing sideways when she thought Lilly wasn’t looking.

Ronnie kept talking anyway, filling the space like she always did. About nothing important. About teachers. About someone tripping in the hallway. About a rumor that already didn’t matter anymore.

But slowly, naturally, she drifted a step ahead.

Then another.

Until she stopped walking entirely.

Ronnie turned around with a satisfied look. “Okay. Far enough.”

Lilly blinked. “Far enough for what?”

Ronnie pointed vaguely between them. “For this to stop being my problem.”

Patty raised a brow. “Your problem?”

Ronnie shrugged. “Yeah. I’ve been third-wheeling emotionally all day.”

Lilly immediately flushed. “We weren’t—”

“Relax,” Ronnie cut in, already stepping backward. “My job here is done.”

She pointed at Lilly. “You can do it, Bainbridge.”

Then she turned and started walking away before either of them could argue.

“Ronnie—wait—” Lilly called after her, panic flickering in her voice.

Ronnie didn’t turn around, just lifted a hand. “You’re fine.”

A beat.

Then, quieter, almost teasing over her shoulder:

“Stop thinking so much.”

And then she was gone, disappearing down the street. Silence settled immediately after. Lilly stood frozen for half a second too long.

Patty tilted her head slightly. “So what now, Bainbridge?”

Lilly turned slowly.

Her face was already warm. “Don’t call me that right now.”

Patty hummed. “Why not?”

“Because I can’t think properly when you do.”

That earned a quiet laugh from Patty, soft and unhurried. They started walking again, side by side now, the space between them smaller without Ronnie there to pretend it wasn’t. Lilly kept her eyes on the ground for a moment before speaking again, quieter this time.

“…Can we hold hands?”

Patty didn’t answer immediately. That pause made Lilly’s stomach tighten instantly. Then Patty glanced at her. Slow, mildly amused.

“Oh,” she said. “So you are bold when no one’s watching.”

Lilly groaned softly. “That’s not— I just—” Patty stepped closer instead of letting her finish.

“I’m starting to think,” she said lightly, “you always leave your bike just so you can walk home with me.”

Lilly’s head snapped up. “That’s not true.”

Patty’s smile widened just slightly. “Isn’t it?”

“It isn’t.” A soft laugh escaped Patty this time, real and easy. Then she reached out first. Her fingers slid into Lilly’s without hesitation. Soft in a way that still didn’t feel real. Lilly froze for half a second.

Then slowly, carefully, she held on tighter. Patty squeezed her hand once, like confirming something only she could understand.

“Relax,” Patty murmured, teasing softened at the edges now. “I like it when you walk home with me.”

Lilly didn’t answer. She just kept holding her hand. And for the first time that day, she didn’t feel like she was chasing anything at all.

They walked for a while in that quieter rhythm, their hands still linked, fingers occasionally shifting like neither of them could fully decide what to do with how natural it already felt.

Lilly hesitated before speaking again, voice smaller than before.

“…People are still guessing things.”

Patty glanced at her. “About what?”

Lilly swallowed. “About you.”

Patty made a faint sound of acknowledgment. “That’s not surprising.” Lilly looked down at their hands for a second, then back up again. “They think you like Matty.” That got Patty to actually pause. Then she laughed. Genuinely amused, like the idea itself didn’t even belong in the same world as them.

Lilly blinked. “Why are you laughing?”

Patty shook her head slightly, still smiling. “Matty?”

“Yeah.”

Patty let out a soft breath through her nose. “Let them think what they want.”

Lilly frowned slightly. “That’s it?”

Patty looked at her then, properly this time. Her expression had softened in a way that made it harder for Lilly to keep her thoughts straight.

“Why would I bother correcting them?” Patty said simply. “It’s easier that way.”

Lilly tilted her head. “Easier how?” Patty’s fingers tightened slightly around hers, just enough to be felt.

“So they look the wrong direction,” she said quietly, “and I don’t have to deal with them looking at you instead.”

Lilly’s steps slowed a little.

“…Patty.”

Patty hummed. “What?”

Lilly’s face warmed again, worse than before. “That’s not fair.”

Patty’s smile curved slightly. “What isn’t?”

“That you say things like that so casually.”

Patty shrugged lightly. “I’m not being casual.”

That made Lilly stop walking entirely for half a second. Patty stopped with her, still holding her hand, waiting like she always did now—like she had time for whatever Lilly needed to process.

Lilly exhaled slowly. “You make it sound like it’s nothing.”

Patty leaned a little closer, just enough that her voice dropped.

“It’s not nothing,” she said. “I just don’t want other people deciding what it is.”

Lilly’s grip tightened without her meaning to.

“…So what is it?” she asked quietly.

Patty studied her for a moment.

The street around them felt distant again, like it always did when Patty looked at her like that—like everything else had to wait its turn.

Then Patty smiled, softer now.

“It’s you,” she said simply.

Lilly went completely still.

Patty squeezed her hand once, like grounding her before she could float away.

“And I’d rather they keep guessing,” Patty added, a faint teasing edge returning, “than have to share you with their opinions.”

Lilly let out a shaky breath, somewhere between a laugh and disbelief.

“You’re impossible,” she muttered.

Patty’s smile widened. “You said that before.”

Lilly looked away, still holding on tighter than before. “I meant it.”

Patty hummed, pleased in a quiet way. “Good.” And they kept walking, hands still linked, while the world kept guessing wrong somewhere behind them.

They slowed as Patty’s house came into view, the familiar outline of it settling into the quiet end of the street. The light outside was warm and low, spilling through the windows like someone had forgotten to pull the day fully shut.

Their hands were still linked.

Neither of them said anything for a few steps.

Then Patty gently eased her fingers, as if to let go.

Lilly didn’t.

Her grip tightened instead, small but immediate, like the thought of separation arrived too fast for her to properly prepare for it.

Patty stopped.

She looked at her.

“…What is it?” she asked, softer now.

Lilly hesitated, gaze dropping for a second before lifting again. Her voice came out a little uneven.

“It’s the weekend tomorrow.”

Patty blinked once. “Yeah.”

Lilly nodded quickly like she needed to keep going before she lost the courage. “And finals are coming up.”

Patty’s brows lifted slightly, amusement flickering in her expression. “They are.”

Lilly exhaled through her nose, clearly trying to organize her thoughts into something that made sense. “And I need help studying so—”

She stopped.

Because Patty was looking at her like she already knew where this was going.

Lilly’s ears went red.

“Maybe,” she added quickly, quieter now, “you want to… sleep over?”

The words landed in the space between them and suddenly felt much louder than she intended.

Patty didn’t respond right away.

Instead, she studied her.

That same steady look. The one that made Lilly feel like she was being read in ways she didn’t know how to hide from.

Then Patty smiled. She lifted Lilly’s hand first, like she always did when she wanted her to stop overthinking.

And kissed it.

Softly.

Like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Lilly froze.

Patty guided her hand gently upward and pressed it lightly against Lilly’s lips, as if sealing the moment in place.

“Of course I will come,” Patty said simply.

Lilly’s breath caught.

Patty let go only then, stepping backward toward her door.

“Now go home,” she added, voice light again, but her eyes stayed on Lilly a second longer than necessary. “Walk safe.”

Then she turned and went inside.

The door clicked shut.

Lilly stood there for a moment longer than she meant to. Her hand was still slightly raised like it remembered what had just happened. Her face felt warm. Her chest felt worse. And she only started walking home when she realized she was smiling.

Chapter Text

Patty lingered outside Lilly’s house a moment longer than she meant to.

The street was quiet, softened by the glow of warm indoor lights pressing through the windows. It made the house feel alive in a way the outside wasn’t, like something breathing gently behind glass. Patty shifted her bag higher on her shoulder. Then lowered it again.

Her fingers moved to her hair almost on instinct, smoothing it down, tucking a loose strand behind her ear, then immediately undoing it like she couldn’t decide what looked right.

“You’re being ridiculous,” she muttered under her breath.

The front door opened before she could settle herself. Terri stood there, framed by warm light.

“Patty,” she said, a smile already forming. “Come in.”

Patty straightened a little too quickly. “Good evening, ma’am.” Terri gave her a look like she was already tired of that tone. Not unkind. Just familiar in the way adults get when they’ve heard a child be too formal for too long. “You don’t need to do that. Come on in.”

Patty hesitated for half a beat before stepping inside. The warmth hit her immediately.

Not just the air, but the feeling of it — a lived-in space, soft noise from deeper inside the house, the faint sense of movement that didn’t belong to her.

She paused just past the doorway.

Terri stepped aside, still watching her with that easy familiarity that came from years of knowing her but not quite being close to her. “Lilly’s upstairs. You can head up.”

Patty blinked.

“…Upstairs?” she repeated quietly.

Terri nodded like it was obvious. “Second floor. You know where.” Patty gave a small, uncertain nod even though she absolutely did not know where anything was. “Right.”

Terri didn’t seem to notice—or didn’t comment. She was already turning away, calling something further into the house, leaving Patty standing there for a moment longer than she probably realized.

Patty shifted her weight.

Looked down the hallway.

Then up toward the stairs.

“…Okay,” she whispered to herself again, quieter this time, like she was negotiating with the house.

She started forward carefully, slower than usual, hand trailing lightly along the wall once just to orient herself, like she was trying not to look like she was guessing. The stairs creaked softly under her steps.

At the top, she paused again. She hesitated, listening for any sign of where she was supposed to go, before finally choosing one at random and stopping in front of it.

Her hand hovered.

Then knocked lightly.

Patty wasn’t sure why she knocked twice.

The first one had been enough. The second felt unnecessary, like her hand had acted before her thoughts caught up.

She shifted slightly in the hallway, suddenly aware of how quiet the house was around her. Not empty, just lived-in in a way she didn’t fully belong to. The kind of space where you could hear faint movement somewhere deeper inside, but never quite know what room it came from.

She smoothed her sleeve again.

Then stopped herself.

“…Relax,” she muttered under her breath.

The door opened before she could decide whether she looked normal standing there.

Lilly stepped out in a rush. Like she had been running late inside her own room and lost a fight with time. Patty barely had time to react before Lilly nearly slipped in the hallway.

Her foot caught.

Her body tilted.

For a second Patty actually moved forward instinctively—

But Lilly caught herself.

Barely.

A hand to the wall. A sharp breath. A quiet, embarrassed recovery that came just in time to stop disaster.

Patty blinked.

Then exhaled slowly through her nose.

“…You almost just ate the floor,” she said, voice calm on purpose.

Lilly straightened immediately. “I did not.”

Patty lifted a brow.

A beat.

Lilly’s ears turned slightly red. “…I didn’t fall.”

“That’s not what I said,” Patty replied, far too evenly.

Lilly looked away for half a second like that was personally offensive. Patty watched her carefully. She always did this—Lilly moving like she arrived in the middle of her own thoughts, never fully aligned with the world around her when she was flustered.

Patty should’ve said something teasing. Instead she just… watched her step closer. Too quickly, Lilly noticed.

“What are you doing here already?” Lilly asked, too fast to be casual.

Patty tilted her head. “Your mom let me in.”

Lilly blinked. “Oh.”

“I knocked,” Patty added.

“I was in my room,” Lilly said immediately, then quieter, like it mattered more than it should have, “I didn’t hear it.”

“I noticed,” Patty said.

That made Lilly groan softly, like she wanted to disappear into the floor she had almost met seconds earlier. Patty felt something warm and faintly amused settle in her chest. She took a step closer. Lilly shifted back automatically.

Patty noticed immediately. “Why are you backing away?”

“I’m not,” Lilly said at once.

Patty didn’t answer. She stopped directly in front of her instead. Close enough that Lilly had to tilt her head slightly to meet her eyes. The hallway felt smaller like this.

Patty studied her for a second—hair slightly unbrushed from rushing, cheeks still faintly warm, that same nervous energy she never quite managed to hide.

“You’re out of breath,” Patty said.

Lilly hesitated. “I’m not.”

Patty glanced down briefly, then back up.

Lilly sighed. “…Okay, maybe a little.”

Patty hummed softly. That was more honest. Her hand lifted without much thought, hovering near Lilly’s sleeve before settling lightly—barely there, like she was testing whether she was allowed.

Lilly didn’t move away. That alone made something in Patty ease slightly.

“You were in a hurry?” Patty asked.

Lilly hesitated for a beat too long.

“…I didn’t think you were here yet,” she admitted.

Patty paused.

Then, quieter, “Now I am.”

Lilly looked up at her at that. And Patty felt it again—that small, familiar pull whenever Lilly looked at her like she hadn’t quite decided what to do with her feelings yet, but was getting closer every time.

Patty didn’t rush it.

She just stayed there for a second longer, watching the way Lilly still looked slightly winded, slightly overwhelmed, like she had arrived into this moment half a step too late and was still trying to catch up to it.

Then Patty shifted forward. Not enough to startle her. Just enough to make Lilly pause mid-thought.

Lilly stepped back on instinct. Patty followed. Closing the space in a way that made retreat feel less like an option and more like something that had already stopped mattering.

Lilly’s back met her own bedroom door.

Soft thud.

Her eyes widened a fraction.

“Patty—” she started, uncertain.

Patty didn’t answer right away. Instead, she reached behind Lilly without looking, turned the handle, and nudged the door open just enough for them to slip inside.

Still holding eye contact. Then she guided them both in. The door clicked shut behind them. Lilly froze for a second like she had just realized she was no longer in the hallway where she could pretend she had space to recover.

Now it was just her room.

And Patty.

Patty leaned back slightly, hands still close to her sides, watching her carefully.

Lilly’s voice came out quieter. “Why did you close the door?”

Patty tilted her head. “Should I have left it open?”

Lilly opened her mouth and closed it again.

That wasn’t helping. Patty’s expression softened almost immediately after that, like she noticed the shift in her again—the nerves coming back in small waves, the way Lilly always tried to act like she wasn’t affected when she very obviously was.

So Patty stopped teasing. She stepped closer instead. Lilly didn’t move this time. Patty paused in front of her for a second, then let out a small breath, almost like she had been holding something in all day and only now remembered she didn’t have to.

“…You’re still nervous,” Patty said quietly.

Lilly looked away for half a second. “I’m not—”

Patty didn’t let her finish.

She reached forward and pulled her into a hug. Just warm arms around her shoulders, steady and familiar in a way that made the rest of the room feel distant immediately. Lilly stiffened for a heartbeat.

Then slowly… softened.

Her hands hovered awkwardly at first before settling carefully against Patty’s back, like she was still deciding if she was allowed to hold on.

Patty felt it immediately. That hesitation. It made her tighten the hug just slightly. Lilly exhaled shakily against her shoulder. Patty closed her eyes for a second.

The moment didn’t last long.

It never really did in houses like this, where someone always seemed to know when silence had settled too comfortably.

A voice called from downstairs.

“Lilly. Patty. Dinner’s ready.”

Terri’s tone carried easily through the hallway, warm but practical, like she had already moved on from whatever conversations were happening upstairs.

Lilly and Patty both froze for half a second. Then, almost in sync, they stepped back. Patty’s arms loosened first, reluctantly. Lilly followed a beat later, slower, like she had to remind her body how to separate itself again. The air between them felt different immediately after.

Patty cleared her throat softly and looked away first, adjusting her sleeve like she suddenly remembered she had hands.

“Okay,” Lilly said quietly, a little too quick. “Yeah—okay.”

They moved toward the door together. Neither of them touched it first. That part somehow felt important. Downstairs, the house was brighter.

The smell of food met them before anything else did, warm and familiar in a way that made the tension from upstairs feel almost unreal in comparison. Terri was already setting things out when they entered.

“There you are,” she said, glancing up. “Sit, sit.”

Patty gave a small nod. “Good evening, ma’am.”

Terri sighed through a smile without looking at her. “Still doing that?”

Patty didn’t answer.

Lilly slipped into her seat quickly, almost too quickly, like sitting down might anchor her back into normality. Terri started talking as she moved around the table, easy and unbothered.

“How was school?” she asked casually, placing dishes down. “Anything interesting happen recently?”

Lilly and Patty both responded at the same time.

“Fine.”

Then paused. Then, almost identical silence..Terri noticed immediately, glancing between them.

“…Right,” she said slowly, narrowing her eyes slightly. “That was convincing.”

Lilly reached for her glass too fast. Patty looked down at her plate. Terri hummed, still watching them, then continued like she hadn’t caught anything unusual yet.

“You two study well together?” she asked, serving herself.

“Yeah,” Lilly answered quickly.

“Yes,” Patty added at the same time.

Another pause.

Terri looked between them again, more curious now than suspicious.

“Okay,” she said lightly, “I was going to ask earlier… does Lilly like anyone right now?”

Lilly nearly choked on air. Her hand stopped mid-motion. Patty’s movements slowed for half a second before continuing like nothing had changed. The silence that followed was immediate.

Terri blinked. “What? Why is that question weird?”

“It’s not,” Lilly said too fast.

Patty cleared her throat once.

“I don’t think Lilly likes anyone right now,” Patty said calmly, voice steady in a way that didn’t match the tension sitting under the table. “Right?”

Her eyes flicked briefly toward Lilly. Lilly caught it.

“…Right,” she said, forcing it out a second later. “No. I don’t.” Terri still looked confused, glancing between them like she had missed a piece of information somewhere.

“Huh,” she murmured. “Okay.”

She went back to serving food, letting the conversation move on like it had never mattered much in the first place. But Lilly didn’t relax. And neither did Patty. Their eyes met once more over the table. Then both of them looked away at the exact same time.

The kitchen had gone quieter after dinner, the kind of quiet that came with clinking plates and running water instead of conversation.

Lilly stood at the sink with her sleeves slightly rolled up, warm water steaming against her hands as she scrubbed the last of the dishes clean. The sound of it filled the space in a steady rhythm, simple enough to keep her from thinking too hard about anything else.

Patty lingered nearby for a moment, watching.

“I can help,” she offered, already half-stepping forward.

Lilly didn’t even look up. “No.”

Patty paused. “No?”

“You’re a guest,” Lilly said firmly, finally glancing at her. “Go.”

There was a beat.

Patty raised a brow slightly. “Go where?” Lilly gestured vaguely upward with her chin. “Take a bath or something. Rest. I’m serious.”

“…Okay,” Patty said after a moment, like she was testing the word. Lilly nodded once, already turning back to the sink. “Good.”

Patty hesitated another second, then slowly backed away from the kitchen like she was being dismissed from something far more official than washing dishes.

“…I’ll go upstairs then,” she said.

Lilly hummed in response without looking back. A few minutes later, Patty was in Lilly’s room. It felt different without her in it. She stood for a second, then moved toward the small space where Lilly had likely told her to get clothes. Her fingers hovered briefly over the folded fabric before she picked up what she needed.

There was a knock at the door. Patty turned slightly.

“Come in,” she called carefully.

The door opened. Terri stepped in, holding a neatly folded set of clean linens.

“I figured you might need these,” she said, offering them gently. “Fresh towel too.”

Patty blinked once, then stepped forward to take them. “Thank you.”

Terri lingered in the doorway instead of leaving immediately, watching her with an expression that was softer than earlier, more thoughtful.

“You know,” she said after a moment, “never would I have imagined a day where you two would actually be comfortable around each other.”

Patty paused slightly, then gave a small, polite smile. “I suppose things change.”

Terri hummed like she agreed with that, leaning lightly against the doorframe. Then Terri’s expression shifted slightly, more serious now, but still gentle.

“I know that look on Lilly’s face,” she said.

Patty went still.

Terri continued, eyes steady on her.

“And I know when my daughter is feeling more than she lets on.”

The room felt smaller for a second. Patty’s grip on the linens tightened slightly before she forced herself to relax again. Terri studied her for a moment longer, then let out a soft breath.

“Take good care of her, okay?” Patty looked up immediately. Something in her expression softened completely. She nodded once, clearly, without hesitation.

“I will,” she said quietly. “Ma’am.” Terri held her gaze for a beat longer, then gave a small, approving nod.

“Good.”

And just like that, she left the room, closing the door gently behind her. Patty stood there for a moment after she was gone, the folded linens in her arms, the weight of the words still settling quietly in her chest.

The room had settled into a quieter kind of focus.

Not the tense silence of earlier, but something softer—papers spread out across the floor, textbooks open between them, the faint scratch of pencil on paper filling the spaces where conversation didn’t quite need to be.

Patty sat with her back against the bed, one knee bent, the other stretched out slightly as she flipped a page in Lilly’s notebook.

“Try this one,” she said, tapping lightly at an equation she had written down.

Lilly groaned under her breath but leaned in anyway.

“You’re enjoying this,” Lilly muttered.

Patty didn’t look up. “You’re doing fine.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It is to me.”

Lilly rolled her eyes but still started working through it, brow slightly furrowed in concentration. Patty watched quietly as she solved it step by step, the way she always did—careful, a little hesitant at first, then more certain as she found her rhythm. Patty’s lips curved before she could stop it.

“See?” she said softly. “You got it.”

Lilly glanced up briefly. “Only because you’re hovering.”

“I’m not hovering.”

“You’re definitely hovering.”

Patty opened her mouth to argue—

—but her words slowed.

Her gaze had drifted without permission.

From the page.

To Lilly’s face.

The way she was thinking, lips slightly parted in concentration, pencil paused just near her mouth as she considered the next step.

Patty didn’t even realize she had moved until her hand was already halfway up.

Her finger hovered near Lilly’s lips.

“Patty?”

That snapped her back. Patty froze instantly, then pulled her hand back like she had touched something too fragile to hold properly.

“…Sorry,” she said quickly, looking away. “I should let you study.”

Her voice came out more controlled than she felt. She shifted slightly, pretending to refocus on the notebook in front of her.

A beat of silence passed.

Then—

A pen dropped.

Patty looked up just as Lilly moved.

Lilly set the notebook aside, shifting until she was right in front of her, and before Patty could properly react, her hands came up—gentle, certain this time—and cupped Patty’s face.

Patty went still.

Completely still.

Lilly’s thumbs rested lightly near her jaw as she leaned in just enough that their space narrowed down to almost nothing.

“You know,” Lilly said quietly, eyes searching hers, “I could use a break.” Patty let out a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding. Her eyes flicked between Lilly’s, then down for a second like she was trying very hard not to lose composure entirely.

“…A break,” she repeated faintly.

Lilly nodded once.

Still holding her face. Patty’s hands slowly lifted, hesitating for half a second before resting over Lilly’s wrists—steadying, not stopping. And her voice, when it came out, was softer than before.

“…You’re distracting,” she murmured. Lilly’s expression barely changed, but her thumbs brushed lightly against Patty’s cheek like she didn’t care.

“Good,” she said simply. Patty exhaled again, slower this time. And this time, she didn’t look away.

Lilly’s brain didn’t catch up fast enough.

Her hands were still on Patty’s face. Still warm. Still real. Patty was still there in front of her, watching her like she was waiting for something Lilly had no idea how to give.

And that was the problem. Lilly hadn’t meant to stop studying. She hadn’t meant to move closer. She definitely hadn’t meant to end up like this—hovering between wanting to say something and not trusting her own voice to come out right.

Patty’s gaze stayed on her, steady. Patient in a way that made it worse. Like she was waiting. Like she knew Lilly would eventually do something.

Lilly swallowed.

Her thumbs slowed against Patty’s cheek. Her confidence, whatever little of it she had just a moment ago, started to unravel in real time.

“I—” she started.

Nothing followed. Her face burned immediately.

Patty blinked softly. “Lilly?”

That was it. That was the final push.

Lilly’s hands slid down slowly, not letting go entirely but losing the courage to keep holding her face. Her head dipped, curls falling forward as she broke eye contact completely.

Then, instead of pulling away—

she leaned in.

Her forehead pressed lightly against Patty’s chest, close enough to hear it. Patty’s breath staggered.

“…Lilly?” Patty said again, softer this time.

Lilly closed her eyes.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” she admitted quietly, voice muffled against the fabric.

Patty didn’t move for a second. Then, carefully, her arms lifted. They wrapped around Lilly slowly, pulling her in closer until there was no space left for doubt or distance or overthinking.

Lilly melted into it immediately. Like she had been waiting for it longer than she realized. Patty’s hand moved up to the back of her head, fingers brushing through her curls gently, grounding her there.

For a while, neither of them spoke. Then Patty’s voice came, low against her ear.

“…I think your mom knows.” Lilly shifted slightly but didn’t pull away. “Knows what?”

Patty answered. “About us.” Lilly went still for a second. Then, very casually—almost too casually—

“Oh,” she said. “That.”

Patty let out a small breath. “Yeah. That.”

Lilly tilted her head slightly against Patty’s chest. “It’s fine,” she said after a moment. “I don’t really mind what she thinks anyways.”

Patty’s arms tightened a little at that.

“…Do you think she doesn’t want us to be together?” Patty asked quietly.

Lilly was silent for a beat. Then she shifted just enough to look up at her. Her expression was calm. Certain in a way that surprised even herself.

“Well,” she said simply, “you’re still here, aren’t you?”

Patty blinked. Then something softened in her face immediately. A small smile formed, slow and real, like it had nowhere else to go.

“…Yeah,” Patty murmured. Her hand moved again, gently smoothing Lilly’s curls.

“I guess you’re right.”

And she held her a little tighter after that.

Chapter Text

The boys were sitting near the edge of the campus wall, where the afternoon heat had started to soften into something cooler. Laughter from nearby students drifted in and out, but their corner felt slightly removed from it, like they were all occupying the same space but not the same moment.

Will was talking about something meaningless again—some argument from class, half-joking, half-serious—but even he slowed when Rich shifted beside him.

Rich wasn’t smiling this time.

“Okay,” he said, a little more carefully, “I’ve been wondering something.”

Will tilted his head. “If this is about homework—”

“It’s not,” Rich interrupted. Then, after a pause, he added, quieter, “It’s about Patty and Lilly.”

Will stopped talking.

Matty didn’t move at all.

Rich looked between them, then exhaled through his nose like he was trying to make sense of the silence before it settled too deep.

“People keep talking,” he said. “But no one actually says anything real. It’s always just guessing.”

A beat passed.

Then Will scratched the back of his neck, like he’d already decided this wasn’t his to avoid anymore.

“I’ll explain,” he said gently, stepping in slightly.

His hand landed briefly on Matty’s shoulder—not firm, just there. A grounding pressure.

Rich nodded. “Yeah?”

Will glanced at Matty once before speaking again, more carefully now.

“It’s not… complicated,” he said. “It just looks complicated if you’re not the one standing inside it.”

Rich stayed quiet.

Will continued. “Lilly and Patty. They like each other.”

The truth, placed gently on the ground between them. Rich blinked once, absorbing it.

“…Oh,” he said softly. Then, after a moment, he nodded.

“That actually makes sense.”

Will gave a small, relieved breath. “Yeah.” Rich leaned back slightly against the wall. “People were making it way more complicated than it is.” A faint smile tugged at his mouth. “They’re kind of obvious, actually. In hindsight.”

Will let out a quiet laugh. “Exactly.”

For a moment, it felt like that should’ve been the end of it. But Matty hadn’t moved. Rich noticed first.

His expression softened a little. “Hey,” he said more quietly now, like he was adjusting the tone without being told to, “you’re okay, right?”

Matty gave a small exhale through his nose. It wasn’t quite a laugh. It wasn’t quite nothing either.

“I didn’t even know I was part of the conversation until now,” he said lightly.

Will frowned slightly. “You weren’t really.”

Matty nodded. “Yeah.”

Then, a little quieter, almost to himself more than them:

“Funny how you can be standing right next to someone… and still be completely out of the frame.”

That landed differently. Will shifted immediately, like he didn’t want that thought sitting there too long. “It’s not like that.”

Rich nodded slowly. “Yeah,” he agreed. “It’s not about you.”

Matty looked down at that. Then he shrugged once, small. “I know,” he said. “I get it.”

Another pause.

The air eased a little after that, like something had been acknowledged without needing to be fixed. Rich pushed off the wall. “They seem good together anyway.”

Will nodded. “Yeah. They do.”

Matty’s gaze lifted briefly toward the school building.

“Yeah,” he said again, softer this time.

And after a moment, he added—

“I think I saw it before I understood it,” he repeated, quieter now, like he was testing how it felt out loud.

His fingers tightened briefly against the edge of his sleeve.

“It was just… small things at first.”

He let out a short breath through his nose.

“The way she looks at Patty when she thinks no one notices. Or when Patty walks into a room and Lilly just—stops pretending for a second.” A faint, humorless smile tugged at his mouth. “Like she forgets she’s supposed to act normal.”

Will didn’t interrupt.

Rich didn’t either.

Matty kept going anyway, like if he stopped now, it would all sit too heavy.

“I kept thinking maybe I was imagining it. Or maybe it was nothing. Because it’s easier when it’s nothing.”

“But it wasn’t nothing.”

His jaw flexed slightly.

“I just didn’t know what to do with it.”

Will shifted closer first, lowering himself a bit so he was at Matty’s level instead of hovering above him.

“You don’t have to do anything with it,” Will said gently. Matty let out a quiet laugh that didn’t fully form. “Yeah. I guess that’s the point, huh?”

Rich sat down too now, elbows resting on his knees.

“You liked her?” Rich asked, not accusing, not pushing. Just naming it.

Matty hesitated.

Then nodded once.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “I think so.”

The admission didn’t break him open like he expected it would. Will exhaled slowly. “That doesn’t make you stupid.” Matty glanced at him.

Will shrugged a little. “It just makes you human.”

Rich added quietly, “And you didn’t lose anything you actually had.”

“I know,” he said after a moment. “It’s not like she was mine or anything.” His voice dipped slightly.

“But it still feels like I missed something I wasn’t fast enough to notice.” Will leaned back on his hands. “You didn’t miss it. You just weren’t the one it was meant to happen with.”

Rich nudged Matty lightly with his shoulder. “Also… for what it’s worth, they’re both kind of terrifying. In different ways.” That got a faint, reluctant laugh out of Matty.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “I noticed.”

A pause.

Then Will, softer again:

“You’ll be fine, you know.”

Matty didn’t answer immediately because it took a second for that to feel real.

Finally, he nodded.

“Yeah,” he said. “I think I will be.”

He looked toward the school again, where everything continued like normal, like nothing had shifted at all.

Then he added, quieter—

“I just need a little time to get used to not being in that story anymore.”

Rich stood up first this time.

“You were never out of it,” he said simply. “You were just in a different part of it than you thought.”

Will stood too, stretching slightly.

“And hey,” he added, bumping Matty’s shoulder as he passed, “you still get to live your own one.”

Matty let out a small breath.

Then nodded once.

“Yeah,” he said again, more certain this time.

And this time, it stayed.

Ronnie spotted them first.

She slowed her steps just slightly, eyes narrowing like she was assessing a scene she didn’t fully approve of but also didn’t care enough to interrupt properly. Lilly walked beside her, quieter, still carrying that soft, slightly distant calm she always had after school—like her thoughts were half here and half somewhere else.

The boys were still near the wall.

Rich sitting again, calmer now, though his posture still had that restless edge. Will beside him, leaning back with his arms stretched out behind him like he had already accepted the day was over.

Matty was the only one who looked up first. His eyes caught Lilly’s almost immediately. Her steps slowed without meaning to. Ronnie, of course, noticed everything.

“Oi,” she called out, tone sharp but not unfriendly. “Rich.”

Rich blinked like he was being pulled out of a thought. “Huh?” Ronnie pulled out her phone, already typing. “Marge told me to tell you something.”

That got him instantly alert.

“Wait—what? Marge?” Rich straightened so fast Will actually glanced at him.

Ronnie didn’t even look impressed. “Yeah. She said she’s looking for you.”

Rich’s expression shifted immediately, like his brain had jumped tracks entirely. “Why? What did she say? Where is she?”

Ronnie tilted her head slightly, watching him spiral with zero urgency. “She said she wanted to walk home together.”

There was a beat.

Then Rich processed it.

And fully detonated.

“Okay—why didn’t you say that first—” he started, already moving backwards.

Ronnie blinked. “I literally just did.”

Rich was already turning.

“Where is she?” he demanded, half to the air now, like the answer should just appear.

Ronnie pointed lazily over her shoulder. “Still in the classroom.”

That was all he needed.

“Okay!” Rich shouted, already running. “Got it!”

Will leaned forward slightly. “You don’t even know which room—”

“I’LL FIND IT!” Rich yelled back without stopping.

Ronnie watched him disappear down the corridor, then exhaled through her nose.

“…Men,” she muttered.

Will let out a quiet laugh. “He’s gone.”

Ronnie shrugged. “He’ll survive.”

Lilly covered her mouth slightly, trying not to laugh too obviously. “He ran like his life depended on it.”

“It does,” Ronnie said flatly. “It’s Marge.”

That made Will laugh a little harder.

The tension from earlier had dissolved into something lighter now—normal again, almost.

Almost.

Because when Lilly looked back toward the boys again—

Matty was still watching her. Like he hadn’t quite decided where to place his attention now that something in him had already settled. Their eyes met properly this time.

Lilly’s breath caught slightly before she forced herself to look away first, suddenly very interested in adjusting the strap of her bag.

Ronnie, of course, noticed that too.

“…Right,” she said slowly, eyes flicking between them like she was adding something to a mental list. “Anyway.”

Will cleared his throat. “So—walk home?”

Ronnie nodded. “Yeah. Before someone else starts sprinting dramatically down the hallway.”

She turned, already walking. Lilly followed quickly, still a little warm in the face without fully knowing why. Behind them, Matty stayed where he was for a second longer.

Then stood. And fell into step without saying anything. But his gaze flicked once more toward Lilly’s back before he looked ahead.

The road home stretched longer than it usually felt, like the afternoon had decided to slow itself down just to stretch the silence between them.

Up ahead, Ronnie and Will were doing most of the talking. Too loud. Too scattered. Ronnie arguing about something pointless while Will kept laughing under his breath, occasionally pointing at something in the distance like it mattered more than it did. They didn’t look back. Didn’t need to.

Behind them, it was different.

Lilly walked slightly ahead of Matty at first, then slowed without meaning to. Matty matched her pace almost immediately. Not close enough to crowd her. Not far enough to disappear.

Just there.

The space between them felt careful. Deliberate in a way neither of them had named yet.

Lilly’s fingers twisted together once before she spoke.

“…Thank you.”

Matty glanced at her. “For what?”

She hesitated. Her eyes stayed on the road.

“For everything,” she said quietly. Then, smaller, like it mattered more than she wanted it to, “and I’m sorry.”

Matty let out a short breath through his nose, almost like he expected that.

“What are you sorry for?” he asked.

Lilly swallowed.

“For… all of it,” she said. “For not knowing how to say it properly. For making it weird. For—”

Matty cut in gently, not sharp, just certain.

“Don’t be sorry.”

Lilly blinked.

He looked ahead when he said it, not at her.

“You’re in love,” he added simply. That stopped her for half a step. Like the sentence had weight but no edge. Just truth placed down carefully where it could land without breaking anything.

Lilly’s voice came out softer. “I should’ve just told you.”

Matty nodded once. “Yeah.”

A pause.

Then, quieter—

“I think I knew anyway.”

Lilly finally looked at him.

Matty’s expression wasn’t bitter. Not angry. Just… honest in a way that made it harder.

“I just didn’t want to actually face it,” he admitted.

That hung there between them for a moment. The wind shifted slightly down the road, brushing through the trees at the side like nothing important had just been said. Lilly slowed again.

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” she said.

Matty gave a small shrug. “You didn’t.”

She frowned slightly, like she didn’t believe that was possible. He glanced at her then, briefly.

“You didn’t choose me,” he said. “That’s not the same thing as hurting me.” Lilly’s throat tightened a little at that, but she didn’t interrupt.

Matty looked forward again.

“I think I just liked the version of things where I didn’t have to say it out loud,” he added, almost to himself. “Where it stayed simple.”

A beat.

Then, a quieter breath.

“But it wasn’t simple.”

Up ahead, Ronnie’s laughter carried back faintly with Will’s voice overlapping it, something about teasing Rich still echoing down the street. Life continuing like it always did.

Matty’s hands stayed in his pockets.

Then he exhaled.

“I’m okay,” he said, like he was confirming it to himself more than anyone else. “I think I was just… late to something that already happened.”

Lilly didn’t know what to say to that.

So she didn’t force it.

They walked a little further in silence. And somewhere in that quiet, Matty’s shoulder brushed lightly against hers—not intentional, just the road narrowing for a second.

He didn’t move away immediately.

Neither did she.

The sound of Ronnie and Will ahead filled the space they didn’t. Their voices were loud, careless, normal. It made the silence behind them feel even more noticeable.

Lilly kept glancing at him.

He finally noticed and let out a short breath. “You keep doing that.”

“Doing what?” she asked quickly.

“Looking like you’re waiting for me to fall apart or something.”

Lilly frowned. “I’m not—”

“I’m okay,” Matty cut in, but not harsh. Just firm. “Seriously.”

That time, she believed him a little more.

They walked on. After a moment, Matty kicked a small stone off the path. It skittered ahead of them.

“I didn’t know what I was supposed to be to you,” he said suddenly. Lilly slowed slightly. “Matty…”

He shook his head once. “No, it’s fine. I just mean… I thought I was closer than I actually was.” He glanced at her briefly. Lilly looked away first.

“I should’ve told you sooner,” she said quietly.

Matty gave a short laugh. “Yeah. Probably.”

Then, softer, “But I get why you didn’t.”

That made her look back at him. He shrugged a little. “It’s not like I was exactly easy to talk to either.”

A pause.

Then he added, more lightly, “Also I think everyone else knew before I did. So I can’t even act betrayed.” That got a small reaction out of her — a relieved breath that almost turned into a laugh.

“Sorry,” Lilly muttered again.

Matty immediately shook his head. “Stop saying that.”

She blinked.

“You don’t have to keep apologizing,” he said. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Lilly went quiet for a second.

“…Okay,” she said.

Ahead of them, Ronnie shouted something dramatic at Will and made him laugh. The sound cut through the air like nothing heavy had just been said at all. Matty slowed slightly as they reached the point where they’d split ways. He adjusted his bag strap.

“Hey,” he said.

Lilly looked at him. He hesitated just for a second — not emotional, just thinking. Then he nodded toward her. “You look happier anyway.”

Lilly blinked. “I do?”

“Yeah,” he said plainly. “That’s kind of the point, right?”

She didn’t answer immediately.

Then she gave a small, honest nod.

“…Yeah.”

Matty’s mouth tilted slightly. “Good.” Then he turned away. And Lilly watched him go for a second longer than she meant to — not because it hurt, but because she understood it now. And then she turned back toward her own path.

Chapter Text

Lilly stood in front of her closet like it had turned into something unfamiliar overnight.

Hangars lined up in uneven rows. Familiar clothes. Familiar colors. Nothing about them had changed. But tonight they all felt slightly wrong, like they belonged to a version of her that didn’t have to think so hard about being seen.

Her fingers hovered over a blouse, then withdrew before she even touched the fabric.

“No,” she muttered under her breath. She pulled out something else instead, held it up to the mirror, and immediately frowned. The hangar clicked softly against the others, sharp in the quiet of her room. Lilly exhaled through her nose and pressed her palm briefly against the edge of her closet door.

“This is ridiculous,” she said, quieter this time.

Because it was just dinner. That was what she kept telling herself. Just dinner at Patty’s house. Except her body didn’t seem interested in believing her own explanation.

She turned slightly, eyes drifting back to the clothes again, slower this time. Less searching, more hesitant now, like she was afraid of choosing wrong for reasons she couldn’t quite name.

Her gaze landed on a simple dress tucked between two louder pieces. Light fabric. Soft lines. Nothing that demanded attention, nothing that tried to compete with anything else in the room.

She stared at it for a long moment. Then reached for it. 

“…Fine,” Lilly whispered finally, almost like surrendering to something larger than herself.

She pulled it out. Changing took longer than it should have. Not because the dress was difficult, but because Lilly kept pausing between movements. Fixing something, undoing it, fixing it again. Standing still. Sitting down. Standing again like stillness itself had become suspicious. When she finally looked at herself in the mirror, she didn’t move right away.

Her reflection looked… steady. Lilly adjusted the hem once, then let her hands drop. Her expression stayed still.

“…It’s just dinner,” she said again, but this time it didn’t sound like reassurance.

More like something she was trying not to question too deeply. She grabbed her bag. And left before she could convince herself otherwise.

Patty had been pretending she wasn’t waiting.

The house was the same as it had been earlier—warm light, quiet movement, the steady rhythm of adults doing things that didn’t revolve around her—but she kept ending up near the same window anyway.

Her fingers brushed the edge of her sleeve once, then again, like she was smoothing something only she could feel.

Behind her, Helen moved through the kitchen with practiced ease, the soft clink of dishes and utensils filling the space in a way that made everything feel normal. Jim’s presence, by contrast, stayed distant—sealed away in his study like a door that didn’t need opening.

Patty didn’t look toward it.

She never really did.

Instead, her attention kept drifting back outside.

The sound came before she saw it. A car slowing in front of the house. Patty straightened immediately, almost too quickly, then stopped herself mid-motion like she was trying to pretend she hadn’t reacted at all.

Her feet were already moving. She stepped outside just as the door opened. Terri was the first to appear.

“Good evening,” Patty said automatically, then softened it before it could turn too formal. “Ma’am.”

Terri gave her a small, knowing look. “You can just call me Terri, you know.”

Patty nodded once. “Yes, ma—Terri.”

That earned a faint, amused exhale. Then Lilly stepped out. And everything else narrowed. Patty didn’t move at first. She just looked.

Lilly stood there for a second, adjusting to the light outside, hair slightly different from earlier in a way Patty noticed immediately even if no one else would have. Simpler. Softer. Like she had been overthinking something quietly and arrived anyway.

Patty’s expression shifted before she could stop it. Lilly’s eyes found hers. And stayed there a fraction too long. Terri glanced between them, then smiled slightly like she already understood more than she was saying.

“I’ll come pick her up later,” Terri said casually, turning back toward the car.

Patty nodded. “Okay.”

Lilly blinked. “You don’t have to—”

“I will,” Terri interrupted gently, already getting back in. “Have fun.”

Patty looked at Lilly first.

Not the way she usually did—quick, distracted, half-teasing. This time she paused.

Properly.

Like she had been holding her breath since the car stopped and only now remembered she could let it go.

“You look pretty,” Patty said simply.

Lilly blinked. Then immediately looked away, cheeks warming too fast to hide. “You can’t just say it like that.”

Patty tilted her head. “Why not?”

“Because—” Lilly started, then stopped, because she didn’t actually have a reason that made sense out loud.

Patty’s mouth curved slightly. Lilly exhaled, still flustered, then looked back at her properly this time. “You… you look pretty too.”

That made Patty’s expression change instantly.

“Okay,” Patty said quietly, almost satisfied, and stepped closer without thinking twice.She reached for Lilly’s hand again like it was automatic now and pulled her gently toward the house.

“Come on.”

Helen appeared almost immediately from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a cloth, her eyes landing on Lilly with polite interest that softened quickly into hospitality.

“Oh, you must be Lilly,” she said warmly.

Lilly straightened a little. “Yes, ma’am.”

Helen smiled. “No need for that. Come in, both of you. Dinner will be ready in a bit.” Patty didn’t add much—just a small nod—but Lilly caught it anyway. That slight stiffness in her posture. The way her attention flicked briefly toward the hallway leading deeper into the house.

Helen gestured lightly toward the living room. “Just wait a little, alright?”

Patty answered first. “Okay.”

Lilly followed. “Yes, ma’am.” Helen smiled again, but her eyes lingered for a fraction longer than necessary before she turned back toward the kitchen. The moment she disappeared, the air shifted slightly.

Lilly glanced at Patty. Patty was already watching her. Neither of them spoke for a second. Then Patty reached out and grabbed her wrist.

“Come on,” she said again, but softer this time, and tugged her toward the stairs.

“Patty—” Lilly started.

But Patty was already halfway pulling her up. Upstairs, the hallway felt quieter. Familiar in a way Lilly didn’t fully trust yet. Patty didn’t slow until they reached her room, then pushed the door open and practically dragged Lilly inside with her.

Before Lilly could even fully turn—

Patty latched onto her.

Literally.

Arms wrapped around her shoulders, weight leaning into her like she had no intention of standing independently ever again.

Lilly froze.

“Patty—what are you doing?”

“I missed you,” Patty said immediately, like that explained everything.

“It’s been—” Lilly started.

“Too long,” Patty cut in.

Then she squeezed tighter. Lilly tried to push her back gently. “You’re going to knock me over.”

“No I won’t.”

“You’re literally hanging on me.”

“That’s called affection.”

Lilly let out a breath, half exasperated, half trying not to laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”

Patty hummed against her shoulder. “You like it.”

That made Lilly shove her a little harder.

“Patty.”

Patty finally loosened—just slightly—but didn’t let go. Instead, she tilted her head up. And moved in like she was going to kiss her. Lilly reacted instantly. She lifted her hand and pressed it gently over Patty’s mouth.

Stopping her.

“Calm down,” Lilly said quickly, cheeks warming again.

Patty blinked at her through it. Then, very slowly, she leaned back.

“…You’re shy,” she observed.

“I’m not shy,” Lilly said immediately.

Patty raised a brow. Lilly sighed and moved to sit on the edge of the bed instead, like she needed space to think properly again. Patty stayed standing for a second longer, watching her, then dropped down beside her—but still leaned in slightly like she couldn’t help herself.

“Why are you acting like that?” Patty asked.

Lilly hesitated. Then her expression shifted. Slightly more serious now.

“Am I here at a bad time?” she asked.

Patty frowned immediately. “What?”

Lilly looked at her properly now. “This… your family. I can leave if it’s—”

“Why would you ask that?” Patty interrupted, sharper than before.

Lilly paused.

Then exhaled. “You said before that you don’t really… get along with them.”

Patty went quiet for a second.

Then nodded once. “I said that.”

Lilly’s fingers tightened slightly in her lap. “So why would you want me to meet them?”

Patty didn’t answer right away. For once, there was no quick comeback, no teasing line ready to smooth the moment over. Just a small shift in her expression.

“…It wasn’t really my idea,” she said finally.

Lilly blinked. “Then whose?”

Patty’s jaw tightened faintly, like she was annoyed she even had to say it out loud.

“My dad,” she admitted.

That made Lilly pause. “Your dad?”

Patty gave a short nod. “He saw us once.”

Lilly frowned slightly. “Saw us?”

Patty hesitated, then continued more carefully.

“…When you dropped me off,” she said. “You kissed my cheek before leaving.”

Lilly froze.

Patty rushed to clarify almost immediately, like she could feel the moment tipping. “It wasn’t a big deal. It was quick. You didn’t even think about it, I think.” But Lilly wasn’t listening to the reassurance.

Her eyes widened slightly. “He saw that?”

Patty nodded again, slower this time.

“He didn’t say anything then,” she added. “But later… he brought it up. Like it was obvious. Like it explained everything.” Lilly swallowed. Patty looked away toward the side of the room.

“And then he said,” she continued quietly, “that if I was going to keep letting you into our house… he wanted to meet you properly.”

A pause.

Then, almost reluctantly:

“He said he didn’t want to only see you through a window anymore.”

That hung in the air between them for a moment. Lilly shifted slightly. “I’ve met him before though.” Patty gave a small, almost distracted nod. “Yeah. I think he meant my mom.”

Her voice lowered a fraction on the last word. And just like that, the mood shifted—subtle, but real. Lilly noticed it immediately.

She hesitated, then asked carefully, “What do you think your mom would say?”

Patty didn’t answer right away. Her eyes dropped to her hands for a second, like she was trying to find the simplest version of the truth that wouldn’t make the room heavier than it already was.

Then she exhaled softly.

“…I don’t think she would like it,” she said. Patty continued, quieter now, “She doesn’t really like things she can’t control. Or understand quickly.”

A pause.

Then, almost under her breath, “And this… isn’t something she would understand easily.” Lilly’s fingers curled slightly against her skirt.

“…Does she know about us?” she asked.

Patty shook her head once. “No.”

Then she added, a little more honestly, “And I don’t think I want her to. Not yet.”

Lilly looked at her for a long moment. Then she leaned back slightly against the bed, processing it.

“…Okay,” she said finally.

Patty glanced up at that. “Okay?”

Lilly nodded once, small but steady. “Yeah.”

“It’s not like I expected everyone to be fine with it.” That made Patty’s expression soften a fraction. Lilly shifted closer again, just slightly this time, like she was anchoring herself back into the moment instead of letting it drift into worry.

“Does it bother you?” she asked. “That she might not like me?” Patty looked at her properly now. Longer this time. Then she shook her head once.

“No,” she said.

A beat.

Then, more certain:

“What bothers me is people acting like their opinion gets to decide what I feel.”

Lilly went quiet after that. Her eyes stayed on Patty for a moment, like she was still trying to process that Patty could say something like that so easily, like it was simple to her when it wasn’t simple at all.

Then Lilly exhaled softly.

“…You talk like you’ve already decided you’re not allowed to be happy unless it’s approved,” she murmured.

Patty blinked slightly. That landed closer than anything else had. Lilly didn’t stop there. She shifted forward, pulling Patty a little closer by the sleeve, not rough—just certain now.

“Which is ridiculous,” she added, quieter but firmer. “Because I’ve seen you. You don’t ask permission for anything except this.” Her fingers lifted, cupping Patty’s face again, steadier this time.

“And I’m not going to be something you hide like it’s wrong.”

Patty’s breath caught faintly. Lilly looked at her for a second longer—like she needed to make sure she understood it wasn’t hesitation anymore.

Then she leaned in. A kiss pressed to Patty’s cheek first—soft, deliberate. Another near her jaw, slower, grounding. Patty didn’t move away. Didn’t interrupt. When Lilly finally looked at her again, it wasn’t uncertain anymore.

And then she closed the gap between them.

The kiss followed naturally—no rush, no question left hanging this time, just something they both stepped into at the same time without needing to name it.

The kiss didn’t change suddenly—it just… lingered longer this time. Lilly’s hands stayed at Patty’s face, steady now instead of hesitant, like she had decided she wasn’t letting go just yet.

Patty responded in kind—still careful, still warm, but no longer holding back the way she had been earlier.

For a moment, everything else faded down to something distant and unimportant.

Then Patty pulled back first.

Her forehead stayed close to Lilly’s for a second, their breaths uneven, both of them quietly trying to make sense of how quickly the room had shifted around them again.

Patty exhaled softly, blinking like she was reorienting herself. And only then did she seem to realize it.

Lilly was still there—too close, weight slightly forward from where she had followed the kiss without even noticing. Practically on top of her in a way that made the situation suddenly very real again.

Patty’s eyes widened a fraction.

“…Okay,” she murmured, voice slightly unsteady in a way she rarely allowed. “Okay—wait.”

Lilly paused immediately, blinking like she was only now catching up. Patty let out a small, breathless laugh—half disbelief, half embarrassment—and gently shifted herself upright, one hand still lightly holding Lilly’s wrist like she didn’t want her to disappear entirely.

“I need… a second,” Patty said, quieter now, running a hand briefly through her hair as if that would fix her composure. Her usual confidence was still there—but shaken at the edges. Lilly didn’t move away. Just sat there, close, watching her carefully like she was trying to decide if she’d done something wrong.

Patty noticed that immediately. So she softened.

“…You’re fine,” she added quickly, a little gentler now. “I’m just… not used to you doing things before I can think about them.”

That earned a faint shift in Lilly’s expression—less panic, more understanding. Patty exhaled again, finally managing a steadier breath. Then she glanced at her properly.

And despite everything, her mouth curved slightly.

“…You’re dangerous when you’re confident,” she muttered under her breath. Lilly blinked once. Then, slowly, the corners of her lips lifted too—small, shy, but real.  Patty was still sitting up slightly, trying to fully regain her composure, one hand brushing lightly over her face like she was recalibrating herself back into reality.

Lilly, on the other hand, stayed still for exactly two seconds.

Then she moved.

Patty barely had time to look at her before Lilly stood too, closing the small space Patty had just created like she refused to let it exist again.

“Lilly—” Patty started, cautious now.

But Lilly didn’t hesitate. She stepped in close, hands rising again—not unsure this time, but firm in a way that made Patty pause mid-thought.

And her voice, when it came, was quieter but certain.

“…Just one more,” Lilly said.

Patty blinked. “One more what?”

Lilly didn’t answer with words.

She just looked at her.

And Patty, who usually had something sharp or teasing ready, found herself completely disarmed for the second time that night. Her breath caught slightly, her expression softening despite herself.

“…You’re not playing fair,” Patty murmured.

Lilly’s gaze didn’t waver. “I know.”

That earned a small, helpless exhale from Patty—almost a laugh, but softer, warmer. Her shoulders dropped slightly, like she was giving up the fight she didn’t actually want to win.

“…You’re going to make me lose all my composure,” she said quietly.

Lilly tilted her head just a fraction. Then, instead of pushing further with words, she simply stayed there—close enough that Patty could feel her presence without needing anything else said.

And this time, Patty didn’t step back. She just looked at her.

“…Okay,” Patty finally said, softer now. “But after this, I’m blaming you if I can’t act normal downstairs.”

A pause. Then a faint, reluctant smile. And the moment held—warm, charged, and steady—like neither of them was in any rush to break it.

Chapter Text

The dining room felt warmer than the rest of the house, both in temperature and in the way it was arranged—carefully set plates, soft clinks of utensils, the quiet movement of a home that knew how to pretend everything was normal when guests were present. Lilly sat slightly straighter than she meant to. Beside her, Patty was unusually still. Not tense in an obvious way—but controlled. Like she had placed herself into a version of herself that knew how to behave around her father.

The chair at the head of the table remained empty for a while longer than expected.

Then the front door opened. Patty didn’t need to look up to know. Still, she did.

Jim appeared in the doorway a moment later, loosening his jacket as if he had just come from somewhere that required effort to leave behind. His eyes moved across the table briefly before settling on Lilly. There was a short pause. Then his expression shifted into something mild.

“…You’re here again,” he said.

Lilly straightened slightly. “Good evening, sir.” A faint smile tugged at his mouth.

“Nice to meet you again, kid,” he said simply, like it wasn’t the first time at all.

Helen looked up from the table setting, slightly surprised. “You’ve met her before?”

Jim nodded once as he took his seat. “I gave her and her friends a ride home once. From the carnival.”

Helen blinked, then relaxed. “Oh. That’s nice.”

She glanced between Lilly and Patty, smiling a little. “Well, I’m glad Patty finally has friends she brings home.” Patty stiffened almost imperceptibly at that.

Helen continued, unaware. “She’s always been so private. She never really brings anyone over. So this is… new.” Jim didn’t react immediately. But his eyes stayed on Patty a fraction longer than necessary. Then he looked at Lilly again.

“You two are close,” he said—not a question, but not quite a statement either.

Lilly hesitated. “We—”

“Friends,” Helen supplied quickly, cheerful. “Right? Patty said she’s studying with her. They’ve been spending a lot of time together.” Jim leaned back in his chair, watching the exchange with a calm, unreadable expression.

“Studying,” he repeated.

A pause.

Then, almost lightly, “That’s what you’re calling it these days.” The room didn’t go silent—but it shifted. Helen paused mid-motion, finally catching a hint of something she couldn’t place. “What do you mean?”

Jim didn’t look at her immediately. His attention stayed on Lilly and Patty instead. Then he said, casually, “I’ve seen them together more than once.”

Patty’s shoulders tensed. Helen frowned slightly. “That’s good, isn’t it? Patty needs friends.”

A small exhale from him—almost amused.

“Friends,” he echoed again.

Then he finally looked at Helen.

“I just find it interesting,” he said, voice even, “how much time they spend together for two people who are ‘just studying.’”

Patty’s hand moved under the table, brushing lightly against Lilly’s—quick, grounding. Helen, still not fully catching the undertone, smiled again. “Well, Patty deserves good company. Lilly seems like a sweet girl.”

Jim didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows lightly on the table.

Later that night, the house had shifted into its quieter rhythm.

The girls were upstairs—Patty had pulled Lilly with her again earlier, voices fading into soft laughter and study notes left half-forgotten on the bed.

Downstairs, the kitchen light stayed on.

Helen stood at the sink, washing dishes in a steady, familiar motion. The clink of ceramic filled the silence between running water and the occasional scrape of a plate being set aside.

Jim appeared in the doorway after a moment. He didn’t speak right away. Just watched for a second. Then stepped in and leaned lightly against the counter. Helen didn’t look up immediately. “They’re up there studying again,” she said, half amused. “I think Lilly is actually getting Patty to focus for once.”

A pause.

Then she added, “She’s a nice girl.”

That time, he didn’t respond immediately.

His gaze stayed on the running water.

On the rhythm of her hands.

Then, quietly:

“Do you think so?”

Helen finally glanced at him. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

A faint pause.

Then he spoke again, lower now, more deliberate.

“I think Patty’s getting attached.”

Helen gave a small, distracted smile as she rinsed a plate. “She’s allowed to have friends.”

A beat.

“That’s not what I mean,” he said.

That made Helen stop slightly.

She set the plate down.

The water kept running.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then Helen turned a little more toward him. “What exactly are you worried about?”

“I just think it’s better to understand what’s happening in your own house before it becomes something you can’t ignore.”

The kitchen felt quieter now, but not calmer. Helen dried her hands slowly, watching him.

“Jim,” she said again, more controlled this time, “if you have something to say about the girls, just say it properly.”

He didn’t answer right away.

Not avoidance—more like he was deciding whether speaking would actually make anything clearer. Finally, he leaned lightly against the counter.

“I am saying it properly,” he replied.

Helen frowned. “No, you’re hinting. That’s different.”

A pause.

Then Jim exhaled through his nose, gaze steady.

“There’s nothing wrong with them being upstairs,” he said. “But you’ve been treating it like nothing is happening at all.” Helen crossed her arms now. “Because nothing inappropriate is happening.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“Then what are you saying?”

Jim looked at her directly now.

“I’m saying you’ve got two girls upstairs who are not just friends.”

Helen went still.

“…Excuse me?”

He didn’t raise his voice.

“They’re in love,” he said simply. This time it landed properly. Helen stared at him, disbelief sharpening immediately.

“That’s ridiculous,” she said at once. “They’re teenagers. They study together. They spend time together. That doesn’t mean—”

“It’s not a guess,” Jim interrupted, calm but firm.

That stopped her mid-sentence. Helen’s expression tightened. “So now you’re an expert on teenage girls?” Jim didn’t react to the bite in her tone.

“I’m not an expert,” he said. “I’m observant.” Helen shook her head once. “You don’t just decide something like that about your daughter and her guest.”

“I didn’t decide it.”

A pause.

“I noticed it,” he repeated.

Helen looked away briefly, as if trying to dismiss it. Then she set the dish towel down more firmly than necessary.

“You’re wrong,” she said. Jim’s expression didn’t change.

“I might be,” he agreed evenly. “But I don’t think I am.” That made the air shift again. Helen turned back toward him fully now, more serious.

“And what exactly made you think that?” she asked.

Jim didn’t rush.

Then, quietly:

“The way they look at each other when they think no one’s watching.”

Helen scoffed immediately. “That’s not evidence.”

“It’s observation,” he corrected.

A beat.

Then he added, slightly softer:

“And I saw Lilly kiss her cheek at the gate.” Helen paused. That detail landed differently.

Her brows furrowed slightly. “A cheek kiss?”

Jim nodded once. “Not casual,” he added. “Not for them. Not for someone like Patty." Silence stretched for a moment. Helen exhaled, visibly conflicted now rather than dismissive.

“That doesn’t mean they’re—” she started, then stopped herself, choosing her words more carefully. “Jim, they’re girls. They’re young. Even if there’s… affection, that doesn’t mean it’s something serious.”

Jim looked at her for a second.

Then said simply:

“I didn’t say it was a problem.”

That made her pause.

He continued, still calm:

“I’m saying it’s real.”

Helen looked down briefly, thinking.

Then back up.

“…And you’re telling me this now because?”

Jim’s gaze shifted slightly upward again, toward the ceiling. Where the house stayed quiet.

“Because pretending it isn’t there doesn’t make it disappear,” he said. Helen went still. Then she exhaled slowly, rubbing her temple.

“…They’re still children,” she said quietly.

“I know,” Jim replied.

A pause.

Then Helen added, softer this time:

“…And you’re sure about this?”

Jim didn’t hesitate.

“As sure as I can be without asking them.”

The next morning came too quietly.

Breakfast was already halfway done, the kind of normal that looked carefully assembled—toast, coffee, soft clinks of utensils, the house pretending it hadn’t changed overnight.

Lilly sat across from Patty again. But something was different now. Helen noticed it before mind caught up. It wasn’t one moment. It was the pattern. The way Lilly looked up every time Patty spoke, even when she wasn’t being addressed. The way Patty slid small comments toward her like they were meant for no one else in the room.

The way their silences didn’t feel empty.

They felt… occupied.

Helen set her cup down a little slower than usual. Her eyes shifted again. Patty reached for something on the table—Lilly’s hand moved at the same time, brushing it first without thinking.

A second too long.

A second too natural.

Helen blinked.

Something cold moved under her skin.

She told herself she was imagining it.

Then Patty laughed quietly at something Lilly said—soft, almost private—and Lilly looked down like she had just been given something no one else could hear.

Helen’s grip tightened slightly on her cup.

No.

That was just friendship.

That was normal.

But it didn’t look like anything she had ever known as normal. Later, when Lilly stood up to leave for school, the house shifted again.

“Bye,” Lilly said politely, adjusting her strap.

“See you,” Patty replied immediately. Their eyes met and held a fraction too long. Then Lilly turned away first. Patty watched her go. Helen watched Patty watching her go. And something in Helen’s chest tightened again—harder this time. When the door closed behind Lilly, Patty finally turned back toward the table. And that was when Helen saw it clearly.

Like nothing about that goodbye needed to be questioned.

Helen stood abruptly.

“Jim,” she said, voice sharper than intended. Patty looked up slightly, surprised. Jim didn’t move right away. Helen was already stepping toward the hallway.

“I’m going to talk to her,” she said.

Patty’s expression shifted instantly. “Mom—”

But Helen had already turned.

“Enough,” she muttered under her breath, moving toward the door.

Patty stood halfway up.

“Mom, what—” And that was when Jim appeared. Not blocking her forcefully. Just stepping into her path with quiet finality.

"Go to your room, Patty." Jim said sternly and Patty did as she's told.

“Don’t,” he said. Helen stopped immediately. Her eyes flashed. “Move.” He didn’t.

“Not like this,” Jim said calmly. Helen’s jaw tightened. “So when? After I ignore what I’m seeing in my own house?” Jim exhaled slowly.

“They’re not hiding anything from you,” he said. “You’re just noticing it later than they are.”

“I am not imagining this,” she said quietly.

“No,” Jim replied.

That surprised her.

His tone softened slightly.

“You’re not.”

A beat.

Helen’s voice dropped. “Then what am I supposed to do?” Jim didn’t answer immediately.

Then, simply:

“Let it exist before you decide what it means.”

Silence.

Helen’s hands clenched once at her side. Then slowly loosened. Her eyes stayed fixed on the door for a long moment. Finally, she exhaled.

“…This is going to change things,” she said quietly.

Jim nodded once.

“I know.”

And for the first time, Helen didn’t rush forward.

But she didn’t let it go either.

For a few days after that morning, Helen told herself she was simply noticing things more carefully now. That was all it was at first—attention sharpened by suggestion, by conversation she never fully asked for but couldn’t fully forget either. But the house didn’t behave the same way once you started paying attention to it.

Patty was different.

Not in a way that could be easily corrected or dismissed. It wasn’t rebellion, not exactly. It was softness where there used to be restraint. It was presence where there used to be distance. She hummed in the mornings now without realizing it, stayed longer at the table, spoke more freely when she thought she wasn’t being examined.

And always, her attention drifted outward.

Toward the telephone. Toward upstairs. Toward whatever existed outside Helen’s line of sight.

Helen tried, at first, to file it away as relief. Growth. Normal teenage change. Something harmless if left unnamed. But the more she watched, the harder it became to keep it in that category.

It wasn’t just that Patty seemed happier.

It was who she was happier around.

It happened on a quiet afternoon when Helen passed the hallway and slowed without intention. Patty’s bedroom door was half closed, and her voice carried through it softly, too warm to be casual, too steady to be accidental.

Helen stopped. Not because she meant to listen. Because she already had. Inside, Patty was speaking first.

“You didn’t eat again, did you?”

A pause, then Lilly’s voice, lighter, almost teasing.

“I did. Just not enough for you to approve.”

Patty exhaled something that sounded like a laugh.

“That’s not an answer.”

There was a soft silence after that, stretched comfortably, like neither of them felt the need to fill it quickly anymore.

Then Patty again, quieter.

“You’re tired.”

“I’m fine,” Lilly replied.

Another pause.

Then Patty, softer still, and this time there was something different underneath it—not asking, not joking, just certain in a way that didn’t invite contradiction.

“Tell me when you’re not.” Helen’s hand tightened slightly against the wall. Because it wasn’t the words alone. It was how easily they came. How naturally they fit. Like they had been spoken in private often enough that they no longer needed effort.

Lilly’s voice followed, smaller now.

“…I miss you.” Helen’s breath caught before she could stop it. There was a beat of silence, and then Patty answered immediately.

“I know.”

Then, after a pause that felt heavier than the rest, “I miss you too.” Helen stepped back from the door before she realized she had moved at all.

Her face had gone still in a way that wasn’t calm so much as controlled. She walked down the hallway without looking back.

Later that evening, she found Patty in her room. This time, she didn’t hesitate outside the door. She knocked once and entered immediately.

Patty looked up, surprised. “Mom?” Helen closed the door behind her. But firmly enough that it felt intentional.

“Who were you on the phone with earlier?” she asked.

Patty blinked. “Lilly.” Helen stared at her for a moment longer than necessary, as if waiting for something else to appear in the answer.

It didn’t.

“I see,” she said finally.

Patty frowned slightly. “Why?”

Helen exhaled through her nose, slow, controlled—but there was strain in it now.

“Because I think you don’t realize how it looks,” she said.

Patty straightened a little. “How what looks?”

Helen hesitated, and that hesitation mattered more than anything she had said so far.Then, more carefully, “The way you talk to her. The way you are around her.” Patty’s expression shifted—not defensive yet, but sharper in attention. “She’s my friend.”

Helen nodded once, but it wasn’t agreement.

“I know what you think she is,” she said.

A pause.

Then, more direct now, the restraint thinning.

“But I also know what I heard.”

That landed.

Patty didn’t answer immediately. For the first time, something guarded flickered across her face. And Helen saw it. Helen’s voice lowered slightly. “Patty… I need you to understand something.”

Patty’s jaw tightened. “Understand what?”

Helen held her gaze now, fully.

“That this is not something you can just decide on without consequences.” Because nothing about it was theoretical anymore. And for the first time, Patty didn’t look like she was orbiting something outside the house. She looked like she was standing in the middle of something Helen could no longer ignore.

Helen didn’t raise her voice at first. That was the dangerous part. Because it meant she was still trying to hold herself together.

“Patty,” she said again, sharper this time, as Patty turned slightly toward the door, already halfway out of the conversation. “Don’t walk away when I’m talking to you.” Patty paused with her hand still on the doorknob.

“I’m not walking away,” she said, though her body already contradicted her. Helen stepped forward immediately. The floorboard creaked under her movement.

“No,” Helen said, voice tightening. “You are.”

Patty finally turned back, brows drawn together now. “Mom, I have homework—”

“This is not about homework.” The words came out faster than Helen intended. Silence settled for half a second, thick and uncomfortable.

Patty’s grip on the doorknob loosened slightly. “Then what is it about?”

Helen looked at her for a moment like she was trying to find the safest way to say something that wasn’t safe at all.

Then she said it anyway.

“It’s about Lilly.”

Patty’s expression changed immediately.

Not confusion.

Something more guarded.

“…What about her?”

Helen stepped closer again, closing the space between them without thinking about it.

“The way you are with her,” she said carefully. “The way she is with you.” Patty’s voice stayed even, but colder now. “We’re friends.” Helen shook her head once, small but firm. “It’s more than that.”

Patty let out a short breath, almost a laugh but without humor. “No, it’s not.” That should have ended it. But Helen was already too far into it.

“I heard you,” she said. Patty went still. Helen continued, slower now but heavier. “Yesterday. In your room. On the telephone.” For the first time, Patty’s composure slipped just slightly at the edges. “You were listening?”

“I was walking past,” Helen corrected quickly, then softened her tone as if that distinction mattered. “I heard what you said.”

Patty stared at her.

Then, quietly, “That doesn’t mean anything.”

Helen’s jaw tightened. “It means enough.”

Patty stepped away from the door now, fully turning toward her. “You don’t get to decide what it means.”

Helen’s voice rose slightly. “I’m your mother.”

“And I’m not a child,” Patty shot back immediately.

That landed harder than either of them expected. For a second, neither moved. Then Helen exhaled sharply, like she was trying to force control back into herself.

“This is exactly what I mean,” she said. “This—this tone, this attitude. You’re getting pulled into something you don’t understand.”

Patty’s eyes narrowed. “I understand her.”

Helen didn’t like that answer.

“No,” she said, firmer now. “You don’t understand what this does. What people will say. What it means for you.” Patty took another step back, closer to the wall now, as if she needed distance just to breathe properly. “So this is about people.”

“It’s about your life,” Helen insisted.

“No,” Patty said again, quieter but sharper. “It’s about you not liking it.” That stopped Helen for half a beat. Just long enough for Patty to move. She turned toward the door again. This time more decisively.

“I’m done talking about this,” Patty said.

Helen moved without thinking. Her hand caught Patty’s wrist. Not hard enough to hurt. But enough to stop her.

“Patty.” Patty froze. Then looked down at the hand holding her. And something in her expression changed.

“Let go,” she said quietly. Helen hesitated, just a fraction too long. “I said let go,” Patty repeated, firmer now.

Slowly, reluctantly, Helen released her grip. The absence of contact felt louder than the touch. Patty stepped back immediately, creating space between them like she needed air more than explanation. Her voice when it came was steady, but no longer soft.

“You don’t get to follow me into my room and decide what I feel,” she said. “And you don’t get to listen to conversations you weren’t invited into.”

Helen’s chest rose and fell once, controlled.

“I’m trying to protect you,” she said.

Patty’s laugh this time was quiet, but edged.

“From what?” she asked. “From me?”

That question didn’t get answered. Because neither of them had a version of it that didn’t hurt. Patty turned fully this time. And left the room. Helen stayed where she was. For a long moment, she didn’t follow.

Didn’t speak.

Didn’t even breathe properly.

Then, quietly, she whispered—

“This is going to get worse before it gets better.” And for the first time, she sounded like she believed it.

Patty didn’t get far.

She had only made it halfway down the hall when Helen’s voice followed her again, sharper this time, stripped of the restraint she had been trying—and failing—to keep in place.

“You think I’m doing this to control you,” Helen said, stepping out after her. “But you’re not listening to what I’m actually saying.”

Patty stopped.

Not because she wanted to.

Because ignoring her suddenly felt impossible.

She turned slowly. “Then say it.” Helen exhaled, slower now, like she was trying to keep her voice from breaking into something worse.

“This isn’t something you can treat lightly,” she said. “This isn’t just—whatever you think it is.”

Patty’s jaw tightened. “I know what it is.”

That made Helen pause. For a second, there was a flicker of uncertainty in her expression, like she hadn’t expected Patty to meet her head-on.

Helen pushed anyway.

“You don’t,” she said. “You’re too close to it. You’re letting your feelings—”

“My feelings are exactly what this is about,” Patty cut in. The hallway went still.

Helen blinked once. “Patty—”

“No,” Patty said, firmer now. “You keep talking like I don’t understand what I feel. I do.” Her voice dropped slightly, but it didn’t soften.

“I’m in love with her.” That stopped everything. Even the house seemed to hesitate with them. Helen didn’t speak immediately. Her face tightened, like she was absorbing something she didn’t want language for yet.

“…You don’t know what you’re saying,” she said finally.

Patty didn’t flinch.

“I’ve known for a while,” she replied. “I just stopped pretending I didn’t.”That made Helen’s expression shift—shock first, then something sharper underneath it.

“This is exactly what I mean,” Helen said. “You’re calling it love like it’s fixed. Like it’s safe. Like it won’t change—”

“It already changed,” Patty interrupted.

“That’s the point.” Helen stepped forward again, frustration breaking through the control she had been clinging to.

“You’re 13, Patty,” she said. “You think this is absolute because it feels intense right now, but that doesn’t mean it’s permanent.” Patty let out a short, humorless breath.

“You’re not listening,” she said. “I didn’t say it was permanent.”

“I said I’m in love with her. Not that it’s convenient. Not that it’s simple. Not that it’s going to make sense to you.” Helen’s voice tightened. “Then what are you expecting to happen?”

Patty’s eyes lifted.

“I’m not expecting anything,” she said. “I’m just not going to deny it anymore.” Silence fell again—heavier this time, because there was nothing left to misinterpret. Helen’s hands curled slightly at her sides.

“And what,” she said carefully, “do you think that means for you?”

Patty didn’t answer immediately.

Then, quietly:

“It means I’m not going to pretend she doesn’t matter just because it makes you uncomfortable.”

That landed harder than anything before it. Helen’s expression tightened, like she was running out of ways to frame this that didn’t feel like loss. Before she could respond—

Footsteps came from downstairs. Slow at first, then more certain as they reached the base of the stairs.

Jim appeared in the hallway, taking in the scene in a single glance. Helen standing rigid near the wall, her expression tight with frustration that hadn’t fully found an outlet yet. Patty halfway turned, already in motion again like staying still had become unbearable.

No one spoke immediately.

Then Helen broke it first.

“You need to talk to her,” she said sharply, looking at Jim now instead of Patty. “This is getting out of hand.”

Jim didn’t answer right away. His eyes stayed on Patty.

On the way her shoulders were set too tight. On the way she wasn’t really looking at either of them anymore, like the conversation had already finished inside her and her body was just catching up.

“Patty,” he said quietly.

Patty moved immediately toward the stairs. Jim stepped forward and caught her wrist before she reached the bottom step.

“Hey,” he said, softer now. “What’s going on?”

Patty pulled once.

“Let me go,” she said.

Her voice wasn’t loud. But it was sharp in a way that made it clear she was holding too much in to keep talking.

Jim didn’t release her. Instead, he adjusted his grip slightly—less restraint, more grounding.

“Look at me,” he said.

Patty didn’t. Her breathing was uneven now, like she was trying not to let anything break through. Behind them, Helen stepped closer again, tension rising in her voice.

“This is exactly what I mean,” she said. “She’s not thinking clearly—just tell her to—”

“Calm down,” Jim cut in. That pause was enough for Patty’s control to crack slightly at the edges.

Her eyes dropped. And Jim saw it then. The gloss in her eyes she had been fighting not to show. The way her jaw tightened like she was trying to keep herself from shaking apart. His grip loosened immediately, not letting go yet—but no longer holding her in place.

“Patty,” he said again, quieter. “What happened?”

She shook her head once.

“I said let me go.”

Jim hesitated. Helen stepped forward again, voice tightening. “Jim, don’t indulge this—just talk sense into her.” That word—indulge—made something shift in the air. Jim finally looked up at Helen.

“This isn’t about sense right now,” he said.

Helen’s expression tightened. “Then what is it about?”

Jim looked back at Patty.

For a moment, he didn’t answer.

Then—

“Get in the car,” he said gently. Patty blinked, finally looking at him. Helen’s head snapped toward him immediately.

“Excuse me?”

Jim didn’t raise his voice.

“I’m taking her out of the house,” he said. “We’ll sort this properly.”

“That’s not your decision to make,” Helen snapped.

Jim exhaled slowly, still calm, but firmer now.

“It is right now.”

Helen stepped forward. “She is not leaving like this—she is upset, she is—”

“I can see that,” Jim interrupted.

A beat.

Then, softer again—but directed at Patty:

“Go outside. I’ll come with you.”

Patty hesitated. For the first time, she didn’t argue. She just looked at the floor for a second longer, then pulled her wrist free gently when Jim finally let go.

Helen moved immediately after her.

“No,” she said, sharper now. “You don’t get to just take her out of this conversation—Jim, stop her.”

But Jim stepped slightly in her path.

“Let her breathe,” he said. Helen’s voice cracked with frustration. “This is not about breathing, this is about her making decisions she doesn’t understand—”

Jim looked at her properly now. And this time, there was no softness left in the explanation.

“She already understands,” he said.

That made Helen freeze. Because it wasn’t a defense of Patty. It was an observation. A fact she couldn’t immediately undo. Outside, the front door opened. Patty stepped out into the air without looking back. Jim followed a moment later, closing the door behind him. And inside the house, Helen stayed where she was—

left with the sound of everything she could no longer interrupt.

Chapter Text

Patty didn’t realize she was crying until the car was already moving. It wasn’t dramatic. Just quiet tears she kept trying to wipe away with the back of her hand like they didn’t belong there in the first place.

The inside of the car felt too still. Jim didn’t turn the radio on. Didn’t try to fill the silence. He just drove, steady hands on the wheel, eyes forward, like he was giving her space without making a performance out of it. Patty stared out the window for a while before finally speaking.

“…Where are we going?” Her voice came out smaller than she expected. Jim didn’t look at her right away.

“You’re not coming home tonight,” he said simply. That made her turn toward him immediately.

“What?”

Jim exhaled softly. “You need distance from the house right now. From the argument.”

Patty’s chest tightened again.

“I didn’t even—” she started, then stopped. Because that wasn’t true. Not really.

The car slowed.

Then turned.

Familiar streets started shifting into something she recognized in pieces before she fully understood where they were.

Her stomach dropped slightly.

“…Why are we here?” she asked, quieter now.

Jim didn’t answer immediately. The car came to a full stop. Patty looked out.

Lilly’s house.

Warm light behind curtains. Somehow it made it feel like nothing in the world outside had gone wrong.

Her breath caught.

“No,” she said immediately, shaking her head. “No, I can’t—”

Jim turned slightly toward her now.

“You’re not going home tonight,” he repeated, calmer but firm. “And I’m not leaving you alone after that.”

Patty’s throat tightened.

“I don’t want her to see me like this,” she said quickly, wiping her face again even though it didn’t help anymore.

Jim didn’t move.

“She will see you,” he said. “And she’ll decide what to do with it.” That wasn’t comforting.

But it was honest. Patty sat there for a second longer, breathing unevenly. Then she reached for the door handle. Her hand hesitated just for a moment. Then she stepped out. The air outside felt colder than she expected. The house looked too normal for what she felt like inside. She stood there for a second, frozen on the walkway, then lifted her hand and knocked.

Once.

Then again, softer.

Behind her, Jim stayed in the car. Watching to make sure she didn’t fall apart alone in the dark. The door opened. Patty didn’t fully process who appeared first—only the shift in warmth spilling out into the night.

A pause.

Then recognition.

And before she could even speak, she felt her throat tighten again.

“…Hi,” she managed.

Her voice broke slightly on the word. Inside the car, Jim finally shifted. Not leaving immediately. Just waiting until the door fully opened. Until Patty wasn’t alone in front of it anymore. Only then did he start the engine again.

And as Patty stepped inside, he drove away into the quiet street—leaving her somewhere she hadn’t expected to end up, but somewhere he clearly trusted would hold her better than the house she just left.

Patty barely had time to steady herself before the door opened wider. Terri stood there for a moment.And this time, her expression changed the second she really saw her. The softness was still there—but it tightened at the edges, like concern snapping into focus. Patty’s uneven breathing. The faint tear marks she hadn’t fully hidden. The way she stood too still, like moving might make her fall apart.

“Patty…” Terri said, voice gentler—but thinner now, like she was already recalculating something. “What happened?”

Patty opened her mouth.

Nothing came out.

Her throat locked instead, and she hated that it did.

“I’m sorry,” she managed, barely.

Terri stepped forward immediately.

“No—hey, no. Don’t apologize,” she said quickly, too quickly, like she was trying to keep control of the moment and just slightly missing it. “Come inside. Come here, okay?”

Patty hesitated for half a second too long. Terri noticed. Her hand hovered near Patty’s shoulder—not grabbing, just ready, uncertain.

“Okay,” she said again, softer but more urgent now. “Just—come in first. Please.”

Patty finally moved. The warmth of the house swallowed her, but it didn’t settle anything inside her. Terri closed the door behind them, slower this time, like she was forcing herself to breathe normally. For a moment, she just stood there watching Patty. Then she exhaled, shaky but controlled, and pointed slightly toward the living room.

“Sit,” she said gently—but with a clear edge of concern now. “Sit down for a second, okay? I’ll get you water.” Patty nodded without really looking at her. Terri moved quickly toward the kitchen, then paused halfway, turning back toward the stairs.

“Lilly,” she called up. Her voice cracked slightly at the edges—still calm, but no longer fully steady.

“Can you come down? Now, please.” There was a beat of silence upstairs. Then Terri added, quieter but firmer, almost like she was trying not to alarm anyone but already was:

“It’s Patty.” That was when her composure slipped just a little more. Not panic yet—but close enough that it was leaking through. She disappeared into the kitchen, hands moving faster than usual, glasses clinking a little too sharply.

Patty stayed standing for a second. Then slowly lowered herself onto the edge of the sofa. Her hands were still shaking slightly in her lap. And upstairs, footsteps finally began to move.

Terri came back a minute later with a glass of water held carefully in both hands.

She didn’t say anything at first.

Just placed it on the table in front of Patty and stayed close for a second longer than necessary, like she was making sure she was still steady enough to hold it.

“Here,” she said softly.

Patty nodded once, fingers wrapping around the glass. The coolness grounded her a little. Not enough to fix anything. But enough to keep her from slipping further under it. Terri lingered, eyes flicking over her face again—quick, assessing, worried in a way she wasn’t trying to hide anymore.

Then she exhaled and stepped back slightly.

“I’ll give you two some space,” she said gently.

Not leaving entirely. Just retreating to the edges of the room, present but not pressing. Patty took a slow sip. Her hands still shook faintly. Footsteps came from the stairs.

Patty didn’t look up immediately.

She couldn’t.

Not yet.

But she felt it anyway—the shift in the room when Lilly appeared. Lilly stopped at the bottom step. And for a second, she just looked. Took it all in.

Patty sitting stiffly on the sofa. The glass in her hands. The red around her eyes she hadn’t fully managed to erase. The way she looked like she had been holding herself together too tightly for too long and finally lost the strength to keep it neat.

Lilly’s expression softened immediately. She moved closer, slowly, like she didn’t want to overwhelm her.

“Hey,” Lilly said quietly. Patty’s grip tightened slightly around the glass. She still didn’t look up. That made Lilly crouch slightly in front of her, just enough to be in her line of sight without forcing it.

“You’re okay,” Lilly said gently, not as a question. Just something she was offering. Patty let out a shaky breath through her nose. It didn’t sound like agreement. But it wasn’t denial either. Lilly reached out carefully—not touching her yet, just close enough that Patty could choose it.

“Do you want to go upstairs?” she asked softly. That question did something to her.  Patty finally looked at her. Her eyes were still wet. And for a second, she hated how obvious everything felt.

How seen she was.

How she couldn’t pretend this wasn’t what she was anymore.

She nodded.

Almost defeated. Lilly didn’t smile like it was fixed. She just nodded back, like that was enough.

“Okay,” she said. Terri, watching from the kitchen edge, didn’t interrupt. She just gave a quiet, careful look toward both of them—still concerned, but trusting the moment enough not to break it.

“Take your time,” she said softly.

Then she turned away, giving them their space fully. Lilly stood first. Slowly, she offered her hand—not pulling, just there. Patty stared at it for a second. Then set the glass down carefully and took it. And when she stood, she still felt a little unsteady.

From everything else.

As they moved toward the steps together, Patty couldn’t help the thought pressing in at the back of her mind. How she must look. How small she must seem like this. How she had come undone in someone else’s house, in front of someone else’s mother, in front of Lilly—

But Lilly didn’t let go of her hand.

Not even once.

Lilly guided her up the stairs without rushing.

The house felt quieter the higher they went, like the noise of everything downstairs had been left behind on another floor entirely. Patty followed in silence, her grip still light in Lilly’s hand, like letting go might make her fall apart again.

Lilly’s room was warm when they stepped in.

Familiar in a way that made Patty’s chest tighten—soft lighting, slightly messy desk, the quiet comfort of things left exactly where they had been before everything shifted.

Lilly closed the door gently behind them. Then she turned back to Patty. For a moment, she didn’t say anything. Just looked at her properly again, like she was checking she was still here, still real, still breathing through it.

“Sit,” Lilly said softly.

Patty obeyed without argument. She sat on the edge of the bed, hands folded loosely in her lap like she didn’t trust them to do anything else.

Lilly moved immediately after.

She pulled a blanket from the side and wrapped it around Patty’s shoulders with quiet care, tugging it until it settled properly, like she was building a barrier between Patty and the rest of the world.

Patty’s breath hitched slightly at the warmth.

She didn’t stop it.

Lilly sat down beside her. Patty stared at the floor for a long moment.Her throat worked like she was trying to decide whether she could actually say anything without breaking again.

Patty sat on the edge of the bed with the blanket wrapped around her shoulders, still damp around the eyes but quieter now, like the shock had settled into something heavier. Her fingers stayed clenched in the fabric for a moment before she finally spoke.

“…I had a fight with my mom,” she said.

Her voice was flat at first, like she was forcing the words into order. Then she continued.

“She knows about us.”

A pause.

That landed in the room differently.

Patty swallowed, eyes lowering again.

“I mean… she knows I’m in love with you,” she corrected softly, like saying it out loud still felt strange even after everything that had happened. “She’s known for a while. I think she was just… trying not to say it directly until she couldn’t anymore.”

Her grip on the blanket tightened slightly.

“It got bad,” she added, quieter now. “She kept pushing it, and I kept refusing to back down. It just… escalated.”

A breath.

“Then my dad showed up.”

That made her pause longer.

Her jaw tensed.

“He didn’t shout. He didn’t do anything like that,” she said quickly, almost like she needed to correct the assumption before it formed. “He just… stopped it. He told her to calm down. And then he told me to leave.”

Her hands moved slightly in her lap, restless now.

“He said I wasn’t coming home tonight,” Patty continued. “And then he drove me here.”

She finally looked up at Lilly, but only briefly.

“I didn’t tell him where I wanted to go,” she admitted. “He just… chose.”

A small, uneasy breath left her.

“And now I’m here,” she finished quietly. “Because things at home were getting too bad to stay there.”

Lilly didn’t speak right away. And for a moment, that understanding sat too heavy to turn into words.

Patty was still sitting there, wrapped in the blanket like it might hold her together if she stopped trying. Her hands had gone still again, but her face hadn’t—there was that exhausted openness to it now, like everything she’d been holding in had finally spilled out and left nothing to hide behind.

Lilly shifted slightly closer.

“…Okay,” Lilly said quietly, finally. Just acknowledging it was real. That alone made Patty’s breath catch a little harder than she expected. She blinked fast, looking down again like she was trying to stop herself from slipping further.

“I didn’t want to bring it here,” Patty admitted, voice thinner now. “I didn’t want to be… this.” Her fingers tightened in the blanket again, knuckles pressing through the fabric.

“I just didn’t have anywhere else to go.” Lilly’s hand moved then—slow, careful—until it rested lightly over Patty’s folded hands. Patty flinched slightly at first. Then didn’t pull away. That small choice seemed to break something open in her again, and her shoulders finally dropped a fraction.

“I hate how fast everything changes,” she said quietly. “One moment I’m arguing, and the next I’m in your house pretending I didn’t just… lose control of everything.”

Her voice cracked slightly on the last word. That was when Lilly finally spoke again, softer.

“You didn’t lose control,” she said. Patty let out a shaky breath that almost turned into a laugh but didn’t quite make it.

“I kind of did,” she murmured.

Lilly shook her head once.

“You didn’t,” she repeated, firmer this time, but still gentle. “You just… stopped hiding it.”

That made Patty go quiet. For a second, she didn’t know what to do with that. Her eyes lifted again, slower this time, meeting Lilly’s properly. And something in her expression softened—not because things were better, but because she wasn’t alone inside them anymore.

“…I don’t know how to fix any of this,” Patty said, barely above a whisper. Lilly didn’t answer with solutions. She just moved closer until their shoulders finally touched. And stayed there.

“That’s okay,” Lilly said. Patty’s voice came out smaller than she intended.

“…I don’t feel strong right now.”

Lilly shook her head faintly.

“You don’t have to be,” she replied.

And she held her tighter again, like that alone was enough to replace everything that had fallen apart earlier. Patty stayed close for a moment, then slowly eased back just enough to see Lilly properly. Her eyes were still a little red, her voice steadier now, but there was that lingering weight in her expression like the question hadn’t really left her.

“…What happens to us now?” she asked. Lilly didn’t answer right away. Her gaze dropped for a second, fingers fidgeting lightly at the edge of the blanket Patty was still wrapped in.

“I don’t know,” she admitted quietly.

Then she looked back up.

“But I don’t want you to feel like you’re alone in it.”

Patty blinked at that, a small exhale escaping her like she hadn’t realized she was holding her breath.

“That’s not what I’m scared of,” she murmured.

Lilly nodded once, like she understood that more than she could explain. A pause settled between them. Patty leaned back slightly, rubbing under her eye with her sleeve.

“You make it sound simple,” she said softly. “Like we just… decide something and everything else stops mattering.”

Lilly shook her head immediately.

“It’s not simple,” she said. Her voice was calm, but not detached. More careful now. “It’s just… I don’t want to pretend it’s nothing because it’s inconvenient for other people.”

Patty gave a small, tired laugh at that.

“Inconvenient,” she repeated. “That’s one word for it.”

Lilly’s mouth tightened slightly.

“I know it’s messy,” she added a little softer. “I just… don’t think hiding it fixes anything either.”

That landed better. Patty looked at her for a long moment, then let out a slow breath and leaned her shoulder lightly against Lilly’s again.

“So we’re just… here,” she said.

Lilly glanced at her. “We’re here,” she agreed. Patty huffed quietly, almost smiling despite herself.

“You’re really bad at sounding comforting,” she muttered.

Lilly blinked. Then, very honestly:

“I’m trying.” That made Patty laugh properly this time.

“Yeah,” she said, wiping her face again. “I know.” And this time, when she stayed close, it didn’t feel like she was holding on out of panic. Just because she wanted to. The mood shifted the moment the words left Patty’s mouth.

Lilly’s head snapped up.

“What?” she said immediately, sharper than before, not angry but startled in a way that broke her usual calm. Patty blinked at her reaction, like she hadn’t expected it to land that hard.

“I’m just saying,” Patty added quickly, quieter now, “if it gets too much… if she tries to force me into something I can’t do… I might leave.” Lilly stared at her for a second, then leaned forward slightly, hands tightening on the edge of the blanket still around Patty’s shoulders.

“No,” she said, firm now.

Patty frowned faintly. “Lilly—”

“No,” Lilly repeated, softer this time but even more steady. “Don’t say that.”

Patty looked at her, a little thrown off. “I’m not saying I’m going to do it right now, I just—”

“I don’t care when you mean it,” Lilly cut in, then paused, catching herself, her voice dropping a notch so it didn’t turn into something harsher than she intended. “Don’t say it like that.”

There was a beat of silence. Patty’s expression softened slightly, confusion replacing the tension.

“I’m not trying to scare you,” she said. Lilly exhaled slowly through her nose, like she was forcing herself to calm down.

“I know,” she said, more controlled now. “But don’t talk like leaving is something small.”

Patty’s gaze dropped for a second.

“…It doesn’t feel small right now,” she admitted. That made Lilly’s expression change again, the sharpness easing into something more careful, more grounded. She shifted closer, not pulling away from the seriousness of it.

“It’s not the only option,” Lilly said. “It just feels like it when everything’s a mess.” Patty looked at her again, quieter now.

“So what am I supposed to do when it gets messy?” she asked.

Lilly didn’t answer immediately. Because she was choosing how to say it without making it heavier than it already was. Then she said, simply,

“You stay.” Patty let out a small, uncertain breath. Lilly continued, a little softer now but still firm in her own way.

“Not because it’s easy. Not because people approve. Just… don’t disappear from your own life because someone else is upset.”

That made Patty go quiet.

Her shoulders loosened slightly, like the idea had been sitting on her chest and just shifted a little.

“Okay,” she said softly. “No running away.” Lilly didn’t relax immediately, but her grip loosened slightly.

“Good,” she said.

And this time, Patty didn’t argue.

Chapter Text

Helen sat alone at the dining table long after the argument had ended, elbows pressed against the wood, one hand against her forehead as the clock somewhere deeper in the house ticked far too loudly in the silence. She hadn’t turned the lights off. Hadn’t cleaned anything properly either.

One of Patty’s glasses was still sitting near the sink untouched, a faint lipstick smudge left along the rim that Helen kept noticing every time she looked up.

The front door opened. Helen straightened immediately. Footsteps crossed the hallway, steady and unhurried, and a moment later Jim stepped into view, already loosening his sleeves like the night had exhausted him too.

Helen stood at once.

“Where’s Patty?”

Jim barely paused.

“I dropped her off at Lilly’s house.” The words hit so fast Helen almost thought she misheard them.

“You what?” Jim moved past her toward the kitchen.

Helen followed immediately. “Jim.” He opened the cabinet calmly, reaching for a glass.

“She needed space.”

“She needed to come home.”

“She wasn’t going to calm down here.”

Helen let out a sharp breath, disbelief climbing into her voice. “So your solution was to bring her to the exact person causing this?”

That made Jim finally look at her.

“Lilly is not ‘causing’ anything.” Helen laughed once, short and frustrated. “Oh, don’t start with that.”

“I’m serious.”

“And I am too,” Helen snapped back. “You just drove our daughter straight into this instead of acting like a parent.” Jim set the glass down harder than intended.

“She is not in danger, Helen.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know enough.”

“No,” Helen shot back immediately, voice rising now, “you know what you want to believe because it’s easier than dealing with the reality of it.” Jim’s expression hardened slightly at that.

“And what reality is that?” Helen stared at him like the answer should’ve been obvious.

“That this changes everything.” Jim exhaled slowly through his nose. “You keep saying that, but you still haven’t explained what ‘everything’ means.”

Helen looked at him in disbelief.

“She’s thirteen.”

“Yes.”

“She’s confused.”

Jim shook his head once. “No. She’s emotional. There’s a difference.” Helen scoffed sharply. “Oh, so now you understand her better than I do?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“Then stop acting like I’m irrational for reacting to this!” Jim’s tone sharpened slightly for the first time that night. “I’m reacting too, Helen. I’m just not tearing the house apart while doing it.”

Helen went still for half a second before anger surged right back over it.

“You think I’m the problem here?” she demanded.

“I think you scared her.”

“She scared me first!”

The words burst out louder than intended. Silence followed immediately after. Helen’s breathing had gone uneven now, frustration cracking into something more exposed.

“You saw her tonight,” she continued, voice trembling despite herself. “She looked at me like I was standing between her and her entire world.”

Jim stayed quiet. Helen laughed again, but this time it sounded awful.

“She’s a child, Jim.”

“And children grow.”

“That’s not the point!”

Her voice echoed through the dining room now.

“I had plans for her,” Helen said. “I had expectations. I wanted her life to be easier than this.” Jim’s face softened slightly at that, but it only made Helen angrier.

“Don’t look at me like I’m cruel for saying it.”

“I don’t think you’re cruel.”

“Then what?”

Jim hesitated. And somehow that hesitation hurt worse. Helen stepped back from him, shaking her head.

“You know what the worst part is?” she said quietly. “You act so calm about this like none of it affects you.” Jim’s jaw tightened slightly.

“That’s not true.”

“Then why does it feel like I’m the only one terrified?”

Helen laughed once under her breath. A brittle sound.

“You always do this.”

Jim frowned slightly. “Do what?”

“You stand there talking like you know how to fix everything.”

“I’m not trying to fix everything.”

“No,” Helen muttered, looking down at the counter. “You just wait for me to fall apart first.”

Jim’s expression shifted faintly at that.

“Helen—”

Before he could finish, her fist slammed hard into the edge of the counter. The crack echoed through the kitchen. Jim reacted instantly.

“Helen— hey.”

She hit it again.

Harder this time.

A sharp inhale escaped her teeth immediately after, pain flashing across her face, but she barely seemed to register it.

“I’m so tired,” she choked out suddenly. “I’m so tired of being afraid all the time—” Her hand drew back again. Jim caught her wrist before it landed.

“Helen, stop.”

“Let go of me.”

“No.”

His grip tightened—not harsh, just firm enough to keep her still.

“You’re hurting yourself.”

Helen jerked once against him, furious tears suddenly spilling over.

“You think I care right now?”

“I care.”

The words came out sharper than intended. That stopped her for half a second. Jim stepped closer, still holding her wrist carefully as though he already knew exactly how much pressure bruised her skin.

“This is what you do,” he said quietly, breathing uneven now too. “Every time things get too big, you turn it against yourself.”

Helen laughed bitterly through wet eyes. “Oh, and you don’t?”

Jim went still. The silence after that was immediate and ugly because they both knew she was right. Her gaze flicked toward the cabinet above the fridge without meaning to. The one that used to hold bottles.

Jim noticed.

Of course he noticed.

Helen’s voice dropped lower. “At least when I break something, it’s honest.”

Jim flinched faintly.

For years it had been like this between them—Jim disappearing into alcohol whenever life became unbearable, Helen burning herself down in ways that looked cleaner from the outside. Overworking. Skipping meals. Picking fights until her throat hurt. Digging her nails into her own palms hard enough to leave crescents behind.

Jim loosened his grip slightly but didn’t let go completely.

“I know I made things worse before,” he said quietly.

Helen’s face twisted immediately. “Before?”

His jaw tightened.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“No, but that’s how you said it.” Her breathing shook again. “Like it’s over. Like I forgot what it was like dragging Patty upstairs because you couldn’t stand properly.”

Jim closed his eyes briefly.

“Helen—”

“She was eight.”

The words came out broken.

“And she kept asking me why her father smelled weird.” Jim looked like the air had been knocked from his lungs. Helen immediately looked guilty for saying it. But not enough to take it back. The kitchen felt suffocatingly still. Jim finally released her wrist slowly. This time Helen didn’t pull away.

“I know how I was back then,” he said quietly. “And I know you think I don’t understand fear, but I do.”

The room fell silent again. Jim looked tired suddenly. Older somehow. Then he said, carefully,

“Because you think loving someone guarantees suffering.”

Helen’s face twisted immediately. “Don’t psychoanalyze me right now.”

“I’m not.”

“Then stop talking like you understand me better than I understand myself.”

Jim rubbed a hand over his face once. “Helen—”

“No.”

Helen stared at him, breathing unevenly, while Jim slowly straightened again, the shock fading from his face into something quieter.

For a long moment neither of them spoke.

Helen’s hands were still pressed flat against the table, her breathing uneven from the outburst. The sound of it lingered in the dining room long after the noise itself had died.

Jim watched her quietly, patiently, like he understood that pushing harder right now would only make her retreat deeper into anger. Helen finally looked away first.

“I don’t understand how you’re so calm,” she muttered, voice rougher now. “I really don’t.” Jim leaned back slightly against the counter.

“I’m not calm,” he admitted. That made her glance at him again. He held her gaze this time.

“I’m worried too.” Helen’s expression tightened immediately, like she wanted to argue with that. But Jim continued before she could.

“I’m worried because she’s young,” he said. “Because people can be cruel. Because life already gets complicated enough without feeling like you have to defend yourself all the time.” His voice stayed even. “But none of that means there’s something wrong with her.”

Helen closed her eyes briefly.

“You think this won’t make her life harder?”

Jim was quiet for a beat.

“It probably will.”

That surprised her enough to make her pause. Jim stepped forward slowly now, resting a hand against the back of one of the dining chairs.

“But difficulty isn’t the same thing as ruin, Helen.”

The words settled heavily between them.

“She’s still Patty,” he continued softly. “She still laughs too loud when she’s winning an argument. She still leaves her shoes in the hallway. She still stays up late pretending to study when she’s actually doodling in her notebooks.” Helen’s face twitched faintly at that despite herself.

Jim noticed.

“She didn’t suddenly become someone else because she fell in love with a girl.” Helen looked down at the table.

“But the world sees it differently.”

“Yes,” Jim said quietly. “Sometimes it will.”

A pause.

Then:

“But we don’t have to be the first people to make her feel ashamed of it.”

Helen’s throat tightened slightly. Jim’s voice softened further.

“You keep talking like this takes something away from her,” he said. “Like it ruins the future you imagined.”

Helen swallowed hard.

“I just wanted her to have an easier life.”

“I know.”

“And what if people judge her?” Helen asked quietly now, the anger draining out of it at last. “What if they hurt her for it?” Jim was silent for a moment before answering.

“Then she’ll need a home that doesn’t.” The room went still again. Helen stared at him. And for the first time that night, her expression cracked completely—not into rage, but something far more fragile.

Fear.

Real fear.

Jim saw it immediately.

“She’s still going to study,” he said gently. “Still going to grow up. Still going to become whoever she was already becoming.”

A faint pause.

“She’s not losing herself, Helen.” His eyes lifted briefly toward the dark hallway upstairs.

“She just trusted someone enough to let them see her.” Helen’s eyes burned suddenly. She looked away before he could notice too much of it. But her voice came out quieter now.

“…You make it sound simple.”

Jim shook his head.

“No,” he said. “I think it’s going to be very hard for her sometimes.”

Then, after a beat:

“That’s why we shouldn’t make it harder.”

The house had settled into a heavy kind of quiet by the time Lilly came downstairs.

Upstairs, Patty had finally fallen asleep after hours of trying not to cry again. She lay curled beneath the blanket on Lilly’s bed, exhaustion pulling her under at last, though even in sleep her face still looked tense around the edges.

Lilly moved through the dark hallway slowly, rubbing at her eyes before stepping into the kitchen.

The light was still on.

Terri sat at the counter with a mug cradled between her hands. She looked up immediately the moment Lilly appeared.

“How is everything?” she asked softly.

Lilly opened the cabinet and grabbed a glass mostly to avoid looking directly at her. “Patty and her mom had a fight.”

Terri’s expression tightened slightly. “Bad?”

Lilly nodded once.

“She cried a lot,” she admitted quietly while filling the glass with water. “She’s asleep now though.” Terri watched her for a moment.

Then, more gently:

“You can tell me what’s wrong, Lilly.” Lilly stayed facing the sink for a second too long, shoulders stiff beneath her sweater. Her fingers tightened slightly around the glass.

Then she inhaled quietly.

“I love Patty, Mom.”

The words came out careful and small despite all the courage it took to say them. Terri didn’t react immediately. Not because she was shocked. More because she was choosing her next words carefully.

After a moment, she asked softly,

“How long have you known?” Lilly blinked slightly at that. She turned halfway toward her mother now, uncertainty flickering briefly across her face.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “A while.” Terri nodded slowly, gaze dropping briefly toward the counter before returning to her daughter.

“And Patty feels the same?”

Lilly hesitated.

Then nodded once.

Finally, Terri exhaled softly through her nose.

“Is that why she came here tonight?”

Lilly looked down at the glass in her hands.

“I think her mom found out about us.” That made Terri’s face tighten with understanding immediately.

“Oh,” she said quietly. Lilly swallowed once before speaking again.

“She looked really scared.” Terri’s expression softened at that.

“And you?” she asked gently. That question caught Lilly off guard more than anything else had. Her fingers shifted slightly against the glass.

“…I didn’t really think about me yet,” she admitted. Terri stared at her for a second longer before shaking her head faintly, almost to herself.

“Of course you didn’t,” she murmured. Lilly frowned slightly. “What does that mean?” Terri’s mouth twitched faintly with something tired but affectionate.

“It means you’ve been worrying about her since the second she walked through that door.” Lilly looked away immediately after that, cheeks warming just enough to give her away. And Terri noticed. Of course she noticed.

Lilly stayed quiet for a while after that. The glass in her hands had gone cold against her fingers, untouched now except for the way she kept turning it slightly against the counter.

Terri watched her carefully.

She could see it happening again—that familiar shift in Lilly whenever she was trying to force herself past fear and into honesty. Her shoulders straightened little by little. Her jaw tightened slightly. 

Then Lilly finally looked up. Directly at her mother this time. And though her voice stayed calm, Terri could hear the effort underneath it.

“Just so you know,” Lilly said slowly, “if you don’t want us together…”

She hesitated only briefly.

“…I might run away with her if that’s what it takes for us to stay together.”

Terri stared at her for a second.

“Lilly,” Terri said quietly. But Lilly kept going before her courage disappeared.

“I’m serious,” she said, eyes fixed forward now even though nervousness was beginning to creep into her expression. “I know it sounds stupid and dramatic but—”

“It sounds scared,” Terri interrupted softly. That made Lilly stop. The firmness in her posture faltered slightly. Terri set her mug down carefully before standing.

“You’re already talking like someone’s going to take her away from you,” she said gently. Lilly looked down immediately after that, like hearing it spoken aloud made it feel too exposed.

“She was crying so hard earlier,” she admitted quietly. “And she kept talking like everything was changing.”

Terri moved closer slowly.

“And that scared you too.” Terri sighed softly, reaching up to smooth a strand of hair away from Lilly’s face the same way she used to when Lilly was younger and upset over things she didn’t know how to carry yet.

“Listen to me carefully,” Terri said. Lilly finally looked back at her.

“You do not solve fear by disappearing. Running away sounds romantic when you’re overwhelmed,” Terri continued gently, “but real life catches up eventually. School catches up. Money catches up. Exhaustion catches up.” Lilly’s cheeks flushed faintly, partly embarrassed now.

“I know,” she muttered.

Terri tilted her head slightly. “Do you?”

That earned the smallest huff from Lilly and somehow that softened the tension in the room just enough for Terri to continue.

“You’re allowed to love her,” she said quietly. “And you’re allowed to fight for her.”

Lilly’s eyes widened slightly at that.

“But don’t throw your whole life into chaos just because things are painful right now.”

The kitchen fell quiet again. Lilly looked suddenly younger standing there beneath the light, all that determination still inside her but tangled now with uncertainty and exhaustion.

After a moment she muttered weakly,

“…I wasn’t actually planning the escape already.”

Terri raised a brow.

“You literally said you’d run away.”

“I said might,” Lilly corrected under her breath.

That pulled the faintest tired laugh out of Terri. And finally—finally—the tightness in Lilly’s chest loosened just a little too.

Terri looked at her daughter for a long moment after that.

Really looked at her. At the tired eyes trying so hard to stay steady. At the stubbornness sitting underneath all the fear. At the way Lilly kept carrying everyone else’s emotions before her own. And suddenly Terri felt something sharp twist through her chest.

Not because Lilly had confessed.

Because somewhere along the years, she had stopped noticing how much her daughter had grown while learning to survive grief quietly.

Terri stepped closer.

Lilly straightened slightly at first, almost instinctively bracing herself for another difficult conversation. But Terri’s voice came softer this time.

“I know we haven’t been as close as we used to be.”

Lilly blinked. Terri folded her arms loosely over herself for a second before continuing.

“After your father died…” she began quietly, eyes lowering briefly, “I think I disappeared into my own head more than I realized.”

The kitchen felt still around them. Lilly’s expression shifted immediately, some of the defensiveness leaving her face. Terri let out a small breath through her nose.

“I kept telling myself I was doing enough because the bills were paid and you were doing okay in school and we were surviving.” She smiled faintly then, but it looked sad around the edges. “But surviving and being present aren’t really the same thing.”

Lilly swallowed slightly.

“Mom—”

“No, let me say it,” Terri said gently. “There were days you probably needed me emotionally and I wasn’t really there.” Her eyes lifted back to Lilly’s. “And I think you got used to handling things by yourself because of it.”

Lilly looked down immediately after that. Because hearing it spoken aloud hurt more than she expected. Terri’s face softened. Then, without overthinking it, she reached forward and pulled Lilly into her arms.

The movement surprised both of them a little. Lilly stiffened at first out of sheer habit. It had been a long time since either of them had held each other like this without a reason tied to tragedy. But Terri only tightened the embrace gently, one hand resting against the back of Lilly’s head. And slowly—very slowly—Lilly melted into it. Terri closed her eyes briefly.

“My girl,” she whispered softly. The words nearly undid Lilly on the spot. Her throat tightened immediately. Terri held her a little closer.

“I can’t promise life is going to be kind about this,” she admitted quietly. “People can be cruel when they don’t understand something.”Lilly’s fingers curled weakly into the fabric of her mother’s sleeve.

“But you stay strong when things get hard, okay?”

Her voice trembled slightly on that sentence despite how carefully she tried to steady it.

“Don’t let fear turn you into someone who runs from her own life.” Lilly nodded against her shoulder. Terri brushed her hand slowly through Lilly’s hair the way she used to years ago when nightmares still sent Lilly into her room in the middle of the night.

“You love deeply,” Terri murmured. “Just… remember to love yourself too while you’re fighting for other people.” Lilly shut her eyes tightly for a second.

Then finally whispered back,

“Okay.”

And for the first time in years, the distance between mother and daughter felt smaller than grief. At first Lilly tried to hold it back. Terri could feel her trying—jaw tight, fingers clutching harder at her sleeve like she could physically keep herself together if she just stayed still enough.

But grief and fear and relief had been building inside her for too long. Lilly’s grip on her mother tightened suddenly as she bowed her head deeper against Terri’s shoulder, and the tears came all at once after that.

Years of swallowed emotions seemed to crack open inside her chest at the worst possible moment, and suddenly she was crying hard enough that she couldn’t hide it anymore.

Terri’s heart broke instantly.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she whispered, pulling her closer immediately. Lilly shook her head against her shoulder like she was embarrassed by it, one hand coming up to cover part of her face even while the tears kept falling.

“I’m sorry,” she choked out automatically.

Terri frowned immediately. “No,” she said firmly, pulling Lilly’s hand away gently. “Don’t apologize for crying.” But Lilly couldn’t stop.

Everything she had been holding in came spilling out between broken breaths. “I was scared,” she admitted through tears. “I thought— I thought maybe you’d look at me differently too.”

That hurt Terri more than anything else had that night. Her expression broke immediately. She pulled Lilly closer without hesitation, one hand cradling the back of her head as if instinct alone had taken over. Lilly’s shoulders trembled harder.

Terri swallowed against the tightness rising into her own throat before speaking again.

“You’re the only one I have left.” The words came out softer than intended. Honest in a way she hadn’t allowed herself to be for years. Lilly froze slightly in her arms. Terri shut her eyes briefly.

“You know your father would’ve adored Patty, right?” Lilly blinked in surprise, looking up immediately. Terri’s eyes softened at the expression on her face.

“He would’ve teased you endlessly for how obvious you are around her,” she murmured. And despite the tears still wet on her cheeks, Lilly let out the smallest broken laugh. The sound filled the kitchen gently. Terri smiled too this time, properly. Then she pulled Lilly back into her arms once more and held her tightly.

Chapter Text

Lilly lay on her bed with the kind of stillness that wasn’t rest. It was waiting without knowing what for.

The ceiling above her stayed unchanged, pale and blank, but her thoughts refused to stay in one place. They kept circling back to the same moments from yesterday, like her mind had gotten stuck on a loop it couldn’t step out of.

Patty’s voice breaking.

Patty crying.

Patty quietly leaving with her dad.

Then the silence after that. The house had felt too normal since then, and that normality only made everything worse, like the world had decided to move forward without asking her if she was ready to follow.

Lilly shifted slightly, turning her head toward the bedside table. The prescription bottle sat where she had left it.Plain glass. Faded label. Familiar enough that she didn’t need to read it. She stared at it for a long time.Her hand moved before her thoughts fully caught up.

She picked it up.

Turned it once between her fingers. It wasn’t something new in her life. It had been given for moments exactly like this, when her chest tightened too much, when her thoughts became too loud, when sleep stopped feeling like sleep and started feeling like something she had to fight for.

She sat up slowly, the bottle still in her hand.

For a moment she just held it there, looking at it like it might answer something for her.

“I can’t keep doing this,” she said quietly, but it wasn’t clear whether she was speaking to herself or the silence in the room.Her thumb rested on the cap.She didn’t move for a while.

Just breathed.

Uneven at first, then slower, like she was trying to remember how to steady herself without falling apart completely.

Then she exhaled.Uncapped the bottle. One pill fell into her palm. She looked at it for a second, small and unremarkable, just something meant to quiet what her body was doing when her mind couldn’t. She took it with a sip of water from the glass beside her bed.

The bottle went back to the table. Carefully placed. Her hands lingered there for a moment longer than necessary before pulling back into the blanket.Lilly lay down again, turning slightly onto her side.

The tightness in her chest didn’t disappear, but it eased just enough that her breathing stopped feeling like something she had to manage consciously.

And in that quieter space, her thoughts drifted again—not away from Patty, but toward her.

Wondering where she was.

Wondering if she was lying awake too.

A knock came from downstairs first. Distant. Controlled. Followed by the faint sound of the front door opening, then voices filtering in—careful, lowered, unfamiliar in the way voices always were when they carried concern instead of casual conversation.

Lilly stayed where she was for a moment, still turned slightly on her side, eyes open but unfocused.

Then another voice.

Ronnie’s.

And after that, Marge’s—softer, steadier, immediately asking something she couldn’t quite hear from upstairs.

Lilly sat up slowly.

Her heart didn’t jump so much as tighten, like it already knew what kind of conversation was coming even if she didn’t. Bare feet touched the floor. She hesitated at the edge of her bed, then stood anyway.

Downstairs, Terri was the first one they saw.

She looked composed, but only just. Ronnie stood beside her, arms loosely folded, eyes already scanning the house like she was trying to understand a situation she hadn’t been fully briefed on.

Marge, however, looked less patient.

“Is Lilly here, ma'am?” Marge asked immediately, not unkind, but direct. Terri turned slightly toward the stairs. “Up there.”

That was all she said at first. Then, quieter, “She’s been… quiet.” Ronnie frowned slightly. “What happened?”

Terri hesitated.

That hesitation was answer enough to make both of them still.

“I thought it was better if she told you herself,” Terri said carefully. “But I did call you because I didn’t want her alone with it.” Marge exchanged a quick look with Ronnie. That alone told them something was serious, even without details. Before anyone could say more, footsteps came from the stairs.

Lilly appeared at the top step and stopped immediately when she saw them.

For a second, nobody spoke. Ronnie’s expression softened first. “Hey,” she said gently. Marge took a small step forward. “Hi, Lilly.” Lilly didn’t respond right away. Her fingers curled slightly around the edge of the railing. Then she came down slowly.

Each step felt heavier than it should’ve, like she was carrying something she hadn’t unpacked yet. When she reached the bottom, Terri shifted closer instinctively but didn’t touch her.

Lilly’s eyes flicked between all three of them. Then landed briefly on Marge. And something in her expression cracked just a little.

“I didn’t know you were all coming,” she said quietly.

Ronnie gave a faint, almost apologetic smile. “We didn’t really plan it. Your mom called Marge.”

At that, Lilly looked at Terri. Terri stayed for a moment longer than the others. Her eyes moved between Lilly and the two girls beside her, reading the silence the way only someone who had learned to read a room out of necessity could.

Then she exhaled softly.

“I’ll give you girls some space,” she said at last. “She doesn’t need more voices right now. She needs the ones she trusts.” Lilly’s fingers tightened slightly around Marge’s hand, but she didn’t speak. Terri stepped closer just long enough to brush her fingers lightly against Lilly’s shoulder.

A small, grounding touch.

“I’ll be downstairs,” she added gently. “Call me if you need anything.”

Then she turned and left the room. Her footsteps faded down the stairs, slower than before, like she didn’t fully want to leave but knew she had to.

The door clicked shut. Ronnie was the first to exhale, easing herself onto the edge of Lilly’s bed like she was trying not to overwhelm the space. Marge stayed standing, but her hand didn’t leave Lilly’s.

Lilly took a breath, slower this time, like she was forcing herself to say it properly instead of letting it fall apart halfway.

“Patty’s parents found out about us,” she said. Ronnie went still. Marge didn’t interrupt, but her expression tightened slightly, listening more carefully now. Lilly continued, voice quieter now. She swallowed once. “And Patty’s dad already… suspected something. He said he noticed the way we acted around each other.”

Ronnie muttered under her breath, “That’s… invasive.” Lilly nodded faintly, like she agreed but didn’t have the energy to argue the point. “And then he told her mother,” she added. “Everything escalated after that.”

Marge’s grip on her hand firmed slightly, grounding but not restrictive. “What did they do?” Marge asked. Lilly hesitated for a second, then forced herself to keep going.

“They confronted her at home,” she said. “They didn’t let her explain properly. They kept talking over her. Her dad took her away after.” Her voice tightened slightly on the last part. Silence followed immediately after. Ronnie exhaled slowly, leaning back a little like she was processing it physically.

“That’s not fair,” she said flatly.

Marge didn’t look away from Lilly.

“I don’t know if she’s okay right now.”

Ronnie shifted closer immediately. “Okay. That part is understandable.”

Marge nodded too, slower.

“So what you’re dealing with right now,” Marge said carefully, “is not just the fact that they found out. It’s that you got separated without closure.”

Lilly blinked at that. She nodded once.

“Yes,” she said quietly. “That’s exactly it.” Ronnie leaned forward again, voice softer now.

“Okay,” she said. “Then we deal with that first. Not everything else. Just that.” Marge squeezed Lilly’s hand again, steady and certain.

“You’re not wrong for caring about her,” she added. “And you’re not wrong for being upset about how this happened.”

Lilly looked down at their joined hands.

Her breathing was still uneven.

But she didn’t feel like she was drowning in silence anymore.

Ronnie said it like the thought arrived fully formed and left her mouth before she could filter it.

“Then… do we just sneak into her house?” Marge turned her head slowly toward Ronnie.

 Ronnie immediately lifted her hands. “What? I’m just saying. If she’s stuck there and Lilly’s stuck here and nobody’s talking sense—”

“Ronnie,” Marge cut in gently, but firm enough that it stopped her mid-sentence. Ronnie shut her mouth.

A beat of awkward silence followed. Lilly didn’t react the way Ronnie expected her to.

“No,” Lilly said quietly.

Ronnie blinked. “No?”

Lilly shook her head once.

“It’s fine,” she added, softer. “I’ll wait.”

That landed heavier than Ronnie’s suggestion. Marge’s expression softened immediately, but there was something sad in it now.

“Lilly,” she said carefully, “waiting isn’t the same as doing nothing.”

Lilly swallowed.

“I know,” she said. “But I can’t… I can’t force my way into her house. Not like that. Not after everything.”

Her voice wavered slightly on the last part, but she kept going.

“If I push too much, it’ll just get worse for her.” Ronnie broke the silence again, a little slower this time, like she was trying to land somewhere less reckless.

“Do you want us to check on her for you?” she asked.

Marge’s head turned immediately.

“That’s not—” she started, then stopped herself, exhaling through her nose. “Ronnie, that’s not really something we can just—”

“I know,” Ronnie cut in quickly, holding up a hand. “I don’t mean like breaking in or anything. I mean just… seeing if she’s there. If she’s okay. Like, from a distance.”

Marge still looked unconvinced, her brows slightly drawn together. “That’s still crossing a line,” she said quietly. Lilly didn’t respond right away.

Both of them looked at her then.

She sat there for a moment, hands folded loosely in her lap now, like she was holding herself together in a quieter way than before.

Then she spoke.

“…Yeah,” Lilly said softly. “I think that helps.”

Ronnie blinked. “Really?”

Lilly nodded once.

“I just need to know she’s there,” she added. “That she’s… okay.” Marge studied her for a second longer, then let out a small, reluctant breath. “Alright,” she said. “But we’re not doing anything reckless. We look. That’s it.”

Ronnie nodded quickly, already standing a little straighter. “Yeah. Just look.”

Marge’s eyes flicked back to Lilly.

“And you stay here,” she added gently. “You rest. You don’t spiral while we’re gone.”

That got a faint, tired exhale from Lilly—almost like she wanted to argue but didn’t have the strength.

“…Okay,” she agreed.

There was a brief pause.

Then Marge squeezed her hand one last time.

“We’ll come back,” she said.

Ronnie gave a small nod toward her too. “We won’t be long.” Lilly watched them go for a moment as they moved toward the door. The house felt different again when it closed behind them.

Ronnie walked a little ahead at first, then slowed when she noticed Marge wasn’t matching her pace.

“You think she’s actually gonna be okay?” Ronnie asked quietly. Marge didn’t answer immediately.

“I think she’s trying to hold it together,” she said finally. “That’s different.”

Ronnie glanced toward the street ahead.

“…And Patty?” she asked.

Marge’s expression tightened slightly.

“That’s what we’re going to find out.” They walked the rest of the way in silence. When Patty’s house finally came into view, neither of them sped up.

Marge didn’t move right away.

She stayed crouched behind the hedge, eyes still locked on the house like she was trying to make the earlier image line up with what Ronnie was saying.

“I’m going,” she said. Ronnie blinked. “What? No—Marge, what are you doing?” Marge was already standing.

“Just talking,” she said, like it was the simplest thing in the world. Ronnie grabbed her wrist immediately.

“That is not ‘just talking,’ that’s their house.” Marge gently pulled her hand free. “I’m not breaking in,” she said calmly. “I just want to see her properly.”

Ronnie followed quickly as Marge stepped out from behind the hedge. “You literally just saw her!”

“From across the street,” Marge replied, not looking back.

Ronnie’s voice rose in a whisper-shout. “That is still seeing her!”

Marge didn’t slow down. The sidewalk felt too exposed now that they were moving through it. Ronnie kept glancing around like someone was about to appear and ask what they were doing there.

“Okay, okay—stop,” Ronnie hissed. “This is a bad idea, you’re gonna make it weird.” Marge reached the front gate anyway. “Everything’s already weird,” she said quietly. Ronnie groaned under her breath but followed.

Marge stepped up to the door. Ronnie grabbed her arm again, more desperate this time. “Marge, please—” Marge lifted her hand and knocked.

The sound was sharp in the quiet street.

Ronnie froze.

“…Oh my God,” she whispered.

A moment passed then the door opened, Jim stood there. Not surprised in an obvious way, but still visibly alert, like he had already been holding tension in the house and this was just another thread pulling it tighter. His eyes moved between them carefully.

“…Yes?” he asked.

Marge straightened slightly, trying to steady herself.

“Hi,” she said. “Sorry to bother you.”

Ronnie immediately dipped her head a little. “We’re really sorry—this is probably weird, we just—”

Jim held up a hand, not unkind, just controlled.

“I need you to be clear,” he said calmly. “What is this about?”

Marge didn’t hesitate. “We’re Patty’s friends,” she said evenly. “We just had a project to discuss with her.”

Ronnie shot her a quick look, but didn’t interrupt. Jim studied them for a moment. A small silence settled between them. Then he stepped slightly aside.

“…Alright,” he said finally. “Come in.”

Ronnie blinked. “Oh—okay, thank you.” Marge gave a short nod and stepped forward first, careful, controlled, like she was trying not to make the situation feel bigger than it already was. Ronnie followed quickly after her, still a little tense in her shoulders.

Jim closed the door behind them without rushing. The sound felt heavier inside the house. He didn’t lead them immediately, just turned slightly toward the hallway. “She’s upstairs,” he said. “But if you’re here for a project, keep it quick.”

There was a pause at the word project—not accusation, just observation. Marge nodded. “We will.” Ronnie added quickly, “Yeah, of course.”

Jim held their gaze for a second longer, then gestured lightly toward the stairs.

“Go on,” he said.

Marge and Ronnie moved up the stairs quietly, their footsteps careful against the wood like the house itself might react if they were too loud. Neither of them spoke until they were out of earshot. Ronnie leaned slightly toward Marge, whispering, “That was… too easy.”

Marge didn’t answer right away. Her eyes stayed forward. “It wasn’t easy,” she said quietly. “He just didn’t see a reason to stop us.” That didn’t make Ronnie feel better, but she nodded anyway and followed as Marge reached the hallway.

Upstairs, the air felt different—quieter, thicker in a way that made everything feel more contained. Marge paused for only a second outside the room before gently knocking once.

A soft voice answered from inside.

“Come in…”

They entered.

—

Downstairs, Jim had barely taken two steps away from the door when Helen appeared in the hallway. Her timing was sharp, like she had been waiting for the moment the house changed again.

“Who was that?” she asked immediately.

“Patty’s classmates,” he said simply.

Helen’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Classmates?”

“Yes,” Jim replied.

A pause stretched between them. Helen glanced toward the stairs, as if she could already feel the shift in the house above her.

“Why are they here?” she asked.

Jim’s tone stayed even. “They said something about a school project.”

That made Helen stop for a second. She studied him, then the hallway again, like she was trying to decide whether that answer fit the feeling she couldn’t quite shake.

“…At this hour?” she asked quietly.

Jim shrugged slightly. “Teenagers.”

Helen exhaled through her nose, still tense but not pushing further. After a moment, she nodded once, almost reluctantly.

“Alright,” she said. 

And just like that, Helen let it go.

Patty was sitting on the edge of her bed when they came in. Her head lifted immediately when she saw them.

Ronnie softened first. “Hey…”

Marge stayed near the door for a second longer, watching Patty properly—checking her face, her posture, the quiet tension in her hands—before she stepped further inside.

Patty’s expression shifted slightly at the sight of both of them there. 

“You came here?” she asked quietly.

Ronnie nodded quickly. “Yeah. We—uh—well—”

Marge cut in, calm and direct. “Lilly asked us to check on you.”

Patty went still. “…Lilly?” she repeated, like she needed to confirm she heard it right.

Ronnie nodded. “Yeah. She was really worried. She didn’t want to just sit there not knowing what was happening with you.”

Patty looked down at her hands for a second. Something in her expression tightened, but it wasn’t anger. More like pressure finally finding a place to go.

“She sent you here,” she said quietly.

Marge nodded. “Not in a controlling way. Just… she needed to know you were okay.”

Ronnie took a small step closer, voice softer now. “Are you okay?”

Patty didn’t answer right away. Her mouth opened slightly, then closed again, like she was trying to decide what version of “okay” would even make sense. Then she gave a small, uneven breath.

“I don’t know,” she admitted.

The honesty sat heavy in the room for a second. Marge didn’t rush to fill it. She just sat down carefully on the edge of the bed, leaving space between them. Ronnie hovered a moment longer, then sat too, slower this time.

Patty finally looked up at them again.

“They didn’t let me explain everything,” she said quietly. “It was just… decided.”

Ronnie’s jaw tightened. “That’s not fair.”

Patty gave a faint, humorless exhale. “Yeah.”

Marge’s voice stayed steady. “And you’re here now. That’s what matters.”

Patty blinked at that, like she wasn’t sure she agreed but also didn’t have the energy to argue. “…Does Lilly think I’m okay?” she asked after a moment.

Ronnie nodded immediately. “She’s not angry or anything. She just—she misses you.”

“She shouldn’t be worrying like this,” Patty said quietly.

Marge shook her head slightly. “That’s not how it works.”

A brief silence followed. Then Ronnie leaned forward a little. “We can go back and tell her you’re alive and breathing and not locked in a dungeon, so that’ll help.”

Patty let out a small, almost reluctant breath at that—something between a laugh and a release of tension she didn’t realize she was holding. “…She really sent you just to check?” she asked again.

Marge nodded once. “Yes.”

Patty looked down again, quieter this time.

“Of course she did,” she said softly.

Patty’s room stayed still for a moment after she spoke, like the air itself needed time to accept her decision. “I should just go,” she said again, quieter but firmer now.

Ronnie’s head snapped slightly toward her. “Go where, exactly?”

“To Lilly,” Patty replied without hesitation.

Marge’s brows tightened. “Patty, you just went through—”

“I know,” Patty cut in, not unkind, just final. “That’s why I need to see her. I need to explain it myself.”

Ronnie stood slowly, uneasy. “Sneaking out right now is a bit—”

“I’ll be careful,” Patty said, already shifting like she was preparing to move. “I just… can’t leave it like this.” Marge studied her for a long second, then exhaled through her nose.

“You’re not fully okay,” she said plainly.

Patty gave a small, tired nod. “I know.” That honesty softened the edge of the room slightly. Ronnie scratched the back of her neck. “You’re really set on this.”

“I am,” Patty said. Then Marge stepped aside slightly, not approving, but no longer blocking her.

“Then don’t rush it,” she said quietly. “And don’t do anything reckless.”

Patty nodded once. “I won’t.”

Ronnie pointed at her lightly. “And you better actually talk, not just show up and disappear again.”

Patty gave a faint, almost grateful look at that. “I’ll talk.”

They stepped out into the afternoon air, the door clicking shut behind them a little too softly—like the house itself didn’t want to commit to ending the moment.

The street was quiet in that late-evening way where everything felt slightly paused. A few distant lamps flickered against the pavement, and their footsteps sounded clearer than they should’ve.

Ronnie stretched her arms out as they walked, rolling her shoulders like she was trying to shake off the tension still sitting there.

“Okay,” she said after a beat, exhaling. “We survived that.” Marge gave her a sideways look. “That’s one way to put it.”

Ronnie huffed a small laugh. “No seriously, that was like… emotional field work. We went in, gathered intel, reassured the subject—”

Marge cut her off immediately. “Don’t turn this into a mission.”

Ronnie grinned anyway. “It was a mission.”

Marge didn’t respond at first, just kept walking, but the corner of her mouth twitched slightly like she was trying not to agree.

Ronnie bumped her shoulder lightly. “Come on. We did our part, right?”

Marge sighed, looking ahead. “We checked on her.”

“That is the part,” Ronnie insisted. Then she lifted her hand halfway into the air.

Marge glanced at it like she was judging the concept of it.

“…You’re ridiculous,” she muttered.

Ronnie just held her hand there, waiting. After a second, Marge finally lifted her own hand. They met in a quick, slightly awkward high five that landed more like a soft clap than anything dramatic.

Ronnie smiled wider. “Done and dusted.”

Marge shook her head faintly, but didn’t correct her this time. “Let’s just get home.”

They started walking again, side by side now, the earlier tension thinning into something lighter. Ronnie kicked a small pebble off the sidewalk. “You think Patty’s actually gonna make it there okay?”

Marge thought about it for a second, then nodded once. “Yeah.” Ronnie glanced at her. “That sounded confident.”

“It wasn’t,” Marge replied.

Ronnie laughed under her breath. “Love that for us.”

But even as they joked, they kept walking a little slower than usual—not because they were in a rush anymore, but because for once, they weren’t.

Chapter Text

Lilly had stopped checking the time. It made everything worse when she did. The room was dim now, the kind of dim that came from a day slipping too far into evening without anyone noticing. Light from the window had softened into something greyish and stretched thin across the floorboards.

She lay on her bed staring at nothing in particular, only aware of the fact that she had been lying there for too long to still call it rest.

Ronnie and Marge hadn’t called. They said they would. Or maybe they didn’t promise it. Maybe she only hoped they did. Either way, the silence had started to feel heavier the longer it stayed. Her thoughts kept circling back to the same place, same image, same absence.

Patty’s house. Patty’s voice. Patty being somewhere she couldn’t see.

Lilly turned onto her side, pulling the blanket closer like it could block out the loop in her head, but it didn’t help much. Her chest felt tight again, not sharp, just constant.

“I should’ve gone,” she muttered quietly to herself, even though she knew that wasn’t true either.

A pause.

Then—

Tap.

Her eyes flicked open.

Another tap.

Lilly sat up immediately.

Stillness took over the room in an instant, sharper than before. She looked toward the window. For a second, she didn’t move. Like acknowledging it would make it disappear.

Then another tap, more certain this time.

Slowly, she got up. Bare feet against the floor. Careful steps across the room. She reached the window and hesitated only once before pulling it open.

And there she was.

Patty.

Standing just outside like she had always been meant to be there. Lilly’s breath caught so hard it felt like her body forgot what to do for a second. Patty lifted a hand and gave a small wave.

Lilly didn’t think. She just moved. She rushed toward the window, half climbing, half running out of the room, down whatever path made sense in her body before her mind could catch up.

Outside, Patty stepped forward at the same time.

And the moment Lilly reached her—

Everything else collapsed. Lilly threw her arms around her, holding on like the space between them had been something she didn’t realize she was surviving through. Patty stumbled slightly but caught her, arms wrapping around her just as tightly.

Lilly’s grip tightened slightly, like she was afraid if she let go too soon, she’d wake up back in the waiting. Patty leaned her forehead briefly against her shoulder.

“I’m here,” Patty said quietly.

And that was enough to make Lilly close her eyes for a second, holding on harder, like she was finally allowed to.

Lilly didn’t let go right away. Patty shifted slightly in her arms, exhaling once like she had been holding her breath for too long as well.

Then she pulled back just enough to look at her.

Her face was calmer than it had been the last time Lilly saw her, but not completely settled. There was still something behind her eyes—tired, decided, and a little unsteady all at once.

“Grab your bike,” Patty said quietly. “We’re going somewhere.”

Lilly blinked at her. “What?”

Patty gave a small nod toward the street, already half-turning like she expected Lilly to follow. “Just… trust me.”

Lilly hesitated, still trying to catch up with the fact that Patty was actually standing in front of her, actually speaking like this wasn’t a dream she would wake up from.

“Now?” she asked softly.

Patty glanced back at her. “Now.”

Something in her tone left no space for argument, just urgency wrapped in something gentler. Lilly swallowed once, then nodded.

“Okay.”

She disappeared back inside quickly, feet light against the floor as she grabbed her bike from where it leaned near the side of the house. Her hands shook slightly when she pulled it out, not from fear exactly, but from how unreal everything still felt.

When she came back out, Patty was waiting near the edge of the path.

The late afternoon had shifted into that glowing in-between hour where everything looked warmer than it actually was. Light spilled across the street in long, soft bands, catching in Patty’s hair and turning it almost golden-white at the edges.

She looked different like that. Patty stepped closer, eyes flicking briefly to the bike, then back to Lilly.

“Good,” she said. “Let’s go.”

Lilly frowned slightly. “Go where?”

Patty didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she turned, already starting to walk her bike forward. “You’ll see,” she said over her shoulder.

Lilly stared at her for a second longer, then pushed off on her own bike to follow.

The wheels scraped softly against the pavement as they started moving together, side by side at first, then slowly picking up pace.

The street stretched ahead of them in quiet lines, the world around them still carrying on like nothing had changed—like it didn’t know two girls had just decided to step out of everything that had been holding them still.

Lilly kept stealing glances at Patty.

At her profile in the shifting light. At the way she rode slightly ahead, not fully running away from anything, but not staying behind it either.

“Patty,” Lilly called softly after a while.

Patty turned her head just enough to look at her. “Yeah?”

“Where are we going?”

For a moment, Patty didn’t answer. Then she looked forward again, a faint breath leaving her like she was letting something go.

“A place where we can talk,” she said simply.

And then she rode a little faster.

The bike ride stretched longer than Lilly expected. Patty stayed quiet the entire time, arms wrapped around her waist, holding on just a little tighter than necessary as they moved through the thinning glow of late afternoon.

Lilly kept glancing over her shoulder whenever she could, trying to read something in Patty’s silence, but there was nothing clear there. 

Lilly slowed slightly. “Which way was the river again?” she asked, voice cutting through the quiet. Patty didn’t answer right away. Then she shifted slightly behind her.

“Left,” she said simply.

Lilly nodded and followed the direction without questioning further, steering carefully as the path narrowed into something more uneven, more hidden. The sound of water reached them before they saw it.

Lilly eased the bike to a stop near the edge of the path and stepped down, the crunch of gravel loud in the stillness. She exhaled, looking around. Of all places, it was this one.

Her grip loosened on the handlebars, but her expression didn’t soften.

“Okay,” she said, turning toward Patty. “We’re here. Now can you tell me what this is about?”

There was a hint of impatience in her voice, but underneath it, something else—something tired from waiting too long for answers she didn’t know she needed until they were withheld.

Patty didn’t respond immediately. She got off the bike slowly, setting it aside carefully before stepping closer to the riverbank.

Then she looked at Lilly. For a second, Lilly thought she was finally going to speak.

Instead, Patty simply lifted her hand and gestured toward the grass near the water.

Sit.

Lilly blinked at her. “Patty—”

Patty didn’t repeat it. She just held her gaze, calm but firm, like she wasn’t asking anymore. Something in that quiet certainty made Lilly pause. With a small exhale, still confused and a little frustrated, she walked forward and lowered herself onto the grass near the river.

Patty followed a moment later, sitting beside her—but not too close yet. The space between them felt deliberate. The river moved softly in front of them, carrying the light in broken reflections. Lilly shifted slightly, knees drawn in, turning toward her fully now.

“Okay,” she said again, slower this time. “You brought me here. So talk to me.”

Patty didn’t speak immediately after that.

The river kept moving in front of them, slow and darkening under the evening sky, while Lilly sat there trying not to fidget from the anticipation curling tighter and tighter in her chest.

Then, unexpectedly—

“You could’ve just called, y’know.”

Lilly blinked. “What?”

Patty finally looked at her then, one corner of her mouth lifting faintly for the first time that evening. “You didn’t have to send Ronnie and Marge like detectives,” she said. “I saw them hiding behind our hedge.”

That caught Lilly completely off guard. A flush spread across her face almost instantly. “I did not send them like detectives.”

Patty let out a quiet laugh through her nose. “Mm. Sure.”

“I thought you were grounded,” Lilly muttered defensively, looking away toward the river. “And they offered.”

Patty’s laugh softened this time. The sound of it loosened something in Lilly’s chest immediately. For a second, it almost felt normal again. Then Patty’s expression shifted.

She looked back toward the water, arms resting loosely over her knees now as the fading light caught across her face in uneven pieces. Lilly noticed the silence returning and straightened slightly again, waiting.

This time, Patty didn’t avoid it.

“My mom thinks this changes everything,” she said quietly. The words settled carefully between them. Lilly stayed still. Patty swallowed once before continuing.

“She kept saying I’m too young to understand what this means. That feelings like this don’t just affect me.” A faint breath left her. “That people will talk. That life gets harder when you choose things that make you different.”

Her fingers tightened slightly against her sleeves.

“She thinks I’m building my whole future around something I can’t possibly understand yet.” Lilly’s chest tightened. Patty gave a small shrug after a moment, but it didn’t look careless. It looked tired.

“She wasn’t screaming the whole time or anything,” Patty admitted softly. “I think that almost made it worse.”

The river moved quietly beside them.

“She just kept looking at me like…” Patty paused, struggling briefly for the right words. “Like she was mourning something that hadn’t even disappeared.”

Lilly looked down. That hurt in a way she didn’t know how to answer. Patty continued more quietly now.

“She asked me if I understood what people would say about us. About you.” A pause. “About our family.”

Lilly’s throat tightened slightly at that.

“But then she’d look at me again,” Patty said, voice quieter now, “and I could tell she was trying not to make me hate her.”

The honesty of it sat heavily in the air. Lilly finally spoke carefully. “Do you?”

Patty looked over. “Do I what?”

“Hate her.”

Patty stared at her for a second, surprised by the question. Then she shook her head slowly.  “No,” she admitted. “I’m angry. But I don’t hate her.”

A faint, humorless smile touched her face. “She’s scared.”

The light around them dimmed further as evening settled properly now, turning the river darker blue beneath the sky. Lilly watched Patty quietly. Then, after a moment:

“And what about you?” she asked softly.

Patty held her gaze that time. Longer than before. “I’m scared too,” she said honestly. “I just…” Her voice faltered slightly before steadying again. “I don’t think being scared means I should stop loving you.”

Lilly stared at her for a long moment after that.

The words I don’t think being scared means I should stop loving you still sat somewhere inside her chest, too large to move past properly.

The river kept flowing beside them, soft and endless, while the evening air cooled around their skin.

Then Lilly asked quietly:

“What did you say?”

Patty looked down briefly, fingers absentmindedly pulling at a blade of grass near her knee.

“To my mom?”

Lilly nodded once. Patty exhaled through her nose, thoughtful this time rather than tense.

“I told her I knew what I felt,” she said. Lilly felt her throat tighten already. Patty continued, eyes still on the water.

“I told her this wasn’t ruining my future.” A small pause. “And that loving you didn’t suddenly make me less capable of becoming who she wanted me to become.”

The breeze shifted lightly through the trees. Patty’s voice stayed calm, but Lilly could hear the effort underneath it now.

“I said I’d do everything.” She laughed quietly once, almost at herself. “I told her I’d push my grades even higher if I had to. I’d surpass every expectation she ever set for me.”

Now Patty finally looked at her. Emotion climbed her throat so fast she almost couldn’t breathe around it.

“You don’t have to do all that,” she whispered immediately, eyes burning before she could stop it.

Patty smiled then. Just warm in that devastatingly quiet way she had.

“I can,” she said simply. “As long as I get to love you.”

That almost broke Lilly completely. She turned her face away for a second, pressing her lips together hard as tears threatened to spill anyway. Beside her, Patty’s expression softened further.

“She didn’t exactly…” Patty searched briefly for the right wording. “Accept it.” Lilly looked back at her slowly.

“But she stopped fighting me after a while,” Patty continued. “I think she realized I wasn’t changing my mind.”

The river reflected faint pieces of the darkening sky now, moving in restless little ripples beneath the fading light.

“She told me there was nothing she could really do about it anymore,” Patty said quietly. “That I was going to feel what I feel regardless.”

A pause.

“And then she said…” Patty’s smile returned faintly, smaller this time. “That if I was going to insist on carrying all this, then I shouldn’t destroy myself trying to prove something.”

Lilly stayed completely still.

Patty looked down again, voice gentler now.

“And honestly?” she admitted softly. “That alone was enough for me.”

The wind shifted around them again.

“Because it meant she acknowledged it,” Patty said. “Maybe not fully. Maybe not comfortably. But she stopped pretending it wasn’t real.”

Lilly’s eyes burned harder.

“And your dad?” she asked quietly.That made Patty laugh softly under her breath. A real one this time.

“He was…” She shook her head faintly. “Different.”

The fondness in her voice surprised Lilly slightly. Patty looked out toward the river again before speaking. “He told me I could love however way I can.”

Silence followed immediately after that. Then Patty added, quieter:

“And that almost made me cry.”

Lilly looked at her then really looked at her and suddenly saw it clearly. The exhaustion under her eyes. The relief she was trying not to show too openly.

The fact that Patty had probably been holding herself together all day just to get here. Lilly swallowed hard against the tears building again.Then, before she could overthink it, she moved closer and took Patty’s hand into both of hers carefully, like it was something precious.

Patty looked down at their hands briefly but didn’t pull away. And Lilly sat there holding on to her while trying very hard not to cry from how deeply loved she suddenly felt.

Patty let her.

She stayed still while Lilly held her hand between both of hers, thumb brushing absentmindedly against her knuckles like she was reassuring herself Patty was actually there.

The evening had darkened around them now. Not fully night yet, but close enough that the river reflected more shadow than light.

“How about your mom?”

Lilly blinked slightly, pulled out of her thoughts. “My mom?”

Patty nodded once.

Lilly hesitated, not because she didn’t want to answer, but because she still wasn’t entirely used to saying it out loud either.

“She already knew,” Lilly admitted softly.

That made Patty look at her properly. “What?”

A faint, almost embarrassed smile tugged at Lilly’s mouth despite everything.

“She said she figured it out a while ago.”

Patty stared for a second longer, genuinely caught off guard by that. “And she’s…” Patty paused carefully. “Okay with it?”

Lilly looked down briefly. “She said she’s okay with it as long as we know what we’re doing.”

The words settled quietly between them.

Patty’s shoulders loosened slightly at that, some tension visibly leaving her body without her realizing it.

Lilly noticed.

And somehow that made this harder to say.

Because now that everything had finally been spoken out loud—parents, feelings, fear, all of it—there was nothing left hiding behind uncertainty anymore. Only the reality of it. Lilly’s grip around Patty’s hand tightened slightly.

“Honestly,” she admitted quietly, “I was happy.”

Patty’s expression softened immediately.

“But now…” Lilly exhaled shakily, eyes drifting toward the water again. “I don’t know.”

A pause.

“I’m not sure what we’re even doing anymore.”

Patty stayed silent, listening carefully. Lilly swallowed once.

“Like…” She laughed faintly under her breath, but there was no humor in it. “Where does this even put us?” The question lingered there afterward.

The river moved softly beside them. Patty looked at her for a long moment before answering. Then, quietly:

“Do you want the honest answer?”

Lilly nodded once. Patty shifted slightly closer this time, enough that their shoulders almost touched.

“I don’t know either,” she admitted.

That surprised Lilly more than certainty would have. Patty let out a small breath.

“I think everyone expects love to suddenly make things clear.” She glanced down briefly. “Like once you say it out loud, everything else is supposed to make sense after.”

A faint smile touched her face.

“But I still feel thirteen.”

That made something small and helpless crack a laugh out of Lilly despite the tears still threatening her eyes. Patty smiled a little wider hearing it. Then she looked back toward the river.

“I don’t know where this puts us,” she said honestly. “I just know I still want to be here.”

Her fingers turned slightly in Lilly’s hold until she was holding her hand back properly now.

“And I know,” Patty continued softer, “that when things got bad, the only place I wanted to go was you.”

Lilly’s throat tightened again immediately. Patty looked over at her then, expression gentler now than it had been all evening.

“So maybe we stop trying to figure out the rest of our lives tonight,” she said quietly. “And just let ourselves be this first.”

Lilly looked at her quietly after that. For once, Lilly didn’t try to think past it. Didn’t try to untangle tomorrow from next week or next year or what people would say once the whispers started spreading properly. She was tired of dragging herself into futures she couldn’t even see yet.

So instead, she nodded.

“Okay,” she whispered.

Patty’s expression softened immediately at the answer, something easing visibly in her face like she had been bracing for resistance without realizing it.

Lilly shifted closer then.

Carefully at first. Her hands lifted slowly until they were cupping Patty’s face, thumbs brushing lightly against her cheeks still cool from the evening air.

Patty went still beneath her touch. Lilly smiled faintly through the ache still sitting in her chest. Then she leaned in. The kiss she intended was small. Shy, almost.

Just the corner of Patty’s mouth. Something soft enough to say thank you without needing words for it. But Patty didn’t let her pull away.

The second Lilly started retreating, Patty’s hand came up gently against the side of her wrist, stopping her there for just a moment longer before leaning forward herself.

And then Patty kissed her properly. Lilly melted into it almost immediately.

The river, the trees, the ache of the past two days—everything blurred quietly at the edges while Patty’s mouth stayed warm against hers.

When they finally broke apart, neither of them moved very far.

Patty’s forehead rested briefly against Lilly’s as they both laughed softly under their breath, embarrassed for no reason other than being fifteen and overwhelmed and deeply in love.

Then suddenly—

Cold water hit Lilly’s cheek.

She gasped sharply, pulling back.

“Patty!”

Patty was already grinning, one hand still dripping river water.

The smugness on her face lasted exactly two seconds before Lilly shoved her shoulder hard enough to make her lose balance slightly.

“Oh, you’re dead,” Lilly muttered.

Patty laughed fully then—bright and unguarded in a way Lilly hadn’t heard all week.

“You looked too serious,” she defended.

Lilly scooped up water immediately and splashed it straight back at her. Patty yelped, recoiling. “Okay, alright—”

Another splash.

“Lilly—!”

Patty tried backing away from another splash, one hand lifted uselessly in defense while laughing too hard to properly dodge anything.

“You started it!” Lilly shot back immediately, already reaching down for more water.

Patty pointed accusingly at her. “You escalated it.”

“Oh, I escalated it?”

“Yes—”

Her foot slipped before she could finish.

It happened fast. One second Patty was stepping backward through the wet grass, still grinning, and the next her balance gave out completely beneath her.

“Patty—!”

Lilly lunged forward instinctively to catch her. Which would have worked. If the riverbank hadn’t been muddy.

Instead, Lilly’s shoe slid the second she grabbed Patty’s arm, momentum pulling both of them sideways at once before either could recover.

There was barely enough time for Patty to gasp out a horrified laugh before—

Splash.

Cold river water surged around both of them instantly.

Lilly came up first with a sharp inhale, hair dripping into her face as water clung heavily to her sleeves.

For half a second she looked stunned.

Then Patty surfaced beside her laughing so hard she could barely breathe.

“Oh my God—” Patty choked out between laughs. “You were supposed to save me!”

“I tried!” Lilly sputtered immediately, shoving wet hair away from her face. “You weigh more than I expected!”

Patty gasped dramatically. “That is such a terrible thing to say to someone after nearly drowning them.”

“You fell in knee-deep water.”

“That’s not the point.”

Lilly laughed helplessly then, the sound breaking out of her before she could stop it.

And suddenly they were both standing there soaked in the river, clothes clinging heavily to their skin, shoulders shaking from laughter that had become impossible to contain.

The sky above them had darkened fully now into deep blue evening, the trees swaying softly around the riverbank while the water rippled endlessly around their legs.

Patty looked beautiful like this.

Messy.

Laughing.

Real.

Lilly felt it hit her all at once so suddenly it hurt. Patty was still smiling when she looked over at Lilly again, cheeks flushed from cold water and laughter both.

“What?” she asked softly after noticing the way Lilly was staring. Lilly swallowed once. Then said it before she could lose the nerve.

“I love you, Patty.”

The words fell into the night air simply. No hesitation left in them anymore. Patty’s expression changed immediately.Like something inside her gave way gently at hearing it spoken out loud like that.

Water moved around their knees softly while they stood there looking at each other.

Then Patty stepped closer. Close enough that their soaked sleeves brushed together beneath the river’s current. And with the smallest smile tugging at her mouth, she answered:

“I love you too, Bainbridge.”

Chapter Text

The morning sunlight spilled across the hallway in long golden rectangles while Lilly hurried from room to room with one shoe half on and her graduation sash slipping crookedly off her shoulder.

“Mom, where are my keys?”

“They’re where you left them yesterday,” Terri called from the kitchen calmly.

“That does not help me.”

“It helps more than watching you panic in circles.”

Lilly appeared around the corner with an exhausted look, hair shorter now than it used to be, resting neatly above her shoulders. The softness she carried at fifteen had settled into something steadier over the years. She still looked delicate sometimes, still carried traces of anxiety in the way she fidgeted when rushed, but she no longer looked like someone constantly bracing for collapse.

Terri leaned against the kitchen doorway holding a camera in her hands already.

Lilly stopped immediately.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Mom—”

“You are graduating high school. I am taking a picture.”

Lilly groaned softly under her breath but stopped moving anyway, fixing the crooked edge of her gown while Terri adjusted the camera with unnecessary concentration.

“Stand properly.”

“I am standing properly.”

“You look like you’re about to fight someone.”

“That’s just my face.”

Terri laughed quietly. The camera clicked. For a second afterward, Terri simply looked at her daughter.

Lilly caught it immediately—that expression parents got sometimes when they suddenly realized time had moved without asking permission.

“You look beautiful,” Terri said softly.

Lilly’s face warmed a little despite herself.

“Thanks.”

Terri lowered the camera carefully. “Your father would’ve cried today.” The sentence landed gently rather than painfully now. Lilly smiled faintly.

“Yeah,” she said quietly. “He would’ve.”

Then she finally spotted her keys sitting directly on the counter where they had apparently been the entire time. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

Terri looked entirely unsurprised. Lilly grabbed them quickly before heading for the door.

“Drive carefully.”

Terri gave her a look. Lilly sighed dramatically. “Fine. I usually do.” Outside, the warm morning air already carried the feeling of summer beginning. The car waiting by the curb still felt surreal sometimes.

Terri had gifted it to her after she got her license, and ever since then Lilly had somehow become responsible for transporting nearly everyone they knew. Apparently owning a car at eighteen meant nobody else ever needed to walk again.

Lilly slid into the driver’s seat, smoothing her gown carefully before turning the key. The engine rumbled softly alive beneath her hands. For a moment she just sat there, staring ahead through the windshield.

Then she exhaled, pulled away from the curb, and headed toward Ronnie’s house first.

Ronnie was already outside before Lilly even fully stopped the car. She climbed in immediately carrying far too many things at once.

“Move,” Ronnie complained while shoving flowers, papers, and somehow an entire jacket into the backseat. “You brought half your house with you.”

“I like having options.” Ronnie had changed in the years since Lilly first met her. She’d grown taller, sharper around the features now, her once-chaotic teenage awkwardness turning into loud confidence she wore proudly. Her hair was shorter than before, and she carried herself like someone permanently moments away from causing trouble.

“You cried yet?” Lilly asked while pulling back onto the street.

Ronnie looked offended. “Not yet.”

“So you will cry.”

“I absolutely will.” Lilly laughed softly. Their next stop was Marge’s. Unlike Ronnie, Marge entered the car calmly and gracefully like she had rehearsed the movement beforehand.

“Good morning,” she greeted while settling into the backseat. “Look at you being civilized,” Ronnie muttered. Marge ignored her completely.

She’d changed too, though more subtly. The nervousness she carried as a younger teenager had smoothed into composure over time. She looked elegant now without trying to. The type of person who grew more confident quietly instead of loudly announcing it. “You two look stressed already,” Marge observed. 

“We’re graduating,” Ronnie replied. “I’m having a crisis.”

“You have a crisis every week,” Marge said calmly.

“That’s because life keeps happening to me.”

Lilly snorted softly as she turned another corner. The car already felt fuller with Ronnie’s endless clutter and Marge’s neatly folded sash taking up half the backseat beside her. Their next stop was for Rich and Matty.

Since the two boys lived only a few houses apart, Lilly had long since stopped pretending it made sense to pick them up separately. “Please tell me they’re ready,” Lilly muttered while slowing near the curb.

“They’re boys,” Ronnie replied immediately. “So no.”

As if summoned by the insult itself, Rich appeared first from down the sidewalk.

He looked almost unrecognizable compared to the lanky boy he had been years ago. Taller now, broader through the shoulders, hair longer and constantly falling into his face no matter how often he pushed it back. He carried himself with the lazy confidence of someone who had finally grown into his body after years of not knowing what to do with it.

Behind him came Matty.

Still lean, still sharp-faced, but quieter than before in a more settled way. He’d stopped trying so hard to prove himself loud over the years. Now his confidence sat lower, easier.  Rich opened the car door and immediately frowned.

“Why is it so cramped in here already?”

“Because Ronnie packed for war,” Lilly answered.

Ronnie pointed at him. “Don’t start with me. I’m emotionally vulnerable today.”

“You say that every day too.” Matty slid in beside Marge while Rich squeezed awkwardly into the remaining space.

“This car gets smaller every week,” Rich complained.

“No,” Lilly said while pulling away again. “You people just keep growing.”

“That sounded deeply parental,” Ronnie observed.

Lilly looked horrified. “Don’t ever say that to me again.”

The car dissolved briefly into overlapping laughter and complaints while morning sunlight flickered through the windows.

By the time they headed toward Will’s house last, the noise inside the car had become impossible to control properly. Rich and Ronnie were arguing about something completely pointless.

Matty was half participating while Marge occasionally corrected facts without looking up from fixing her sleeve.

And Lilly—

Lilly found herself smiling more than she realized. Will was already waiting outside when they arrived.

Unlike everyone else, he stood calmly near the curb with his hands in his pockets, looking almost painfully composed for someone graduating in less than an hour.

He had changed maybe the most visibly out of all of them.

Gone was the awkwardness of boyhood completely. He looked older now in that quiet devastating way some people did after adolescence finally settled properly into their features. Taller. Cleaner around the jaw. His hair neatly combed for once because, as Ronnie once cruelly put it, “special occasions force him to acknowledge civilization.”

Will opened the door and immediately paused at the sight of the packed car.

“…There’s no room.”

“There’s emotional room,” Ronnie offered.

“There’s barely physical room.”

“Get in anyway.” Will sighed deeply but climbed in regardless, squeezed awkwardly between Rich and the door. “This is inhumane.”

“You’ll survive,” Matty said.

“Maybe physically.” Lilly laughed quietly to herself while the others continued complaining over one another. Then Will leaned slightly forward between the seats.

“You nervous?” he asked her. The question surprised her a little. Lilly thought about it honestly this time.

“…Yeah,” she admitted.

Will nodded once like he understood immediately.

“Me too.”

That settled something strangely comforting in the car. For a brief moment, everyone became quieter. Because suddenly graduation no longer felt like some distant future event they joked about surviving.

It was happening.

Right now.

And none of them were really kids anymore no matter how hard they still acted like it sometimes.

By the time they finally reached the auditorium properly, the entire school had dissolved into noise.

Parents filled the upper rows with flowers and cameras already prepared long before anything had even started. Teachers moved quickly through aisles pretending to organize students while mostly just trying to keep everyone from wandering off.

The group split apart gradually once they reached their assigned sections.

“Don’t trip on stage,” Ronnie warned Lilly immediately.

“You literally almost fell getting out of the car.”

“That was different. That was emotional instability.”

Rich groaned. “Please stop saying emotional instability like it’s a medical condition.”

“It is for me.”

Marge laughed softly under her breath while adjusting the sleeve of her gown. Then slowly, one by one, they filtered into their rows.

Lilly sat near the middle rows, smoothing invisible wrinkles from her gown while the auditorium buzzed around her in overlapping conversation and nervous laughter. The stage lights glowed warmly ahead.

Beside her, Ronnie kept bouncing one leg impatiently while pretending not to look emotional about any of this. “You’re gonna cry first,” Lilly whispered.

“I absolutely am not.”

“You already sound like you’re about to.”

Ronnie looked personally offended. A few seats away, Will leaned back slightly in his chair with forced calmness that fooled absolutely nobody. Over the years, whatever strange thing existed between him and Ronnie had somehow only gotten worse.

Or better.

Depending on who you asked.

They still argued constantly. Still challenged each other over everything. Still acted like every conversation was a competition neither of them intended to lose.

And yet—

Will always looked for Ronnie first in every room.Ronnie always saved him a seat without acknowledging she did it. Neither of them had ever said anything properly out loud.

At this point, the entire friend group had simply accepted they were trapped inside some endless game of push and pull powered entirely by mutual stubbornness. Lilly caught Will glancing toward Ronnie again from across the row.

Ronnie noticed too.

Neither said a word.

Idiots, Lilly thought affectionately.

Further down, Marge sat beside Rich. And unlike Ronnie and Will, there was no confusion left there anymore. Rich leaned slightly closer while speaking quietly to her, one arm resting lazily over the back of his chair while Marge listened with a smile she was trying unsuccessfully to hide.

Their hands rested together between the seats.

Rich’s thumb brushed absently over her knuckles while Marge spoke about something too quickly, excitement visibly getting ahead of her words.

Lilly smiled faintly watching it.

A few years ago, Rich would’ve panicked at even accidentally brushing hands with someone he liked. Now he looked entirely comfortable sitting there grounding Marge without even thinking about it. They weren’t officially together yet.

Rich had been courting her for months now in the most painfully sincere way possible. Flowers sometimes. Walking her home constantly. Showing up with ridiculous excuses just to spend time around her.

And Marge— Marge pretended she found it embarrassing while very obviously loving every second of it. Lilly rested back slightly in her chair, watching all of them quietly for a moment. The boys looked older now. The girls did too.

The auditorium lights dimmed slightly then, pulling everyone’s attention forward as teachers finally moved toward the stage.

Conversations softened into scattered murmurs.

Programs shuffled.

The principal approached the podium. The principal’s voice carried warmly through the auditorium, the kind of steady tone that tried to hold together an entire graduating class at once.

Principal Dunleavy.

He stood at the podium with his notes in one hand and the other gesturing far more than strictly necessary, like he couldn’t decide whether he was delivering a speech or telling a story.

“You know,” he began, adjusting his glasses, “when I first met this class, I thought I had seen every possible variation of teenage chaos known to man.”

A ripple of laughter moved through the room.

“But then I realized,” he continued, pausing just long enough for the tension to build, “I had not yet met you.” That earned a louder reaction.

Ronnie leaned slightly toward Lilly. “That sounded like an insult.”

“It was an affectionate insult,” Lilly whispered back.

“That’s still an insult.”

Dunleavy continued speaking, moving between jokes and soft sincerity in a way that made even the restless students quiet down without realizing it. Teachers in the back rows smiled more openly now, some already dabbing at their eyes.

“You have grown,” he said at last, voice softer now, “in ways I don’t think any of you fully understand yet. But you will. One day.”

A pause.

“And when you do, I hope you remember this room.”

The auditorium settled into something quieter after that. Then he straightened slightly, looking down at his notes again.

“And now,” he said, smiling, “it is my honor to introduce your valedictorian.” A brief pause. The kind that made the air feel like it tightened just slightly.

“This student has demonstrated not only academic excellence,” he continued, “but a level of discipline, perseverance, and character that has impressed every faculty member who has had the privilege of teaching her.”

Lilly felt her breath catch slightly before she even realized why.

“Please welcome,” Dunleavy said, “Patricia Stanton.”

For a moment, there was silence. Then the auditorium broke into applause. Lilly reacted instantly.

“Of course it’s her,” Ronnie muttered under her breath, but there was a grin in her voice. Lilly wasn’t listening anymore. She was already clapping, louder than most, eyes fixed on the stage as Patty stepped up.

Patricia Stanton looked different in a way that was subtle but undeniable.

Her hair was longer now, falling more naturally around her shoulders, catching the stage lights as she moved. She carried herself with a steadier kind of confidence than before—not louder, not sharper, just grounded in a way that came from surviving things that had once felt too heavy to carry.

She paused at the podium for a moment, adjusting the microphone slightly.

And then, almost instinctively, her eyes searched the room.

They found Lilly almost immediately. Lilly didn’t stop clapping. If anything, she smiled harder. Patty’s expression shifted—so small most people wouldn’t have noticed—but Lilly did.

Patty looked away first, composing herself again before speaking. But Lilly stayed looking at her the entire time, clapping until her hands stung slightly, not caring at all.

“Show-off,” Ronnie whispered.

“That’s her job,” Lilly whispered back, still smiling.

On stage, Patty took a quiet breath.

And began to speak.

Patty adjusted the microphone once more, the soft feedback fading as the room settled into complete attention.

At the rows of faces she had grown up beside without fully realizing it until now. Then she exhaled.

“Good morning,” she began, voice steady but soft enough that the microphone carried it gently instead of loudly. A few scattered smiles rippled through the crowd.

“I was told to keep this speech short,” she added, a slight pause, “so naturally I ignored that advice completely.” That earned a louder laugh from the audience. Patty’s mouth curved slightly, just briefly, before she continued.

“When I first stood in this school,” she said, “I thought graduating would feel like arriving somewhere.” She looked down at the podium for a moment, then back up. “But I don’t think it’s that. Not really.”

The room quieted again, laughter fading into attention.

“I think it’s more like… realizing you’ve been building something the entire time without noticing. Every argument. Every mistake. Every day you thought didn’t matter.” Her fingers rested lightly on the edge of the podium.

“And then suddenly you look back and it all makes sense in a way it didn’t while you were living it.”

A pause.

“I didn’t always do things right here,” she admitted, a small breath of honesty slipping through. “I got things wrong. A lot of things.” A few heads nodded around the room, some laughter returning softly.

“But I was also lucky,” she continued. “More than I probably deserved sometimes.”

Her gaze drifted again—briefly, almost unconsciously—toward the audience.

And for just a second, her eyes landed where Lilly was sitting. Patty looked away again, a little quicker this time, like she had felt the moment more than she meant to show.

“I had people who didn’t give up on me,” she said, voice quieter now. “Even when I was difficult. Even when I didn’t know how to explain what I meant.”

Her grip tightened slightly on the podium.

“And I think that’s what I’ll remember most.”

A pause lingered.

Then she softened her tone slightly.

“So if I had to leave you with anything,” she said, “it’s this—don’t wait until things end to realize they mattered while they were happening.”

The auditorium went still.

Even the restless students had quieted.

“Because most of the time,” Patty added, “you don’t get a warning. You just… look around one day and realize it’s already the last time.”

Her voice caught just slightly on the word last, but she recovered quickly.

“And that’s not meant to be sad,” she said, straightening a little. “It’s meant to be a reminder to show up for your life while it’s still happening.”

A small breath.

“Thank you to the teachers who pushed us. Even when we complained.”

Light laughter again.

“And thank you to the people sitting next to us for the last few years who made all of this feel less impossible than it probably should’ve been.”

Her eyes flicked once more through the crowd, softer now.

“Congratulations, everyone.”

A pause.

Then, more quietly:

“We made it.”

For a moment after she finished, there was silence. Then the applause came. And Patty stepped back from the microphone slowly, exhaling like she had been holding her breath for the entire speech.

Back in the crowd, Lilly clapped again—slower this time, like she was trying to absorb every part of what she had just heard without letting it spill over too visibly.

But her smile didn’t fade.

The noise of the ceremony didn’t fade so much as it fractured into smaller pieces.

Claps becoming conversations. Conversations becoming laughter. Laughter becoming movement.

People stopped being an audience and became individuals again, scattering into clusters of memory and emotion, calling names they were suddenly afraid to stop saying.

Patty was still in the center of it. Still being pulled into congratulations she barely had time to return properly. But her eyes weren’t really there anymore. They kept drifting.

Lilly moved through the crowd slower than everyone else, like she was afraid that if she moved too quickly the moment she was waiting for would pass without noticing her.

She caught glimpses of people she knew.

Ronnie arguing loudly with someone about absolutely nothing. Marge smiling in that quiet way she only did when she was overwhelmed but trying not to show it. Rich and Will already mid-argument again, like they had promised each other years ago they would never become boring.

Matty just watching it all like he had finally learned how to belong without forcing it.

And then—

Patty saw her.

Like the world simply corrected itself.

“Lilly.”

She didn’t even say it loudly. But Lilly heard it anyway. And then Patty was already moving.

Running towards her. The space between them disappeared too quickly to be properly understood. Lilly barely had time to open her arms before Patty reached her and pulled her in.

Patty lifted her off her feet like she had been holding something too heavy for too long and finally decided she didn’t want to carry it alone anymore.

Lilly let out a surprised laugh, breath breaking slightly as her arms wrapped around her instinctively.

“Hey—!” she managed, but it came out soft, almost swallowed by the sound of everything else around them.

Patty spun her once, just enough for the world to tilt, just enough for it to feel unreal again, and then set her down slowly like she was afraid gravity might take her back if she let go too suddenly.

But she didn’t let go.

Lilly was still smiling when she steadied herself. Still holding on lightly at Patty’s sleeves like she was checking if she was really there.

“Congratulations,” she said, voice warmer now, softer at the edges. “Class valedictorian.”

Patty tilted her head slightly, a familiar spark returning to her expression—the same one she had when she refused to take life too seriously even when it tried to be serious with her.

“I may be the smartest girl in school,” she said, “but that doesn’t mean I don’t get to be an idiot when it comes to you.”

Lilly let out a breathy laugh, shaking her head like she didn’t know whether to be offended or fond.

“That’s not how intelligence works.”

“It is if I decide it is.”

That made Lilly laugh again, quieter this time, like it had settled somewhere deeper than humor. For a second, neither of them moved.

Then—

“Patty!”

Elaine appeared first, followed closely by Rhonda, both of them cutting through the crowd like they had been waiting for their turn.

“There she is,” Elaine said, grabbing Patty immediately. “You were dramatic. I just want you to know that officially.”

“I was giving a speech,” Patty protested.

“You were performing,” Rhonda corrected, already pulling her into a hug.

Patty laughed into it, arms wrapping around both of them without hesitation, like something in her had been waiting for that exact kind of grounding all day. Lilly stepped half a pace back, not leaving, just giving space. Her smile stayed.

She watched Patty like that—watching her exist fully in her own world of people who had known her before everything became complicated.

Then Patty looked back at her. Just for a second. Over Elaine’s shoulder. Lilly nodded slightly, almost imperceptibly, like an answer only she was meant to give. And Patty turned back to her friends again.

“Okay,” Terri’s voice called through the noise.

“Group photo. Everyone. Now.”

She was already holding the camera up like there was no universe in which she was accepting refusal. Ronnie groaned immediately. “We just did one.”

“And now you get another,” Terri replied.

“This is emotional taxation,” Rich muttered as he was shoved into position.

“It’s memory preservation,” Marge corrected calmly.

Will sighed. “Same thing.”

Matty just stood where he was, letting himself be pulled into place without complaint. Ronnie leaned slightly toward Lilly as they all shuffled together.

“If I die from social interaction overload, tell my story,” she whispered.

“I will absolutely exaggerate it,” Lilly whispered back.

“Good.”

Slowly, they formed into something resembling a group. Patty moved back toward Lilly’s side without thinking about it, shoulder brushing hers like it was the most natural place in the world to return to.

Lilly didn’t move away. Didn’t step closer either. Terri lifted the camera. For a moment, everything stilled.

Not because the world stopped. But because they all did. Because there are moments that don’t announce themselves as endings, even when they are.

Moments that just quietly ask to be remembered.

“Alright,” Terri said softly.

“Smile.”

And the shutter clicked.