Dim-lit LED lights flickered like a rave in slow motion,
painting the living room in neon blue and ghost-white strobes.
Moonlight spilled lazily through the window blinds,
brushing over sweaty faces, half-dressed dancers,
and the red solo cups clutched like lifelines.
Bass-heavy hip-hop rattled the drywall. The floor was a trampoline of bad decisions. Clouds of vape and weed smoke danced like spirits in the air. Somewhere between the clinking of bottles
and the giggling of drunk couples—
The Party happened.
Not a gathering. Not a kickback.
This was THE party.
A jungle of underaged chaos,
hormonal greed, and audacity
only youth could provide.
And sitting right on the armrest of
a half-sunken faux leather couch… Teetering like a dollar-store Buddha
statue in a windstorm…
Kelvin,
Middle schooler. 13 years old. Trying way too hard to fit in.
He wasn't just tipsy. He wasn't even buzzed. This man skipped all intermediate stages and
took a private jet to
"dawg... I think -belch- I think I just saw God".
A Hennessy bottle near him wasn't even his. The blunt he tried to puff had been backwards. His eyes were half-lidded, brother was Astro projecting, No not you Travis
"It's Lit"
His mouth far too unfiltered.
At first, no one cared.
He was just the "little cousin" someone brought. Background noise.
Comic relief.
Until someone asked him a simple,
cursed question: "Yo lil' man, you ever messed around with a girl?"
"Hell yea man, I'm nice with the chikas" Kelvin hiccupped,
grinning, "she's actually my..."
Someone blinked.
"Wait… WHAT?"
Kelvin leaned forward,
as if preparing for a TED Talk.
"Think about it. She's not my...
We just… you know, hang out.
Get close sometimes. Play around.
Sometimes I can get a little handsy."
He snorted. "That's one spice I don't mind."
The circle went silent. Someone turned down the music.
A couch creaked as someone sat up.
A guy holding a half-empty bottle of Henny narrowed his eyes.
"Bro… that's Incest."
Kelvin nodded like he'd just solved world hunger. "Nah bro, it's borderline Incest, she's my Stepsister."
Someone in the back gagged.
Another boy yelled, "Is this nigga serious?"
Kelvin kept going. "We only had vaginal sex once,
were usually good with just anal, or blowjobs."
A hush. A universal inhale. The kind of silence that made God pause Netflix.
"…You mean…?"
"Yeah," Kelvin said, nodding proudly.
"But we mainly do the backdoor stuff. Less risky."
Mouths dropped.
One dude dropped his blunt. A girl gasped like she'd seen a ghost. A phone definitely started recording.
"BRO. WHAT?!"
"You weird as hell man, I don't know what to think anymore man!
Get out of my head man, get out of my head!"
Kelvin, now swaying, raised a
finger as if it would excuse everything.
"She CAME ON TO ME,
He started laughing. "SEE WHAT I DID THERE?"
He almost fell off the couch
from the force of his own laugh.
A girl in the back whispered,
"I think I just lost brain cells
that I'm not gonna get back."
A boy responded, "And they say alcohols bad"
The crowd grew.
Phones came out. Snaps were flying. One guy pulled up a meme app.
"I knew this party would be wild… …but this shi critical."
Kelvin, still smiling, blinked
at the flashlights now aimed at him.
One of the high schoolers leaned
toward another, whispering, "He's gonna wake up and be a
stepdad to his own nephew…"
And then—
The front door slammed open.
Headlights.
Sandals.
Death.
Kelvin's mom.
Still in her house robe.
Fury in both fists.
Eyes like she saw sin incarnate.
She marched through the crowd
like Moses parting the Red Sea—
if Moses were Latina,
furious, and armed with
a size 9 sandal.
"¡KELVIN ANTONIO MORALES!"
Kelvin blinked,
beer still in hand.
"…Ma?"
His mind? Blank.
His soul? Escaping through his nostrils.
His pride? Already in the afterlife.
She snatched his ear like
it owed her money.
"¿UNA FIESTA DE SECUNDARIA?!
¿TÚ TE CREES UN HOMBRE AHORA?!"
"Wait—Ma, just chill for a—"
"SHUT UP."
Some kid near the porch whispered,
"Yo… I think that's his mom."
Another leaned in,
smirking.
"Wait till she hears
the stepsister part…"
And right on cue—
"YO MA'AM! YOU SHOULD ASK
WHAT HE SAID ABOUT HIS STEPSISTER!"
Kelvin's stomach dropped.
"NO—"
His mom froze.
Her shadow darkened.
The house went quiet.
Even the music ducked under a table.
"…¿QUÉ DIJERON?"
"MA—"
SMACK!!!
Like a thunderclap
on judgment day.
Her sandal met flesh with
precision passed down
from generations.
A few people winced.
Someone screamed "Fatality!"
"¡¿CON TU HERMANA POSTIZA?!
¿¡TÚ ESTÁS MALDITAMENTE LOCO?!"
She unleashed a rapid-fire combo
of Spanish curses so severe,
even Google Translate needed a nap.
"¡VERGÜENZA! ¡DEMONIO!"
Kelvin was dragged out like a guilty cat—
kicking, apologizing, and sobering up mid-sentence.
The crowd? Devastated from laughter.
The legend? Cemented.
[WORLD FREEZES]
The color drains.
Everything pauses.
Kelvin turns to the imaginary camera,
battered and breathless,
gripping his sandal-scorched cheek.
KELVIN (mockumentary-style):
"So uh… yeah.
That's my mom.
She's a Gemini.
Also?
I'm pretty sure she just whooped
me into another timeline.
I think I saw my abuelita
in the light for a sec…"
He adjusts his shirt and
leaned closer to the camera.
"But hey, let's not pretend y'all didn't wanna
know about the stepsister thing.
This is your fault too."
A graphic flashes across the screen:
"SCENE SNATCHER ACTIVE —
Kelvin Morales has taken over
the narrative"
[Complete with bongos
and a dramatic telenovela sting.]
And just like that—
[WORLD RESUMES]
Kenny leaned forward with narrowed eyes,
as if something had just clicked in his brain.
Kenny squinted, his head tilting slightly.
"Wait a minute, wait a minute...
your last name is Morales?"
he asked, the realization hitting him
like a delayed punchline.
Kelvin, still adjusting his
metaphorical spotlight, blinked. "Yeah?"
Kenny recoiled slightly,
eyes wide. "What in the Spider-Man?"
Hunter turned slowly,
deadpan expression locked on Kenny.
"Wait… that's what you're concerned about?"
"Yea, you right." Kenny nodded,
then fired off the real jab.
"You fucked your step-sister?"
Kelvin blinked once.
"...That's one way of putting it"
The room froze.
Hunter covered his face with both hands.
Kenny leaned back, barking out a laugh
loud enough to echo off the walls.
"Yo, honestly, I think we could end the story right here.
I seriously doubt there's anything else we need to know, bro!"
The laughter between the trio erupted
like a firecracker—raw and infectious.
Kelvin scratched the back of his
head and shrugged with a sheepish grin.
"What can I say? I'm the gift that keeps on giving."
Hunter, trying to regain his composure,
leaned back and took a deep breath.
"Alright, alright... I guess that leaves me."
His chuckle came with a nervous undertone.
"But, uh… fair warning, mine's a little... different."
Kenny tilted his head, grinning. "Different how?"
Hunter, playing with the corner of his shirt
looks up and blushes, "I guess you can say I had
an anime misunderstanding moment, but in real life."
Kenny and Kelvin glance at each other, then Kelvin begins to
smile, "Oh, I know this story,
are you going to tell what really happened?"
Yep..
The scene switches
[Kendals Room]
After Day 1 of the present day [future event]
to an elegant atmosphere, air purifier blowing sweet scented
fragrances in air. Dim lit room, warm orange glow from the
flames of the candle. A golden display.
Here lies Kendal, wearing a white and pink fluffy
robe contrasting with her natural blue eyes,
long but not messy carefully groomed hair.
The room has a warm tent to it, almost as if
she's letting everyone know she's the comfort
of her own reality
She sits upright on her bed, gently filing her tone nails,
taking care of her soft feet, making sure each toe nail is
nice an even, grooming her self like a cat cleaning it's fur. (Adorable)
As she finishes she stares at her blank ceiling than looks
besides herself at the empty space upon her bed.
Imaginations run wild.
While active she begins to ponder, and think about
her previous work days as a student, and student council
role.
Kendal sighs but not one of disappointment but of genuine happiness,
"I can't believe it.
Hunter's actually attending the same school as me."
"I haven't seen him since we were kids, he's... gotten taller"
Kendal, excited begins to blush and hug her pillow rolling back
and forth on her bed rapidly,
until she fell off it.
"ouch...', Kendal lying on the floor looks up at the ceiling,
Her robe was open exposing her breast and nipples,
As she lies she begins to ponder.
"Damn I just realized I have no idea on how to
approach him, This morning was a disaster, I hope
he doesn't hate me for doing my job."
Kendal begins to sigh again, but this time, of sadness.
She begins to think to herself as she still lies on the floor.
"Does he remember me?"
Kendal gasp and jolts up to her knees still being exposed
the jolt was explosive, making her breast fall out even more.
They bounce exposing their shape and size, which would make the
average joe drool out of anticipation, waiting for it's
inevitable exposure.
"I hope he doesn't hold a grudge, no Hunter I'm sorry.
I was just a kid at the time, I didn't really mean that."
Kendal embarrassed face glows red like a break light.
Kendal clears her throat trying to gain composure.
"I'd like to thank him, for inspiring me to work on myself
without him, I wouldn't be the woman I am today."
Kendal getting worked up begins
to cover her face with her palms,
"DAMN IT', WHY WAS THAT THE LAST THING I SAID TO HIM!"
Kendal whimpers, out of sadness and frustration.
Then sighs in defeat.
"I'm such an idiot. But does he still like me?
I don't know what to think.
And to think I trained my body to impress him,
what if it was for nothing." she whimpers and pouts
like a little kid, (So CUUUTTTTEEEEEEE)
Kendal worried about her past
she begins to sigh in sadness.
But then Kendal jolts up once more,
but this time on her feet.
"I'll change my fate" she's says with
a smile of confidence
This time her breast,
completely flops out of her robe.
"Huh," Kendal begins to realize her breast are
out of her robe and she's completely exposed.
Kendal, awkwardly grabs her breast and tucks it back in her robe
and clears her throat in embarrassment,
despite no one being around
to witness this failure.
Kendal sat on the floor,
back resting against the side of her bed,
phone tossed somewhere nearby and forgotten.
One leg was folded beneath her, the other stretched out,
toes flexing absentmindedly as she stared at nothing in particular.
"Where was I again…?" she muttered softly to herself. "Oh… yeah. Hunter."
Her shoulders relaxed for half
a second—then immediately tensed.
"Maybe this was a waste of time,"
she whispered, eyes drifting to the ceiling.
"I'd really like to experience
that with him… and only him."
The thought came uninvited. Warm. Close. Butterflies.
Her face instantly burned.
"Oh—NO. I CAN'T THINK THAT WAY!"
She squeezed her eyes shut and slapped both hands
over her face, elbows digging into her knees as she
let out a muffled groan,
shaking her head like she could
physically eject the thought.
Get it together.
Absolutely not.
She dragged her hands down slowly,
exhaling, trying to steady herself.
"Why did we have to have our reunion
like that…?" she sighed.
"I was such a bitch to him."
Her voice wasn't sharp—just tired.
Regret sat heavy in her chest,
dull but persistent.
"But it can't be as bad as I used to be… right?"
she added quietly, almost asking the room for reassurance.
"I was just doing my job.
Student council. That's all."
She hugged her knees closer to herself.
But even as she said it,
that excuse felt thin.
"…That argument,"
she murmured, eyes unfocusing.
"It really takes me back."
The room seemed to grow quieter,
the present slowly peeling away as memory crept in.
"I remember it all like it was yesterday."
The scene shifts.
A school hallway bathed in cheap fluorescent light,
lockers dented and scuffed like they'd
survived several small wars.
The air smelled like pencil shavings,
cafeteria grease, and teenage resentment.
And then—
Kendal.
Fourteen years old,
strutting down the corridor like she
owned the deed to the building.
A pink tutu layered with earth-toned brown
fabric swayed with every step,
intentionally impractical, deliberately loud.
It wasn't meant to fit in.
It was meant to announce her.
Heads turned.
Not with admiration.
Not with curiosity.
With distain.
Whispers followed her like flies.
She didn't slow down.
If anything, she walked faster—chin up,
posture immaculate, eyes sharp enough to cut glass.
The kind of presence that made people
instinctively move aside,
even if they hated her for it.
She reeked of arrogance.
Early Dragon Ball Z Vegeta energy.
The "I don't need you,
you need to get out of my way" type.
Some students swore if you stared at her too long,
her gaze would evaporate you on a molecular level.
Kendal, age fourteen, was—
"HEY."
The world jolts.
"I did not give you permission
to talk so poorly about me, Ms. Narrator."
[…I'm sorry—wait, why am I apologizing?
I'm literally writing you.]
She stops walking mid-hallway.
The scene freezes behind her.
Students suspended mid-whisper.
A locker door stuck half-open.
Someone mid-blink.
Kendal turns, looks directly at the camera.
"I control my own destiny bub.
So stay in the background and do your job."
She gestures vaguely at the air,
as if swiping away a nuisance.
"I make way more money than you.
Which is why this hasn't been animated yet, brokie."
[Kendal says with a vulgar and demanding tone,
making even me back down—wait a minute, I NEVER SAID THAT.]
[How are you—]
"What's it to ya?" she snaps instantly.
"Like I said—this is my story."
[THIS IS WHY YOU HAVE NO FRIENDS YOU SPOILED B#$CH]
[Okay. We're changing narrators.
Hoppy is upset. It is I—her supportive boyfriend.]
—Hoppy has left the chat—
[…Okay. Where were we? Oh yeah.]
Time resumes.
Kendal continues walking as if nothing happened,
heels tapping against the floor with military precision.
She wasn't cruel for fun—she was cruel because
she thought that was how strength worked.
Because no one ever taught her how to lead without ruling.
She was a commander at heart.
A general without a war worth fighting.
A queen with no kingdom—just a
throne she dragged behind her everywhere she went.
Misguided.
Overconfident.
Sharp-tongued and sharper-minded.
A leader who didn't yet understand that
authority without empathy only breeds isolation.
But still—
There was something magnetic about her.
Something undeniable.
Even the people who hated her watched closely.
Because whether they liked it or not—
Kendal was going places.
"Move aside, please.
I'm trying to get to class,
and you're blocking me."
Kendal stated it flatly, chin raised,
posture straight, irritation
seeping through every syllable.
The hallway was congested—students
bottlenecked between lockers,
laughter bouncing off metal doors,
backpacks bumping into hips.
To Kendal, it wasn't chaos.
It was inefficiency.
And inefficiency irritated her.
"I'm trying to move, but everyone's blocking me.
Don't be a spoiled brat."
The other female student snapped back,
exasperation lacing her voice.
She wasn't wrong—but the words were loaded.
Careless.
Dangerous.
Kendal stopped.
Slowly.
"What did you call me?!"
Her voice cracked like a whip.
The air shifted instantly.
The chatter around them dulled,
replaced by that subtle,
instinctive silence people fall into when they sense
something bad is about to happen.
Kendal's irritation ignited into something sharper—hotter.
Her eyes narrowed, locking onto
the girl like a predator measuring distance.
Kendal responded rapidly, words firing
off with practiced precision, disdain dripping
from every syllable. She flexed her lexicon
like a Liberian entering a spelling bee,
each sentence carefully sharpened to cut.
"Your incompetence is palpable,
your presence—"
She stopped herself.
Not because she ran out of words.
Because the hallway moved.
Someone shoved past. A locker slammed.
The crowd, already tense,
began to flow again—pressure shifting,
bodies redirecting.
The girl scoffed under her breath and
slipped away into the noise,
the argument unfinished but not forgotten.
Kendal exhaled sharply through her nose.
The heat didn't fade.
It followed her.
She stepped forward again,
irritation still coiled tight in her chest,
eyes already catching movement ahead—
Another cluster.
Another voice.
Another mistake.
The hallway didn't suddenly get quieter.
It only felt like it did.
Kendal adjusted the hem of her outfit—pink
layered against earth-toned brown, deliberate,
calculated, chosen with care—and stepped forward again.
Students parted just enough to let her through,
not out of respect, but avoidance.
Whispers followed her like loose threads.
She heard them.
She always did.
A girl near the lockers snorted, loud enough to be heard.
"That skirt looks like a cupcake threw up."
Laughter rippled.
Kendal stopped.
Not abruptly. Not dramatically.
She turned slowly, like she was
deciding whether this moment was worth her energy.
Her eyes landed on the girl.
"Oh," Kendal said, tilting her head.
"Was that supposed to be humorous?"
The girl blinked. "I—huh?"
Kendal took a step closer.
Not invading space.
Just close enough to matter.
"I'm just trying to understand," she continued,
hands folding neatly behind her back.
"Because if you're going to say something that dumb out loud,
I want to know if it was on purpose…
or if thinking just isn't your strong suit."
A few kids sucked in air.
The girl's face reddened.
"I was joking."
"So your a comedian," Kendal said quickly.
I like jokes, tell another, if you can't,
That was just you… talking."
She paused, eyes flicking over the
girl from head to toe—not cruel, just assessing.
"And honestly," Kendal added, voice lighter now,
almost bored, "I wouldn't comment on other people's
clothes if I still dressed like my mom
buys my outfits at the clearance rack."
The girl's mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
Her eyes shimmered. She turned away,
shoulders tight, wiping at her
face as she walked off.
Kendal exhaled through her nose.
Childish? Maybe.
Necessary? Definitely.
She turned back toward her path just as
a familiar voice cut through the lingering tension.
"Hey. Kendal."
She stiffened.
Then relaxed—just a fraction.
She turned to Hunter.
"You..."
"What do you want, Hunter?"
The words came out sharp, annoyed—but something
underneath shifted. The tension she'd
been winding up loosened just a little.
The anger didn't vanish, but it redirected,
diluted into irritation instead of outright hostility.
Relief flickered beneath her
expression before she could stop it.
At least now, she didn't have to burn the hallway down.
Just deal with him.
And somehow—despite herself—that felt easier.
Hunter scratched the back of his neck.
"Uh—nothing. I was just—"
"If you're here to chat, you're in my way,"
Kendal cut in, adjusting the strap of her bag
with a practiced flick of her wrist.
"If you're here to apologize,
save it for after class. I'm late."
Hunter still present persist walking along side her.
"Uh. Nothing serious. Just… didn't think
you'd yell at someone before homeroom."
"I wasn't yelling," Kendal replied instantly.
"I was addressing ."
Hunter blinked. "…Right."
"If you don't need anything," she continued,
hastening her pace, "then don't hover."
She walked off before he could respond,
chin lifted, steps precise.
Kendal turned away from Hunter before
he could say anything else.
She told herself it was because the conversation was over.
Not because staying any longer made her chest feel tight.
As she walked, a thought slipped in—uninvited.
Why does he always look at me like that?
Like I'm doing something wrong.
Why do his thoughts bother me?
She shook the thought away.
Literally.
A sharp tilt of her head, a small breath out,
like she could fling it off her
shoulder and leave it behind on the tile.
But behind her—
She could feel it.
The looks.
The whispers that weren't whispers.
They clung to her back, crawled up her spine,
pressed against her ears whether she wanted them to or not.
"I hate this girl."
"She's such a spoiled brat."
"She acts like that because of her daddy's money."
"She's not the queen."
"Hater."
"She so mean."
"What a bully."
"Monster."
"This is why no one likes her."
"I hate her."
"Why does she even come here, go to a private school."
"Drop dead."
"Who made her a god."
"She thinks she's better than everyone."
"She's a monster."
"Brat."
"This is why she has no friends,
she treats everyone—including the
one guy nice to her—like trash."
"She's never going to have friends."
"Who does she think she is."
"How can she judge."
"If anyone does anything, she'll just run to daddy."
Her steps slowed.
Not enough for anyone to notice.
Just enough for it to feel heavier.
In her mind, crisp and immediate, she responded—
Peasants.
The word landed like armor.
She turned down a different hallway without thinking.
The noise around her dulled, stretched thin,
as if the school itself had taken a breath and
forgotten to let it out. Students passed her,
lockers slammed, laughter echoed—but
none of it fully reached her.
Bathroom.
Cold tile beneath her shoes.
Fluorescent lights buzzing overhead.
She didn't look at the mirror.
Didn't need to.
Her hands rested on the sink,
fingers curling around the porcelain as she
breathed in—slow, controlled—then out.
She waited for the tightness to ease.
For the weight to settle back where it belonged.
She fixed her posture.
Smoothed her clothes.
By the time she stepped back into the hall,
it felt like time had moved without her.
The corridors were quieter now.
Classes had started.
Her pace picked up—not rushed, just aware.
The classroom door came into view faster than she expected.
She slipped inside, cutting it close—unusual for her.
Six seats to the right.
That's where he was.
Hunter noticed immediately.
Her posture was looser than usual.
Not sloppy—just… less rigid.
Her movements were faint.
Slightly sluggish. Like she was carrying
something she didn't want to set down.
Her face looked faintly red,
eyes angled just a little too close to the floor.
To anyone else, she looked normal.
To Hunter—
Something was off.
And he took note of it.
The classroom smelled like dry erase markers and boredom.
In class, the teacher smiled far too pleasantly.
"Group project."
Kendal exhaled through her nose.
Names were called. Fate assembled her punishment.
She sat with three students who immediately
avoided eye contact.
Kendal stood at the front of the group table,
clipboard resting against her arm,
eyes scanning her assigned teammates.
Three students slouched in their seats, already annoyed.
"Okay," Kendal said, pulling out her planner.
"We don't have time to mess around,
so I'll organize everything."
One student raised a hand slightly.
"Um… should we, like, vote on stuff?"
Kendal frowned. "Vote on what?"
"Like… ideas?"
"We don't need ideas," Kendal replied.
"We need execution."
They stared.
The boy frowned.
"You don't gotta talk like that."
"Like what?" Kendal snapped,
then stopped herself, inhaling sharply.
She folded her hands on the desk.
"I'm just saying… if you want a decent grade,
maybe don't act like this is recess."
No one argued after that.
They didn't thank her either.
"Okay," she said.
"Here's how this is going to work."
She began assigning roles without waiting for feedback.
Research. Presentation. Slides. Timing.
"You'll do research," she said, pointing.
"You'll make the slides. Try not to use Comic Sans."
"And you," she glanced at the last student, "just… don't disappear."
A girl crossed her arms. "You're not the teacher."
"I know," Kendal replied calmly.
"But I am the only one here who cares if we fail."
That shut them up.
She blinked. "I'm not being mean. I'm being efficient."
Silence.
"Just do your parts," she added,
softer but firm. "I'll handle the rest."
They nodded quickly.
Good.
Why is it so hard for people to just listen?
I'm helping.
Across the room, she felt eyes on her again.
Hunter.
Watching.
Not judging.
That made her uncomfortable.
She turned away, focusing harder on her notes.
Perfect handwriting. Clean structure.
If people didn't like her—
That was their problem.
By the end of class, the tension hadn't faded.
It had settled.
Something sour clung to the air,
like a bad aftertaste no one wanted to acknowledge.
When the bell rang, chairs scraped back immediately,
students scattering as if distance itself might absolve them.
Kendal stayed seated.
Only for a moment longer than necessary.
She gathered her things carefully,
movements precise, practiced.
Her jaw was tight.
She told herself it was just concentration.
Just get up. Just leave.
A chair scraped too close.
Someone laughed behind her. Then—
"Is that… velvet?" a girl snickered.
"It's not a costume party."
Kendal stopped.
Her fingers tightened around her bag strap.
She didn't turn right away.
She counted to two instead.
Then she faced the girl.
No yelling.
No swearing.
She tilted her head slightly,
eyes narrowing—not in anger, but in assessment,
like she was deciding whether this
interaction was even worth finishing.
"You know," Kendal said evenly,
"when someone comments on clothes
instead of anything important,
it usually means they don't have much going on upstairs."
The words landed clean.
The girl scoffed. "Whatever."
That did it.
Not because it hurt—but because it dismissed her.
Kendal took a small step closer,
voice still calm, still measured.
"Also," she added, choosing each word carefully,
"if you want attention, do something worth noticing,
your the background character of your own story, pitiful."
She smiled.
Not cruel.
Disappointed.
The kind of look that said I expected better,
even if she wasn't sure why she did.
The girl flushed. Her mouth opened,
then shut. She looked away quickly, blinking.
Someone nearby whispered,
"Damn, she's gonna cry in the car."
Kendal turned back around.
Her heart was racing now,
but she didn't let it show.
"I didn't yell. I didn't curse.
I handled it."
So why did her chest feel so tight?
Behind her, she felt it—heat, tension,
the unmistakable shift of someone
deciding whether to push back.
A fist clenched.
Kendal didn't turn.
Are you angry because your words didn't work?
She stayed still, spine straight.
Get mad... I don't really care,
show everyone what a barbarian you are.
Prove me right.
The silence stretched.
Then—
The fist loosened.
The moment deflated, collapsing in on itself.
The girl looked smaller somehow,
her posture folding inward.
Kendal exhaled slowly.
Her hands were shaking.
She hadn't wanted to win.
She'd just wanted it to stop.
She slung her bag over her shoulder
and walked out of the classroom,
expression unreadable.
Not triumphant.
Not relieved.
Just tired.
And ready to go home.
Hours passed, and the day was over, same old school life,
nothing worth noting,
The ride home was... quiet.
Not peaceful—just quiet in the way empty rooms were quiet.
The hum of the engine filled the space between them,
steady and unchanging,
like it had no intention of slowing down for anyone.
Her father glanced at her from the driver's seat,
fingers tapping lightly against the steering wheel.
"How was school?"
"Fine," Kendal replied.
The word came out automatically.
Too smooth. Too practiced.
He nodded, satisfied with the answer.
Or maybe just relieved to have one.
Outside the window, the world blurred past in muted colors.
Buildings. Cars. People walking in pairs.
Groups laughing at bus stops.
Kendal watched them without really seeing them,
her reflection faintly layered over everything—perfect hair,
perfect posture, eyes that gave nothing away.
Her father started talking again.
Something about meetings. Investors.
A project that finally closed.
His voice was warm, confident.
Proud, even. She caught pieces of it—timelines,
returns, good news. He always sounded like
this when things were going well.
And they usually were.
"…I've been putting a lot into the LA branch,"
he continued, eyes still on the road.
"It's paying off faster than expected."
LA.
The word floated past her, not quite landing.
"That school I told you about," he went on.
"Public, but well-funded. Strong programs.
Students with… similar backgrounds."
Kendal blinked.
Her fingers curled slightly in her lap.
"…pulled some strings," he added casually.
"Got the paperwork handled early.
You'll be on student council there too.
Executive board likes familiarity."
Student council.
Her chest tightened—not sharply,
just enough to remind her it was there.
He kept talking.
Something about how this place would be better for her.
How the kids there would get her.
How she wouldn't have to deal with the same nonsense.
How she never wanted private school anyway—still
don't understand that,
but alright—and how this was a good middle ground.
His words started to blur.
Friends.
She heard that one clearly.
"…you'll make friends easier there," he said.
"People you can relate to. People on your level."
Her gaze dropped to the floor of the car.
The rest faded into noise.
They pulled into the driveway before she realized the ride was over.
The car stopped. The engine clicked off.
For a second, Kendal didn't move.
Her father was already stepping out,
voice still going as if the conversation had never paused.
She followed a beat later, movements stiff,
slightly delayed—like her body was half
a step behind her thoughts.
He turned to her, mid-sentence, smiling.
"…after your birthday," he said.
"A few days. Start packing.
Say your goodbyes."
Goodbyes.
Kendal nodded.
"Yeah," she said. "Okay."
He seemed satisfied. Reached out,
briefly smoothing her hair like
she was still small enough for that to matter.
Inside, the house felt the same as always.
Too big.
Too clean.
Too quiet.
She slipped out of her shoes and
headed straight for her room,
closing the door behind her.
The click echoed louder than it should have.
She leaned against the door for
a moment longer than necessary.
Her reflection stared back
at her from the mirror across the room.
Perfect clothes.
Perfect posture.
Perfect control.
She slid down until she was sitting on the floor,
back against the wall,
knees drawn in slightly.
Her room was immaculate. Carefully curated.
Expensive things placed just right.
Gifts that tried very hard to make up for time.
The images from school crept back in, uninvited.
The looks.
The whispers.
The way people scattered when the bell rang.
Her chest tightened again.
She pressed her forehead against her knees, eyes closed.
This is fine, she told herself.
This is how it's always been.
Outside her door, her father's voice drifted faintly
through the house—already on the phone,
already somewhere else.
Kendal didn't cry.
She just sat there.
Alone.
Waiting for the feeling to pass.
The house didn't get quieter.
It just pressed in closer.
Kendal stayed where she was for a long time,
back against the wall,
knees pulled in—not because she was tired,
but because standing felt like effort.
Like movement meant admitting something had gone wrong today.
Something she couldn't fix with posture or tone or vocabulary.
Her phone buzzed.
Nothing important.
A notification she didn't open.
A name she didn't care about.
Another reminder that the world was still moving,
still talking, still laughing—without her participation.
She stayed there until the light shifted through the window,
until the house felt heavier than before.
Later, she walked to the ice cream shop alone.
The street was alive in that quiet, end-of-day way.
People coming home. Doors opening.
Conversations overlapping.
The world loosening its tie.
Money wasn't an issue. It never was.
She ordered without looking at the price,
the cashier recognizing her instantly,
already reaching for the better spoon.
A small courtesy. One of many.
Kendal paid without hesitation,
the card sliding across the counter like
proof that she belonged somewhere—at least here.
She sat by the window.
The ice cream was perfect.
Neatly scooped. Untouched.
Glossy under the shop lights.
Her spoon hovered.
Outside—
Hunter walked by.
Laughing.
Kelvin at his side, talking animatedly,
hands moving everywhere.
Hunter smiled. Wide. Easy.
Not the polite smile people got.
Not the careful one.
The real one.
The kind of smile that didn't need to be earned.
Kendal felt it before she understood it.
The warmth between them. The rhythm.
The way Hunter leaned in slightly as he laughed,
completely present, completely at ease.
The way Kelvin said something and Hunter nearly doubled over,
hand to his chest like breathing was optional.
They didn't see her.
The spoon slipped slightly in her hand.
Cold dripped onto her fingers.
She didn't move to wipe it away.
Outside, they kept walking.
Their laughter faded down the street.
Kendal watched until they disappeared—not because she wanted to,
but because her body refused to look away.
Like if she blinked too soon,
she'd miss something important.
Something she wasn't allowed to have.
Inside, the ice cream melted faster than she expected.
She stared at the reflection in the glass—pink and brown,
perfectly put together. Hair smooth. Outfit flawless.
Someone who looked like she had everything figured out.
Alone.
Her chest felt tight, but not sharply.
Dully. Like pressure underwater.
She finally lifted the spoon.
The ice cream didn't taste sweet anymore.
It tasted like warm salt.
The sidewalk stretched ahead of them,
cracked concrete glowing orange under the sinking sun.
Kelvin was mid-sentence,
hands moving like he was explaining a conspiracy.
"I'm telling you, bro, that patch notes list was lying.
They definitely shadow-buffed the—"
Hunter slowed.
Just a little.
His eyes caught the reflection in the glass.
Pink.
Brown.
Still.
He stopped walking altogether.
Through the ice cream shop window,
Kendal sat alone at a small table near the glass.
Spoon hovering. Cup half-melted.
Her posture was straight—but not sharp.
Her shoulders dipped ever so slightly,
like gravity had decided to make an exception for her today.
Her eyes looked red.
Hunter's chest tightened.
"…Kelvin," he said quietly.
Kelvin took two more steps before realizing Hunter
wasn't beside him anymore.
He turned, annoyed. "What? You lagging already?"
Hunter nodded toward the window.
"That's… Kendal."
Kelvin squinted, leaned forward a bit,
then clicked his tongue.
"Oh. Her."
Hunter didn't answer.
"She looks like she's been crying," he murmured.
Kelvin snorted. "Okay, and?"
Hunter shot him a look. "What do you mean, and?"
Kelvin folded his arms, rocking back on his heels.
"Bro, don't do that thing where you start feeling bad.
That girl treats people like NPCs.
You especially. If she's sad,
that's probably just the universe finally checking her balance."
Hunter hesitated,
eyes still locked on the window.
"She's alone," he said.
Kelvin shrugged. "Yeah. Shocking."
Hunter's jaw tightened.
Kelvin sighed dramatically,
then waved a hand in front of Hunter's face.
"Look, man. I know you think she's cute—"
Hunter didn't deny it.
"—but there are literally millions of women on
this planet who would kill for a guy like you,"
Kelvin continued, dead serious now,
before immediately ruining it with a grin.
"Like statistically speaking,
you could trip over one on the sidewalk and
still have better odds than whatever this is."
Hunter frowned. "Kelvin—"
"I'm just saying," Kelvin cut in,
pointing at the window,
"I don't get why she's your type. Cold. Mean.
Talks like she's scolding the help.
Meanwhile you're out here being… you."
He gestured vaguely. "Nice. Normal. Emotionally functional."
Hunter swallowed.
Inside the shop, Kendal lifted her spoon.
She didn't look up.
Didn't see him.
Kelvin leaned closer, lowering his voice.
"Whatever's got her messed up? That's not your responsibility.
Don't martyr yourself for someone
who wouldn't even notice if you were hurting."
Hunter clenched his jaw.
Kelvin nudged his shoulder. "Come on.
You promised we'd try the new game before my
controller starts drifting again.
And I will cry if that happens."
Hunter exhaled slowly.
"…Yeah," he said.
He turned away.
Didn't look back.
Hunter's house welcomed them with
familiar clutter and comfort.
Shoes kicked off.
Backpacks dropped.
Controllers grabbed like ritual.
The TV flickered to life in a wash of blue and white.
Kelvin flopped onto the couch, already energized.
"Alright, if you pick that character again,
I'm uninstalling the game."
Hunter smirked despite himself.
"Skill issue."
They laughed.
The menu music looped.
The match loaded.
And for a while,
Hunter let himself sink into it—hands moving,
eyes focused, the noise filling the gaps in his head.
But between rounds,
something tugged at him.
A still image.
A window.
Pink and brown.
He shook it off.
Focused forward.
Kendal lay sprawled across her bed,
staring at the ceiling.
Five minutes passed.
Then ten.
Then an eternity.
The silence in her room wasn't peaceful—it was loud.
The kind that pressed against her ears until her
thoughts started pacing back and
forth like they were bored too.
"…I'm bored," she muttered to no one.
Her phone sat beside her. No notifications.
No messages. No group chats
blowing up with plans she wasn't invited to.
She sighed, rolled onto her side, then abruptly sat up.
"…Fine."
She slid off the bed and marched to her desk with purpose,
pulling out a deck of UNO cards like
she was answering a challenge issued by fate itself.
Kendal sat down.
Then paused.
Then pulled the chair across from her out.
She placed cards neatly in front of both seats.
She begins to play, as time goes by
she begins to roleplay.
"…Looks like you have three cards left,"
she said coolly, glancing at the other chair. "I can't let you win."
switching seats she leaned back in her seat,
crossing her arms.
"Like I'd let you counter my strategy," she scoffed. "My skills are top-notch, simpleton."
She stood up.
Walked around the desk.
Sat in the opposite chair.
"Oh? On the contrary—" Kendal snapped,
now playing the enemy with a sharper tone. "TAKE THIS. Draw Two."
She slapped the card down dramatically.
"This card implies you must draw two cards,"
she explained out loud, nodding to herself,
"thus increasing your deck and decreasing your advantage.
Sorry—but I can't let you win."
She gasped.
Then leapt up, chair scraping loudly across
the floor as she hurried back to her original seat.
"Kukuku… You think that will stop me?"
she whispered, eyes narrowing.
"I have a counter for that."
She drew a card slowly. Deliberately.
"BEHOLD."
She slammed it onto the desk.
"My trump card. DRAW FOUR."
She leaned forward, finger tapping the table.
"Therefore… you now have to draw six."
She froze.
Stood up again.
Switched seats.
"…Gasp."
Her hand flew to her chest.
"If you think that's enough to stop me—" she said,
voice trembling with exaggerated disbelief,
"—then you've got another thing coming."
She returned to her first seat, jaw tight.
"Tch… You're bluffing."
She narrowed her eyes at the empty chair across from her.
"…Am I?"
Time passed strangely after that.
The sun shifted across the floor.
The room grew warmer.
Kendal swapped seats again. And again. And again.
Voices changed. Tones shifted. Strategies escalated.
She trash-talked herself. Outplayed herself.
Accused herself of cheating.
At one point, she stood in the middle of the room,
hands on her hips, scolding both players for poor sportsmanship.
Two hours later—
She stared down at the cards.
Silence.
Then she exhaled slowly.
"…It's a draw."
She leaned back in her chair,
staring at the ceiling again.
No victory.
No defeat.
Just… her.
The cards lay scattered between two empty seats.
Kendal didn't smile.
She didn't frown either.
She simply gathered the deck,
squared it carefully, and placed it back
into its box—precise as always.
The room returned to being quiet.
And for a moment—
It felt even quieter than before.
"I need to make the flyers
for my birthday party tomorrow."
Kendal said it out loud,
as if hearing the words might
force her body to move.
The sentence hung in the air
longer than it should have—heavy,
reluctant—like it had been waiting
all day to be acknowledged.
She'd been avoiding it.
Not consciously. Not intentionally.
Just… pushing it to the corner
of her mind where uncomfortable
things waited quietly.
But now, with the night pressing
in and nothing left to distract her,
the thought returned. Louder this time.
She sat up.
"…Okay."
Kendal grabbed her notebook and a handful
of colored pens, spreading them across
her desk with ceremonial care.
The desk lamp flicked on,
bathing the room in a warm,
dim glow that felt smaller than the room itself.
She started sketching.
At first, it was hesitant—light strokes,
rough outlines.
Then the lines grew confident.
Two hours passed without her noticing.
She lost herself in it.
Every detail mattered.
The borders curved just
enough to feel inviting.
The lettering shifted between
bold and cursive, playful but deliberate.
Shading layered carefully,
colors blended with intent.
It wasn't just a flyer.
It was a declaration.
WELCOME TO MY AWESOME BIRTHDAY PARTY
YOU'RE INVITED
The words almost jumped off the page.
At some point, dinner arrived—placed
quietly at her door by her father.
She ate in her room without looking away from her work,
balancing the plate beside her sketchbook,
wiping her fingers clean before touching the page again.
Her artistic vision was unmatched.
Every stroke was intentional.
Every choice precise.
When she finally leaned back,
stretching her sore fingers,
she admired the finished piece.
And then—
Reality crept in.
Kendal blinked.
"…This is only one flyer."
Her eyes drifted to the empty desk.
Then the clock.
Then the door.
No printer.
No open stores.
No shortcuts.
She exhaled slowly.
"…So I'll simplify it."
The disappointment stung—but only briefly.
At least now she had a reference.
She carefully set the original flyer aside,
smoothing the edges with her palm.
"I'll still keep this one,"
she murmured.
A small smile tugged at
her lips—soft, genuine.
The kind that rarely appeared.
For just a moment,
it felt like sunlight had slipped
into her dim room, warm and
brief like spring at noon.
"I need to finish this before I go to sleep,"
she said, a hint of pressure creeping into her voice.
She glanced at the time.
7:00 PM.
Then—
And finally—
10:00 PM.
Past her bedtime.
Her eyes burned.
Her wrist ached.
But she kept going.
One flyer became ten.
Ten became fifty.
Fifty became hundreds.
Three hundred and sixty-eight flyers.
Each one hand-drawn.
Each one colored.
Each one slightly different—tiny notes,
subtle changes, something
unique written on every page.
She didn't cut corners.
She never did.
Eventually, Kendal pushed herself up from the desk,
legs stiff, and began laying out clothes
for the next day. School uniform first.
Then her party clothes—neatly folded, placed just so.
Her movements were slower now.
Quieter.
Her thoughts drifted, uninvited.
Tomorrow was her birthday.
And after that—
She'd be moving.
Leaving this place behind without
ever really belonging to it.
No real friends.
No memories worth packing.
So why did she work so hard?
Why pour so much effort into something
she knew might amount to nothing?
She sat on the edge of her bed,
staring at the stack of flyers.
"…I don't know," she whispered.
Her fingers curled into the fabric beside her.
"Maybe Hu—"
The name almost slipped out.
She stopped herself.
"I hope someone shows up," Kendal said softly.
"Anyone."
The lamp hummed quietly.
Her eyelids felt heavy now.
"Why did I…"
The sentence never finished.
She lay back, still dressed,
flyers stacked neatly on her desk,
the original masterpiece resting carefully on top.
The room dimmed.
Her breathing slowed.
And somewhere between the weight
of tomorrow and the exhaustion of today—
Kendal fell asleep.