Chapter 1 — Unwelcome Arrival

Skyler

The gate squealed like it hadn’t been oiled since the invention of gates, dragging across the gravel with a groan that echoed in my chest. Fitting, I thought, because this place—Paper Planes or whatever—reeked of something old trying to pretend it was new. The ivy on the brick walls clung like it was losing a battle with gravity, and even though the windows gleamed, I couldn’t shake the feeling that they were hiding cracks underneath. The whole place looked like it was trying too hard, and I almost respected the desperation of it. Almost. Not that I cared.

“Take a deep breath, Skyler,” Aunt Gabby said, stepping out of her beat-up station wagon with a kind of forced enthusiasm. Her voice had that syrupy-sweet tone she used when she was trying to draw a line without me noticing. “This isn’t a punishment. It’s an opportunity.”

“Oh, yeah. An opportunity for you to dump me here while you go home and eat churros or whatever,” I said, kicking at a loose pebble on the gravel driveway.

Her sigh was different this time—not the usual annoyed huff she gave when I pushed her buttons. This one was heavier, quieter, like she was trying to carry something for both of us. Her hand landed on my shoulder—steady but not too firm.

“You’re better than this,” she said, her voice softer now. “You just don’t know it yet. But you’ll figure it out. I believe in you, Sky.”

For a second, I almost believed her. Almost.

I shrugged her hand off. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Walking through the doors was like stepping into a too-bright limbo. The lobby smelled like lavender—too much lavender—and that sharp tang of new wood polish that made my nose itch. Throw pillows were scattered everywhere, the couches mismatched but arranged too perfectly, like the set of a sitcom trying to scream “cozy.” Residents drifted in and out, some moving like ghosts while others glanced at me like I was the punchline of a joke they hadn’t decided was funny yet.

“So, this is Skyler,” Aunt Gabby announced to no one in particular, though her gaze settled on a petite woman standing near the front desk. She wore skinny jeans and sneakers, with a flowy blouse that somehow managed to look both casual and annoyingly put-together. Her hair was tied back in one of those low ponytails that said, “I’m chill but also in control of literally everything.”

“Aunt Gabby,” the woman said warmly, giving her a quick hug. But when her eyes shifted to me, her smile cooled—like she’d just realized I was the gum stuck to the bottom of her shoe.

“You must be Skyler,” she said, sticking out her hand. “I’m Alexa Torres. I’ll be your supervisor while you’re here.”

I glanced at her hand but didn’t take it. “Supervisor? What is this, prison?”

Her smile tightened, but she didn’t flinch. “Community service, technically,” she replied evenly. “But if you want to think of it as prison, that’s up to you.”

I smirked at her deadpan tone. At least she wasn’t trying to sugarcoat it.

Alexa turned back to Aunt Gabby, her hands clasping together like she was about to give a PowerPoint presentation. “Don’t worry, Gabby. We’ll take good care of him.”

“I’m not a stray dog,” I muttered, but they ignored me.

“Good luck, Sky,” Aunt Gabby said, her hand finding my shoulder again, just for a second. “You’ve got this,” she added, her voice dipping into something that sounded too much like hope.

And then she was gone, leaving me stranded in this pastel nightmare.

Alexa didn’t waste a second. “Alright,” she said, turning to face me fully, her expression as sharp as her tone. “Let’s set some ground rules—”

“Oh, goodie,” I interrupted, crossing my arms. Her sharp inhale told me I was already testing her patience.

“Rule one,” she said, her voice calm but firm, “you show up on time for your assigned duties. Rule two, you respect the residents and staff. And rule three, you do not disrupt the therapeutic environment. Got it?”

“Sure, boss,” I said, giving her a mock salute.

Her jaw tightened just enough for me to notice, but she didn’t take the bait. Instead, she motioned for me to follow her. “Let’s get your orientation over with.”

We walked down a hallway that smelled like fresh paint and something faintly floral—probably more lavender. The walls were lined with colorful paintings—landscapes, abstract swirls, even a few portraits.

“Residents’ artwork,” Alexa said when she caught me staring. “We encourage creative expression here.”

“Cute,” I muttered, though secretly, I kind of liked it. There was something raw in the brushstrokes, something that felt real in a way I couldn’t explain. Not that I’d admit that out loud.

She led me into a common room where a handful of residents were scattered around. Most of them ignored me, but two stood out.

A girl with short, choppy black hair sat curled up in an armchair, clutching a sketchbook like it was the only thing keeping her upright. Her hazel eyes flicked to me for a split second before darting away. Across the room, a stocky guy with sandy blond hair and gloves that looked like they belonged in a crime lab was meticulously arranging books on a shelf. His movements were so precise it was like he thought something bad would happen if he didn’t get it perfect.

“Sadie and Jerry,” Alexa said, her voice softening slightly. “Two of our long-term residents.”

Jerry glanced at me briefly, then at Alexa, before going back to his books. Sadie didn’t even look up again.

“Charming,” I said with a sarcastic grin. “I’m really winning them over.”

Alexa ignored me, turning toward the hall again. “Your main task today is cleaning the music room,” she said over her shoulder.

At the mention of “music,” something inside me flickered—just for a moment. I shoved it down as quickly as it came.

When we entered the room, the flicker came back, stronger this time. The warm, familiar scent of polished wood and metal strings hit me first. Guitars hung on the walls, a keyboard sat in the corner, and a drum kit gleamed under the sunlight streaming through the windows. The room felt alive, like it was holding its breath, waiting for someone to bring it back to life.

“Okay,” I said, running a finger over the strings of a nearby guitar. “This is tolerable.”

“Tolerable isn’t the goal,” Alexa shot back. “Just clean the instruments and organize them. And no playing. You’re not here to show off.”

I opened my mouth to fire back, but she was already walking out the door.

When she was gone, I picked up one of the guitars and strummed a few chords, the sound filling the room like an old friend. For a second, I could almost forget where I was. Almost.

A soft noise behind me made me turn. It was Sadie, hovering in the doorway like a shadow. She clutched her sketchbook tighter, her knuckles white, but she didn’t move.

“You play?” I asked, holding up the guitar.

She shook her head, then pointed to the sketchbook tucked under her arm.

“Drawing, huh?” I said, strumming another lazy chord. “Cool.”

Her lips parted slightly, like she might say something, but then she bolted, disappearing down the hallway with a quick glance back over her shoulder.

“Nice talk,” I muttered, rolling my eyes.

By the time Alexa came back, I’d cleaned exactly one guitar. She glanced at the room, then at me, her eyebrows raised.

“Impressive work ethic,” she said dryly.

“Thanks, boss,” I replied, leaning against the wall.

She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose like she was already exhausted with me. “This isn’t going to be easy, is it?”

“Nothing worth doing ever is,” I said with a smirk, enjoying the way her jaw clenched.

As she walked me out of the building at the end of the day, I couldn’t resist one last jab. “So, when do I get my Employee of the Month plaque?”

“Let’s see if you last a week first,” she replied without missing a beat.

Touché.

This place might be a pastel prison, but at least the warden had some fight in her.