Chapter 3 — First Impressions and Resentments

Skyler

You ever get that feeling like the universe is actively messing with you? Like some cosmic jerk with a warped sense of humor decided to throw you into a situation just to see how much you’ll squirm? Yeah, that was me.

Day One at Paper Planes, and I was already counting the minutes until I could bail. The walls here were too clean, like someone had scrubbed away every ounce of personality. The smiles? Too forced, like the staff had all learned them from a YouTube tutorial called “How to Pretend You Care in Ten Easy Steps.” And the lavender scent everywhere? Overkill. It was like stepping into a spa where nobody came to relax.

I leaned against the doorway of the common area, flipping my guitar pick necklace between my fingers. Not because I was shy—God, no—but because the idea of participating in whatever therapy-infused kumbaya they had planned made my skin crawl. A few residents were scattered around the room, drawing, reading, or staring off into space like they were waiting for someone to yell “cut.” The whole scene felt... off. Too quiet. Like everyone was holding their breath, waiting for something to crack.

My gaze landed on Alexa, stationed by the window like some kind of therapist drill sergeant. Arms crossed, her expression sharp as broken glass. The sunlight pouring in behind her gave her a halo effect, which might’ve been impressive if she wasn’t looking at me like I was gum stuck to her shoe. Even now, she had that “serene but secretly judging you” vibe on lock.

“Skyler,” she said, her tone professional but edged with that carefully restrained exasperation. “You’re supposed to be helping.”

“I am helping,” I shot back, still flipping the pick between my fingers. “Staying out of everyone’s way is a kind of help. You’re welcome.”

Alexa’s sigh was the kind you let out when you’re stuck behind a car going ten under the speed limit. “This isn’t optional. Grab those art supplies and take them to Sadie.” She nodded toward the far corner, where a girl was practically swallowed by the oversized chair she sat in, her sketchbook balanced on her knees like it might shatter with the wrong move.

Sadie. She was the one who bolted yesterday when I so much as looked her way. Yeah, this was gonna go great.

“Fine,” I said, dragging the word out. I shoved the pick back into my pocket and grabbed the plastic bin of pencils, brushes, and whatever else they’d crammed into it. The weight of the bin wasn’t much, but it still managed to feel like a ball and chain as I trudged across the room.

Sadie didn’t look up when I stopped near her. She was tiny, wrapped in an oversized sweater that looked like it might’ve been stolen off the clearance rack of a thrift store. Her choppy black hair hung in uneven layers around her pale face, and her hazel eyes flickered briefly toward me before darting back down to her sketchbook in a way that reminded me of a startled bird.

“Hey,” I said, setting the bin on the table next to her.

She flinched, her grip tightening on the pencil she held like it was a lifeline. Her shoulders hunched a little more, making her look even smaller.

“Relax,” I said quickly, holding my hands up like I was surrendering. “I’m just the delivery guy.”

Still nothing. Her pencil hovered over the page, the tip trembling slightly. Her whole body seemed wound so tight that one strong breeze might send her spiraling.

I hesitated, fingers brushing over my necklace as I fished for something to say. “What are you working on?”

No response. Just the soft sound of her breathing and the faint scratch of graphite when her pencil accidentally skimmed the edge of her page. I glanced at her sketchbook, but the angle made it hard to see anything beyond faint, jagged lines.

“You know,” I said, softer now, “I used to draw. Well, doodle. Mostly in math class. Teachers hated it, but, hey, it counts, right?”

Her shoulders twitched, just barely, and my chest tightened in a way I didn’t like. There was something about the way she froze up in front of me—like a rabbit trying not to be seen—that left a bad taste in my mouth. I wasn’t used to this. People either pushed back when I prodded them or ignored me altogether. But Sadie? She folded in on herself, and it reminded me of... stuff I didn’t feel like unpacking right now.

I grabbed a crumpled receipt from my pocket and one of the pens in the bin. Hunching over the table, I sketched a wobbly stick figure with a guitar in a few quick strokes. “Ta-da,” I said, sliding it toward her with a grin. “Not bad for a rockstar, huh?”

Sadie blinked. Her lips twitched, just slightly, and for the first time, her pencil moved deliberately, dipping closer to her page. The tension in her shoulders eased, just enough to notice. Progress.

“Skyler,” Alexa’s voice sliced through the air, sharp and deliberate. “Leave her alone.”

I straightened, turning toward her with my best innocent grin. “I’m making friends. Isn’t that the whole point?”

Her arms were crossed tighter now, her voice as cold as steel. “Sadie doesn’t need you hovering over her.”

“Hovering?” I gestured to the chair I wasn’t sitting in. “I’m standing.”

“Whatever you want to call it, stop.” Her gaze was unwavering, but I caught the flicker of something else—something softer—hidden beneath her frustration.

Out of the corner of my eye, Sadie’s fingers tightened on her sketchbook, and her head dipped lower. Great. Now I looked like the bad guy. I muttered a low “fine” under my breath and shoved my hands into my pockets, backing away.

I drifted toward the other side of the room, where another kid—Jerry, if I remembered right—was crouched over a grid of dominoes on the floor. His gloved hands were steady, each tile clicking into place with almost mechanical precision. The focus on his freckled face was intense, his movements deliberate in a way that immediately screamed “do not touch.”

“Hey, Jerry, right?” I crouched down a few feet away, careful not to get too close.

He nodded, his attention never wavering from the dominoes.

“Cool setup.” I gestured to the intricate pattern forming on the floor. “What’s it supposed to be?”

“A mandala,” he said evenly, his voice precise as a dictionary definition. “It’s a geometric design representing balance and symmetry.”

“Well, damn. That’s deep.” I wasn’t mocking him, not really. The kid had skills. His lines were straighter than most of the tour buses I’d lived in.

Jerry frowned, his hands pausing midair like he was trying to decide if I’d insulted him. “The process is what’s important,” he said, his tone clipped. “Not just the result.”

“Sure, but you ever knock them over when you’re done? Chaos. Feels good sometimes, you know?” I gave him a lopsided grin.

His eyes widened, and he shook his head. “No. That would ruin everything.”

“Fair enough, man.” I raised my hands in surrender. “Your rules.”

Jerry gave me one last wary look before returning to his dominoes, his movements as meticulous as ever. I stood, brushing off my knees, and glanced around the room.

Alexa still had her eyes on me. Her expression hadn’t softened, but her arms weren’t crossed anymore. Instead, they hung loosely at her sides, like she was weighing whether I was worth the effort.

“Enjoying the show?” I called out.

Her gaze didn’t falter. “Just waiting for you to actually be useful.”

Ouch. Brutal.

I gave her a mock salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

As I wandered back toward the music room, the faint sound of Sadie’s pencil sketching trailed behind me. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d failed some kind of test. Not that I cared. Right?

Still, the image of Sadie clutching her sketchbook and Jerry meticulously lining up dominoes stuck with me, like flashes of a song I couldn’t quite remember. Maybe Gabby was onto something when she dumped me here.

Not that I’d admit it. Not yet, anyway.