Chapter 1 — Life Interrupted
Layla
The thing about family dinners is, theoretically, they’re supposed to be warm, bonding experiences. In reality? They’re just passive-aggressive battlegrounds with better lighting and slightly lower casualties.
I stabbed at a limp green bean on my plate, the clink of my fork against ceramic punctuating the silence. Across the table, Ashley laughed at something my dad said. High-pitched, effortless, and totally fake—choreographed for maximum charm. Dad responded with one of his rare, genuine smiles, the ones he used to reserve for me. Donna, of course, looked on approvingly, her surgically arched eyebrows practically applauding as she sipped her wine like a connoisseur at a gallery opening.
“What about you, Layla?” Ashley’s bright, blue eyes fixed on me, her voice sweet enough to cause cavities. “Are you doing anything for the Valentine’s fundraiser? I heard they’re still looking for volunteers.”
Her tone was that perfect mix of innocence and provocation—the kind that makes you wonder if she’s genuinely trying to include you or just setting you up to fail. Spoiler: I wasn’t volunteering. Especially not for a glorified popularity contest masquerading as community service.
“Nope,” I said, spinning the green bean around my plate like a top. “I’m allergic to excessive enthusiasm.”
Dad sighed, his fork pausing mid-air. “Layla…”
Donna swooped in, her voice smooth and measured, like she’d been rehearsing this moment all day. “The fundraiser is a school tradition, Layla. It would be nice if you participated—it’s for a good cause, after all.”
“Right,” I muttered under my breath, just loud enough to register. “Like funding more glitter glue for Ashley’s clique.”
Ashley’s smile sharpened into something predatory, her posture straightening as if she’d been waiting for this. “Well, it is nice to give back to the community. But I get it. Not everyone has school spirit.”
Her eyes sparkled with faux innocence, daring me to respond. I gripped my fork tighter, the prongs sinking into the green bean. Donna reached over to pat Ashley’s hand. The light caught her bracelet—a sleek silver band engraved with “Strength in Unity.” Subtle. Her calm voice carried just a hint of that signature edge. “Let’s not put too much pressure on Layla. I’m sure she has plenty of other… interests.”
Oh, she was good. That barely veiled jab about my lack of extracurriculars? Classic Donna. I swallowed the sharp remark on the tip of my tongue and forced a tight smile. No point in escalating World War III over soggy vegetables.
“Yup, so busy,” I said, leaning back in my chair. “Between my booming sock-matching business and my thriving social life, my schedule is packed.”
Sarah would’ve cackled. Hollie would’ve smirked and pretended not to. But here? My sarcasm hung in the air like a bad smell, unwelcome in Donna’s spotless, lavender-scented domain.
“Layla.” My dad’s voice was soft but carried that disappointing dad tone that always made me feel like I was five again, caught with my hand in the cookie jar. “Can we just have one peaceful dinner, please?”
I set my fork down, and with it, my last shred of patience. “Sure thing, Dad. Peaceful as a church.”
Donna shot him a glance—a small flick of her eyes that was supposed to pass unnoticed, though it was about as subtle as Ashley’s glittery nail polish. My dad nodded faintly, and in that moment, we weren’t just outnumbered. I was alone.
“Excuse me,” I said, pushing my chair back slowly, savoring the screech of the legs against the floor. “I suddenly feel inspired to reorganize my sock drawer.”
As I walked toward the stairs, I caught a glimpse of Donna adjusting her bracelet, her expression serene and unbothered. Ashley’s laughter trailed after me like an echo. Peaceful, indeed.
---
My room was my sanctuary, a cluttered fortress in a house that no longer felt like mine. I flopped onto my bed, kicking off my sneakers in the general direction of the closet. One actually made it in. Small victories.
I grabbed my keychain off the nightstand, the worn astronaut figurine catching the light. Its paint was chipped, its joints stiff, but it felt solid in my hand. Dad had bought it for me at a museum gift shop when I was eight, back when he still noticed me. Back when it was just the two of us.
Now? Now I was an extra in the Donna-Ashley-Dad show, a sarcastic afterthought with a front-row seat to my own life. I twisted the astronaut between my fingers, its cool metal grounding me. Maybe I should’ve just bitten my tongue at dinner, let Ashley and Donna have their little victory in silence. Maybe I wasn’t trying hard enough to make this work.
But then I thought about Donna’s tight smile, Ashley’s patronizing tone, and Dad’s quiet complicity. Yeah, no. This wasn’t on me.
I sighed and stared at the ceiling. It was smooth and white—a blank slate. But I could still picture the old glow-in-the-dark stars I’d stuck up there years ago. Most of them had peeled off by now, but their outlines remained, faint and stubborn. Kind of like me.
The door creaked open. I sat up, ready to snap, but it was Ashley, her perfectly straight hair falling over one shoulder like a shampoo commercial. “Hey,” she said cautiously, her glittery gold earrings swaying as she stepped inside.
“What?” I asked, crossing my arms.
She hesitated, then took a few steps closer. “You were kind of rude at dinner.”
“Was that an apology for being a passive-aggressive human Barbie, or…?”
Her jaw tightened, but instead of snapping back, she fiddled with one of her earrings. “Look, I’m trying, okay? I didn’t ask for this whole ‘blended family’ thing either.”
Her tone was softer than usual, her confidence faltering just enough to catch my attention. “Could’ve fooled me,” I muttered, the usual bite missing from my voice.
Ashley sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. “I’m just saying, maybe if you tried a little harder, it wouldn’t be so awful.”
I blinked, stunned. “Tried harder? Are you serious? I’m the one walking on eggshells while you and Donna redecorate this place like it’s your personal Pinterest board.”
Her eyes flashed, but instead of retaliating, she shook her head. “You know what? Forget it.” She turned on her heel and left, slamming the door behind her.
I flopped back onto my bed with a groan, staring at the ceiling again. As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t ignore the way her voice cracked, just barely, when she said she was trying. It almost made her seem… human.
Almost.
---
Later that night, when the house was finally quiet, I crept up to the attic. It wasn’t a place I visited often—too much dust, too many memories—but tonight, I needed it.
I pulled the light’s string, the dim bulb casting shadows over neatly stacked boxes. Most were labeled in Donna’s perfect handwriting, the scent of lavender still clinging to the air. But in the far corner, buried beneath Christmas decorations, were the boxes I was looking for. My mom’s boxes.
I knelt down and opened one. The smell of old paper and perfume hit me, and my throat tightened. Inside were photographs, letters, and small, delicate trinkets that felt like pieces of someone I could barely remember. I picked up a photograph of her holding me as a baby, her smile wide and unguarded. I traced her face with my finger, my chest aching with something I couldn’t name.
“Miss you,” I whispered, so quietly I wasn’t sure I’d even said it.
My hand hovered over a small locket tucked near the bottom of the box. I hesitated, the weight of it unbearable. I could open it. I could see whatever memory she’d locked inside. But not tonight. Tonight, the past felt heavy enough.
I placed the locket back carefully and closed the box, letting the memories settle. One day, I’d come back here and face it all. But not tonight.
---
By the time I crawled back into bed, the house felt different. Still quiet, still tense, but with the faintest spark of possibility. Like maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t always feel this way.
I closed my eyes and held my keychain tight, Sarah’s tiny engraved tag pressing into my palm: “Stay Weird.”
Don’t worry, I thought. Weird is the one thing I’ll never lose.
