I still couldn’t believe my mom had screwed us over again.

My boots crunched against a bed of dry, brittle leaves, their veins snapping like tiny bones beneath my weight. The thick Texas heat wrapped around me like an unwelcome embrace, and the cicadas screamed their eerie chorus from the trees, filling the air. Everything here felt foreign: the muggy air, the looming oaks that swayed lazily overhead, the wide-open sky that stretched on forever.

This was not Chicago.

In Chicago, our apartment windows rattled from the L train rolling by, and the air smelled like fresh bread from the bakery downstairs mixed with exhaust fumes. In Chicago, my best friends and I had plans: graduation, road trips, late nights crammed into somebody’s basement watching terrible horror movies.

Now I have Rock River, Texas.

I let out a slow breath and scuffed my boot against the pavement, finding a particularly crisp leaf and stomping down harder than necessary.

I shoved my AirPods in and started down the street, taking in the neat little houses with their well-kept lawns and porches lined with rocking chairs. A few neighbors lingered outside, watering their flowers or collecting their mail, but their attention was locked on me. Their stares weren’t exactly subtle. Their eyes flicked over my baggy jeans, my loose hoodie, my short, messy waves that I hadn’t bothered to brush. They saw a girl who didn’t look like a girl, not the way they thought one should, anyway.

I was used to it.

I lifted a hand in a lazy wave, watching their reactions. A few looked away quickly, pretending they hadn’t been staring. One old man gave me a tight nod before shuffling inside. A teenage boy sitting on a porch swing just kept watching, curiosity written all over his face.

Great. So that was how it was going to be here.

I sighed and headed home, pushing open the front door. The place still smelled faintly of fresh paint, but beneath it was the undeniable scent of old wood and something floral, probably whatever god-awful air freshener mom had decided on.

She was in the kitchen, the phone pressed between her ear and shoulder, nodding along to whatever was being said. “Yes, yes, seven a.m. sharp. I’ll be there, don’t worry.”

Her voice had that overly polite, forced enthusiasm she always used when she was trying to prove she was reliable. I leaned against the counter, waiting until she finally looked at me and mouthed, one second.

I crossed my arms.

Mom was small, barely 5’3”, with blonde hair that curled under at her shoulders and a face that had aged too quickly from stress and bad decisions. We looked nothing alike. If anything, I must have gotten my height and brown waves from my dad, whoever the hell he was.

She finally hung up and let out a breath. “That was my new boss. I start at the Piggly-Pie tomorrow morning, so you’ll have to get yourself to school.”

I just nodded. There was no use arguing about it.

Instead, I headed for the bathroom, desperate for a soak to wash away the heat of the day. The room was small, but someone had clearly tried to make it charming. The canary-yellow wallpaper was patterned with delicate white flowers, peeling at the edges from years of steam. It wasn’t bad, certainly better than the cockroach-infested dump we’d been living in before. But I wasn’t a flowery-wallpaper kind of girl 

I kicked off my dirty jeans and peeled off my binder, wincing as my ribs adjusted to freedom. The tight pressure was something I was used to, but after a full day of wearing it, my body ached. I sank into the tub, letting the warmth soothe my sore muscles, my mind drifting as I stared up at the ceiling.

Tomorrow, I’d be starting over.

A new school. A new town. A bunch of kids who had probably known each other since they were toddlers. How conservative were they? How much whispering was I going to have to deal with?

Would there be anyone like me there? Or would I be the first?

I exhaled sharply and dragged my hand down my face before finally forcing myself to get out of the tub. I wiped condensation from the mirror and met my own gaze, studying the way my wavy brown hair clung to my forehead, curling slightly at the ends. I ruffled it, trying to get it to look somewhat presentable.

It didn’t work.

“It’ll have to do,” I muttered to myself.

I pulled on an old T-shirt and some shorts before flopping onto my bed. The popcorn ceiling above me was stained in one corner, a faint water spot spreading out like a cloud. I stared at it, my mind racing with possibilities.

And if this place wasn’t ready for someone like me…well.

That was their problem…