Laurel Melody Parker, Laurel, Montana, October 23rd, 2018
Tuesday crawled.
Every second felt weighted, dragging against Laurel's consciousness like sandpaper. She'd barely slept the night before, her mind replaying the reunion with Dani and Sam on an endless loop, cycling between warmth and terror and a strange, floating unreality. Had it actually happened? Had she really sat in that cramped apartment, held Dani's hand, told them everything? The memories felt too good to be true, like something her brain had conjured to keep her sane.
But the texts on her phone were proof. A string of messages from Dani that had come in overnight:
DaniCalifornia: Can't sleep. Keep thinking about you.
DaniCalifornia: I'm so glad you're okay. I know you're not OKAY okay but you're alive and you're here and that's everything.
DaniCalifornia: Sam is keeping me up. He's snoring. Loudly. Some things never change.
DaniCalifornia: See you tomorrow? After school? We can just hang out. No pressure. No heavy conversations. Just... being together.
DaniCalifornia: I love you. Whatever that means right now. However you need it to mean. I just love you.
Laurel had read those messages three times before she'd finally drifted off, her phone clutched to her chest. Now, sitting in first period History while Mr. Hendricks droned on about the Louisiana Purchase, she read them again under her desk.
I love you. Whatever that means right now.
She didn't know what it meant. That was the problem. She loved Dani—of course she did, had never really stopped even when things were at their worst—but the shape of that love had changed. It was gentler now, less urgent. The desperate, all-consuming passion of their first years together had mellowed into something quieter. Something that might be deeper, or might just be different.
And then there was Jess.
Laurel's eyes drifted across the classroom to where Jess sat two rows over, her blonde hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, her pen tapping against her notebook in a rhythm that suggested she wasn't paying attention either. As if sensing Laurel's gaze, Jess looked up and caught her eye. A small smile flickered across her face—private, just for Laurel—before she returned her attention to her notes.
Something warm bloomed in Laurel's chest.
It was confusing, this feeling. This awareness of Jess that had been building for weeks, maybe longer.
She'd told herself it was just gratitude. Just the natural response to someone who had saved her life, who had seen her when no one else could. But lately, she wasn't so sure.
She's had an inkling for a while that Jess liked her, She'd probably known for almost a month now. But Laurel had initially just wanted to ignore it, to keep their friendship as simply platonic. Though she had to admit they'd gotten closer in the last few weeks. What that really meant she wasn't sure.
The bell rang, jerking Laurel out of her thoughts. She gathered her things mechanically, her body moving on autopilot while her mind remained elsewhere.
The hallway was chaos, as always—students streaming toward their next classes, lockers slamming, conversations overlapping into white noise. But today, there was an undercurrent to the chaos. A tension that Laurel could feel in the air, in the way people clustered in groups and whispered behind cupped hands.
She caught fragments as she walked.
"—heard she was totally making out with some girl—"
"—Brett's party, in the parking lot—"
"—always knew there was something weird about her—"
"—disgusting, honestly, like, keep it to yourself—"
Ana. They were talking about Ana.
Laurel's stomach clenched. The rumor had spread, just as Jess had warned. And now the entire school was feasting on it, picking apart Ana Yankowski's carefully constructed reputation like vultures on a carcass.
She spotted a cluster of students near the water fountain—a mix of athletes and theater kids, unlikely allies united by their shared hunger for drama. One of them, a junior named Martin who Laurel vaguely recognized from gym class, was holding court.
"My cousin was at the party," he was saying, his voice carrying. "Said Ana left with some goth chick from out of town. Like, full-on punk rock lesbian. Lip ring and everything."
"So what, Ana's les now?" a girl, Kylie? asked, her tone somewhere between fascinated and horrified.
"Looks like it." Martin shrugged. "Or at least bi. Either way—" He made a face. "Kind of ruins the whole 'perfect cheerleader' thing, doesn't it?"
Laurel felt sick. Not because of what they were saying about Ana—though that was bad enough—but because of the casual cruelty of it. The way they reduced a person's entire existence to gossip fodder, to entertainment. Ana was a real person with a real life, and they were treating her sexuality like a scandal, like something dirty and shameful.
And Dani—"some goth chick from out of town"—was caught up in it too, even if they didn't know her name. Thank god they didn't know her name.
She pushed past the group without a word, her jaw tight.
Second period was English, which meant sitting three seats away from Ashton Brooks.
Laurel had been avoiding him since the weekend. Not consciously, not deliberately—but she'd found reasons to be elsewhere whenever he appeared, had let his texts go unanswered for hours before sending brief, noncommittal replies. She knew it wasn't fair. Ashton had been nothing but kind to her, nothing but supportive. He'd held her while she cried, had told her Laurel was a pretty name, had been a constant presence since they reconnected.
But she couldn't deal with whatever was building between them. Not now. Not with everything else.
Mrs. Patterson was assigning partners for a poetry analysis project—because apparently the universe had a cruel sense of humor—and of course, of course, Laurel's name was called right after Ashton's.
"Brooks and Payton," Mrs. Patterson announced, checking something off on her clipboard. "You'll be analyzing 'The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock.' I expect a three-page paper and a five-minute presentation. Due next Friday."
Ashton turned in his seat, catching Laurel's eye. His expression was carefully neutral, but she could see the hope underneath it, the eagerness he was trying to suppress.
"Guess we're partners," he said.
"Guess so."
The rest of class passed in a blur. When the bell rang, Ashton was at her desk before she could escape, his backpack slung over one shoulder, his hair had gone back to normal.
"Hey," he said. "Can we talk? Just for a minute?"
Laurel hesitated. She could see Jess hovering in the doorway, watching, ready to intervene if needed. But this was a conversation she needed to have eventually. Might as well get it over with.
"Sure. Walk me to my locker?"
They fell into step together, the hallway crowd parting around Ashton like water around a rock. The perks of being the star athlete—people moved for you. Laurel had always found it vaguely unsettling, the way the social hierarchy manifested in physical space.
"So," Ashton said, his voice carefully casual. "I've been thinking."
"Dangerous habit of yours."
He laughed, but it was nervous. "Yeah, probably. Look, I know things are complicated right now. With your dad, with everything you're dealing with. And I don't want to make anything harder for you. But I also..." He took a breath. "I really like you, Laurel. I have for a long time. And I guess I'm wondering if maybe, once things settle down a little, you'd want to go out with me. Like, on an actual date."
There it was. The question she'd been dreading.
Laurel stopped walking, turning to face him. They were near her locker now, in a relatively quiet stretch of hallway. A few students glanced their way, curious, but kept moving.
"Ashton..."
"You don't have to answer right now," he said quickly. "I just—I wanted to put it out there. So you know where I stand."
She looked at him—really looked at him. At the hopeful expression he was trying so hard to hide. At the way his hands were shoved in his pockets, his shoulders slightly hunched, all that athletic confidence stripped away to reveal the nervous boy underneath.
He was handsome, very much so. She could admit that. Tall and strong and genuinely kind in a way that was rare, especially in this town. Any girl would be lucky to date him. Any girl who was capable of dating anyone, who had the emotional bandwidth for romance, who wasn't drowning in trauma and dysphoria and the slow work of putting herself back together.
"I'm flattered," she said, and meant it. "Really, Ash. You're amazing. You've been so good to me—"
"Uh oh." His smile was wry, self-deprecating. "That's 'but' language."
"Buuuuuuuuut," she continued gently, "I can't. Not right now. Maybe not... maybe not ever. It's not about you. You haven't done anything wrong. I just—"
She paused, trying to find the right words. How did you explain to someone that your heart was a construction zone, that you were rebuilding yourself from the foundation up, that there wasn't room for anyone new until you figured out who you were?
"I have so much stuff to deal with right now," she said finally. "My dad. My identity. My... everything. And even if I didn't—Ash, we graduate in six months. Six months. And then what? You're going to college, probably on some scholarship for sports. I'm going to... I don't even know. California, maybe, if I can figure out how. We'd be starting something with an expiration date built in."
"We could do long distance," Ashton said, but she could hear the doubt in his voice even as he said it. "Or... or maybe we could go to the same school. I've got offers from a couple places in California—"
"You'd change your college plans for someone you haven't even dated yet?"
He was quiet for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was smaller. "I'd consider it. For you."
"That's exactly why I can't say yes." Laurel reached out and touched his arm, a gesture of connection, of apology. "You deserve someone who can give you their whole heart, Ash. Not someone who's running on fumes. Not someone who'd be splitting their attention between you and a hundred other things. And I can't—I can't be responsible for you making life decisions based on a relationship that might not work out."
Ashton nodded slowly, processing. She could see the disappointment settling into his features, but also something like understanding.
"You're not saying never," he said. "You're saying not now."
"I'm saying no. And I think it'd be unfair to you to leave you on the hook, is the most honest answer I can give you right now."
He was quiet for a long moment. Then he reached out and pulled her into a hug—brief, warm, platonic. "Okay," he murmured against her hair. "I can live with that. Just... promise me you'll take care of yourself?"
"I'm trying."
"And promise me we can still be friends? I don't want to lose you entirely."
"You won't." She pulled back, looking up at him. "I promise."
The warning bell rang, signaling three minutes until third period. Ashton stepped back, that easy smile sliding back into place like a mask.
"Guess I'll see you around, partner," he said, gesturing vaguely toward the English classroom they'd just left. "We should probably actually work on that Prufrock thing at some point."
"'I have measured out my life with coffee spoons,'" Laurel quoted.
Ashton blinked. "What?"
"It's from the poem. We'll talk about it later. Oh hey wait…"
Ashton turned back to the emptied hallway where Laurel was standing.
She raised herself on her tiptoes and planted a kiss on his cheek.
“I hope you find someone that's worth it.”
And she turned and headed for her next class, feeling his eyes on her back until she rounded the corner.
Lunch was a minefield.
Laurel had taken to eating in the music room with Jess and a few other guard members, avoiding the cafeteria and its social hierarchies or the library to be alone. But today, Jess had a meeting with Miss Vick about winter guard. So Laurel found herself alone at a corner table, picking at a sandwich she didn't really want.
The cafeteria buzzed with the usual chaos, but the undercurrent was still there. Ana's name on everyone's lips, whispered and snickered and occasionally spoken loud enough to carry.
Laurel watched it all from her corner, head down trying to avoid spillover homophobia.
The cheerleaders had split, she noticed. Their usual table was now two tables, with a visible gap between them. Sarah Snyder, Ashton's ex, the one who'd warned Laurel to be careful with his heart, sat at one end with a cluster of loyal followers, their body language aggressive and triumphant. At the other end, a smaller group huddled together, their expressions defensive.
Ana was nowhere to be seen.
"She didn't come to school today."
Laurel looked up. Jess had appeared out of nowhere, sliding into the seat across from her with a tray of cafeteria pizza.
"I thought you had a meeting."
"It ended early. Miss Vick had a dentist appointment or something." Jess picked at her pizza, her expression troubled. "Ana, I mean. She's not here. Someone said she's 'sick.'" She made air quotes around the word.
"Can you blame her?"
"No." Jess sighed. "I really can't. Which is weird, because part of me feels like I should be enjoying this, you know? After everything she did to me. Karma finally showing up."
"But?"
"But I know what it's like. Being the school pariah. Having everyone whisper about you." Jess met Laurel's eyes. "It sucks. It sucks when you've done nothing wrong, and it sucks even more when the thing they're whispering about is something real and personal and not anyone else's business."
"People are being really ugly about it," Laurel said.
"People are always ugly about this kind of thing. Especially here." Jess stabbed at her pizza. "Sarah's been on a tear. Apparently she's been telling everyone that she 'always knew' there was something 'wrong' with Ana. Using it to consolidate power on the squad. It's disgusting."
"Sarah's also probably dealing with her own stuff," Laurel said carefully. "The break-up wasn't that long ago. Maybe she's lashing out."
Jess raised an eyebrow. "Are you... defending Sarah Snyder right now?"
"No. I'm just saying people are complicated. Even terrible people have reasons for being terrible." Laurel pushed her sandwich away. "Doesn't make it okay. Just makes it... understandable, I guess."
They sat in silence for a moment, the cafeteria noise washing over them.
"Ashton asked me out," Laurel said.
Jess's expression did something complicated. "Oh?"
"I said no… At least not now. Which is basically no."
"How do you feel about that?"
"Relieved, mostly." Laurel traced a pattern on the table with her fingertip. "He's a good guy. He deserves someone who can actually be present for him. And I can't be that person right now."
Jess was quiet for a moment. When she spoke, her voice was careful. "You know, you don't have to be 'fixed' before you can be with someone. Healing isn't something you have to do alone."
"I know." Laurel met her eyes. "But I think I need to figure out who I am before I figure out who I want to be with. Does that make sense?"
"It makes perfect sense." Jess reached across the table and squeezed her hand. "And for what it's worth, whoever you end up being with—whenever you're ready—they're going to be really lucky."
Something passed between them, unspoken but understood. A question that neither of them was ready to ask, let alone answer.
The bell rang, shattering the moment.
"Come on," Jess said, standing. "We don't have practice after school. But we might have some transition stuff coming.”
"Transition stuff?"
"Color guard season's over. Football's done. Now we're in the weird limbo before winter sports start up." Jess grabbed her tray. "Basketball begins first week of December, same as winter guard. But until then, we're just... existing. Miss Vick wants to meet with anyone interested in trying out, talk about the winter show, all that."
Laurel nodded, following her toward the trash cans. "I'll be there."
The afternoon passed in a haze of classes and hallway whispers and the strange, uncomfortable feeling of being caught between worlds. Laurel moved through it all like a ghost, present but not quite there, counting down the hours until she could escape to Dani's apartment.
The meeting with Miss Vick was brief—just an overview of winter guard scheduling, the theme they were considering for the winter show, prices for equipment, and a reminder that anyone who had performed in fall would have priority consideration for stuff like solos, etc. Laurel half-listened, her mind already elsewhere.
By 4:30, she was free. The school had mostly emptied out, the parking lot scattered with stragglers. Winter was coming early this year—the sky was the color of old pewter, heavy with clouds that promised snow.
Laurel pulled her hoodie tighter around herself and headed for the exit, her phone already in her hand to text Dani.
She was halfway across the parking lot when she saw her.
Ana Yankowski was sitting on the bleachers by the football field, alone. The bleachers were empty—had been empty since the season ended—and Ana looked impossibly small against their metal expanse. She was wearing jeans and a oversized sweater instead of her usual cheerleading jacket, her bottle-blonde hair loose around her shoulders, her posture hunched like she was trying to make herself invisible.
Laurel stopped walking.
She should keep going. She should text Dani, walk to the apartment, leave Ana to whatever demons she was wrestling with. Ana had been nothing but cruel to her, had bullied Jess, had made their lives miserable in a hundred small ways. She owed Ana nothing.
But Ana was also alone. Visibly distressed. And as Laurel watched, she saw Ana's shoulders start to shake.
Ana was crying.
Shit.
Laurel looked toward the street, toward escape, toward the promise of Dani's warm apartment and Sam's sarcastic jokes and an evening that didn't involve high school drama. Then she looked back at Ana, still crying on the bleachers, still alone.
God damn it.
She changed direction.
Laurel climbed the metal steps, the aluminum rattling under her boots. The wind had picked up, cutting across the open field with the biting promise of snow, but Ana didn't seem to notice. She was sitting on the top row, knees pulled to her chest, staring blankly at the fifty-yard line.
As Laurel got closer, the sound of the wind was punctuated by the ragged hitch of Ana’s breathing. She looked stripped down—no cheer jacket, no perfect posture, just a girl in an oversized sweater trying to disappear inside herself.
Laurel stopped a few feet away, keeping a respectful distance. She didn't say anything, just let her presence be known.
Ana’s head snapped up. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her mascara smeared in dark streaks down her cheeks. She looked at the figure standing there—the baggy hoodie, the beanie, the "boy" silhouette—but her eyes narrowed, searching for something else.
"Laurel?" Ana’s voice was a whisper, carried away by the wind.
Laurel froze. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a sudden, violent rhythm. She hadn't expected that. She expected "Montana," or a slur, or "Go away." Hearing her name—her real name—from the mouth of the girl who had made it her mission to torment her was disorienting.
Ana knows.
Ana let out a wet, incredulous laugh and shook her head. "I knew it."
Laurel stood paralyzed, the wind whipping the loose strands of hair around her face. "Ana, I—"
"I knew it," Ana repeated, louder this time, her voice cracking. She wiped at her face aggressively with her sleeve. "I'm not stupid, you know? Everyone thinks I'm just this... this airhead cheerleader, but I see things. The way you walk. The way Jess looks at you. The way that girl looked when she talked about you."
She stood up, swaying slightly, turning to face Laurel fully. The sadness in her eyes was hardening into something sharp and defensive.
"I don't get it," Ana spat. "I really don't get it. Why does everyone obsess over you? It's like you have this gravitational pull or something."
"I don't think—"
"Jess," Ana interrupted, ticking off on her fingers. "Jess worships the ground you walk on. She blew up her whole life when she kissed me, and now she treats you like you're made of glass. And Ashton? The golden boy? He breaks up with Sarah, and everyone knows it's because of you. He looks at you like you're the only person in the room."
She took a step down, closing the distance between them. Her expression twisted, a mix of jealousy and confusion.
"And then her," Ana said, her voice trembling. "That girl. The one from the party. She drove three states looking for you. Do you know that? She told me. She came all this way just to find you, and you... what? You saw her and you ran away? She finds you, and you throw it back in her face?"
"I didn't throw it back," Laurel said, her voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through her. "I was scared.”
"You were scared?" Ana scoffed. "Please. You have people lining up to save you. You have an army. What do I have? I have a school full of people calling me a dyke and a mother who will cut me off if I look at a girl the wrong way."
"I know it was Dani," Laurel said.
The name hung in the air between them. Ana flinched as if she’d been slapped. The momentum of her rant stalled, the air sucked out of her lungs.
"You..." Ana’s eyes went wide. "You know?"
"I know," Laurel said softly. "I know she was the mystery girl. I know you guys hooked up at the party."
Ana’s face crumbled. The anger drained away, replaced by sheer terror. She wrapped her arms around herself, looking suddenly very young. "You hate me. You must think I'm... disgusting."
"I don't hate you, Ana."
"Bullshit!" Ana screamed, the sound tearing from her throat. "Stop being so nice! Stop being so... perfect! You should hate me! I bullied you. I bullied Jess. I slept with your... your girlfriend, or whatever she is to you. I'm a mess. I'm a fake. I'm exactly what everyone says I am."
"I'm not mad," Laurel said, stepping closer. "I'm not mad at you for hooking up with Dani. She was hurting, and so were you. And I'm definitely not mad at you for being a lesbian, or bi, or whatever you are. I get it, Ana. I know what it's like to be terrified of who you are in this town."
"Don't you dare compare us," Ana hissed, backing away until her legs hit the metal bench behind her. "It's not the same. You get to be the tragic victim. You get to be the martyr. I'm just the bitch."
"It's complicated, sure," Laurel continued, ignoring the venom. "But I'm not angry. I came up here because I saw you crying. I came up here because I know how toxic this school is, and nobody deserves to go through that alone. Not even you."
Ana stared at her, her chest heaving. She looked for a crack in Laurel’s armor, a hint of sarcasm or judgment, but found none. And that seemed to break her more than any insult could have.
"You're looking at me with pity," Ana said, her voice trembling with rage. "I don't want your pity, Montana. Or Laurel. Or whoever the hell you are today."
"It's not pity. It's empathy."
"God, you're insufferable!" Ana threw her hands up. "You think you're so deep, don't you? Standing there in your stupid hoodie, playing the tortured soul. You're just an edgy, emo loser who can't decide if he's a boy or a girl!"
Laurel didn't flinch. She stood her ground, looking at Ana with a calm sadness. She knew where this was coming from. She felt the weight of Ana’s day—the whispers in the hallway, the friends turning their backs, the terror of her secret being dissected by strangers. Ana was lashing out at the only safe target she had, trying to provoke a fight because anger was easier than grief.
"I know you're hurting, Ana," Laurel said quietly. "You can say whatever you want to me. I can take it."
Ana opened her mouth to scream again, to hurl another insult, but the sound died in her throat. She looked at Laurel—really looked at her—and the fight went out of her. Her shoulders slumped. A fresh wave of tears spilled over her lashes.
She surged forward.
Before Laurel could react, Ana’s hands were gripping the front of her hoodie, pulling her down. Ana smashed her lips against Laurel’s.
It wasn't a romantic kiss. It was desperate, salty with tears, and aggressive—a collision of frustration and repressed desire and confusion. It tasted like lip gloss and panic. Ana kissed her like she was trying to transfer all her pain into Laurel’s body, or maybe trying to steal some of Laurel’s courage.
Laurel stood frozen, her hands hovering in the air, unsure whether to push Ana away or hold her up.
Just as quickly as it happened, Ana broke the kiss. She shoved Laurel back, her breathing ragged, her eyes wide with horror at what she had just done.
"I..." Ana gasped. She touched her own lips, looking at Laurel with a mixture of longing and revulsion.
Then, without another word, she turned and scrambled down the bleachers. Her boots clanged loudly against the metal, a chaotic rhythm of escape.
"Ana, wait!" Laurel called out.
But Ana didn't stop. She hit the grass running, sprinting toward the parking lot as if the devil himself were chasing her, leaving Laurel standing alone in the biting wind, stunned and tasting the ghost of a kiss she never asked for.
Laurel stood there in the falling snow, her heart pounding, her lips tingling, watching Ana's figure disappear across the parking lot and into the grey afternoon. She reached up and touched her mouth, half-expecting to find something different there, some evidence of what had just happened.
But there was nothing. Just the cold, and the snow, and the silence.
"What the hell," Laurel whispered to no one.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out with numb fingers.
DaniCalifornia: You on your way? Sam made hot chocolate. The good kind, with actual chocolate.
Laurel stared at the screen. Her hands were shaking—from the cold, she told herself, just from the cold.
LaurelLore: On second thought, can we reschedule? It's nothing urgent, I just want some time to myself.
DaniCalifornia: Yeah no, that's fine. I hope everything is okay ❤️
Laurel shoved her phone back in her pocket and started walking. The snow was falling harder now, coating the streets, transforming the ugly grey of Laurel, Montana into something almost beautiful. She tucked her chin against the cold and moved, one foot in front of the other, trying not to think about what had just happened.
Ana had kissed her.
Ana Yankowski—head cheerleader, mean girl, Jess's tormentor—had kissed her.
And now Ana was somewhere out there, probably spiraling, probably hating herself, probably terrified of what Laurel might tell people.
I'm not going to tell anyone, Laurel thought. I promised. I keep my promises.
But that didn't solve the larger problem. Ana knew. Ana knew who Laurel really was, which meant Ana could tell everyone. Could expose her to the whole school, to Derrick, to everyone who would use that information as a weapon.
Or Ana could keep the secret. Could be an ally, of sorts. Another person who understood what it was like to hide your true self.
God, this town is a mess…
Jess Perot, October 23rd 2018, Laurel, Montana
Laurel had cancelled. A vague text about needing space, about the weather being too bad to drive. Jess knew it was a lie—or at least, a half-truth. Laurel was retreating again, pulling into her shell like she always did when things got too real. But that wasn’t why Jess was here.
Jess was here because of Ana.
The rumor mill had been churning all day, grinding Ana Yankowski’s reputation into dust, and every time someone mentioned the "punk girl from out of town," Jess felt a spike of protective fury that confused her. She hated Ana. God, she hated Ana. But she also felt a strange, territorial protectiveness over Laurel’s people. And Dani Rivera—this chaotic, cigarette-smoking, impulsive force of nature—was Laurel’s person.
Dani had slept with the enemy. Dani had hooked up with the girl who had made Jess’s life a living hell for three years.
Jess needed to understand why. She needed to look Dani in the eye and ask her if she knew what she had done, if she knew that Ana Yankowski didn't do anything without an agenda. She had rehearsed the speech in her head on the drive over. It was sharp, articulate, and devastating.
She killed the engine, pulled her hood up, and stomped up the metal stairs to the second floor, her boots clanging in the muffled silence of the snowstorm. Apartment 2B.
She didn't hesitate. She knocked—hard. Three sharp raps that demanded an answer.
Open up, she thought. Let's do this. The lock clicked. The door swung inward.
"Hey, you made it. Laurel text you too?"
Jess’s mouth opened to launch the first volley of her speech, but the words died in her throat. Her brain, usually so organized and tactical, simply short-circuited.
It was twenty degrees outside. It was a blizzard.
And Dani Rivera was standing in the doorway wearing a light pink crop top with the words BIKINI KILL screen-printed across the chest and a pair of black denim shorts that were, frankly, illegal in this climate.
Jess blinked. She stared. She forgot, for a solid five seconds, that she was angry.
Dani looked like a riot grrrl pinup who had taken a wrong turn on the way to a darker, edgier version of Coachella. The crop top ended just below her chest, exposing a strip of midriff that looked impossibly soft. Her legs were bare, pale, and long, ending in black socks. The juxtaposition of the winter storm raging behind Jess and the sheer, unapologetic skin Dani was displaying was enough to give anyone whiplash.
"You..." Jess managed, her voice sounding strangled. "You're wearing shorts."
Dani glanced down at herself, then back up, a smirk playing on her lips. The silver lip ring caught the dim yellow light of the hallway.
"Crank the heat up to eighty and pretend you're in California," Dani said, her voice raspy and amused. "It's a lifestyle choice. Come on, you're letting the blizzard in."
She stepped back, waving Jess inside.
Jess stumbled over the threshold, the warmth of the apartment hitting her like a physical blow. It was sweltering inside. The air smelled like vanilla perfume, stale cigarette smoke, and something herbal that was definitely not oregano.
"Sam took off," Dani said, shutting the door and locking it. She turned, leaning back against the wood, crossing her arms. The movement made the crop top ride up slightly. "He went to find food. Said if Laurel wasn't coming, he wasn't going to sit around starving. So it's just us."
"Just us," Jess repeated. She felt completely thrown off her axis. She had come here ready for battle, armored in her winter coat and her righteous indignation. But seeing Dani like this—casual, exposed, effortlessly cool—disarmed her completely.
She began to unbutton her coat, feeling suddenly overdressed and clumsy. "I... I came to talk."
"I figured," Dani said. She pushed off the door and walked toward the kitchenette, her hips swaying with a natural, unconscious rhythm that Jess tracked with helpless precision. "You want something? I've got hot chocolate—the powder kind, not the fancy shit Sam talks about. I've got whiskey. And I've got… uh greener things" She gestured to a small glass pipe sitting on the counter. "Help yourself. Seriously. I'm bored out of my mind."
"Hot chocolate," Jess said quickly. "Please."
"Coming right up, Captain!"
Jess stood awkwardly in the center of the room while Dani busied herself with the kettle. She looked around. The apartment was a disaster of clothes and half-unpackaged boxes, but it had a vibe. Twinkle lights were strung haphazardly across the ceiling. A poster of The Runaways was taped to the wall with blue painter's tape.
It was so... Dani.
"So," Dani said over the sound of running water. "You look like you came here to punch me."
Jess stripped off her coat and hung it on a chair. She was wearing her standard uniform: a sensible sweater and jeans. She felt boring. "I didn't come to punch you. I came to... understand."
"Understand why I hooked up with the blonde cheerleader?" Dani turned, leaning her hip against the counter while the kettle whistled. Her eyes—dark, heavy-lidded, intelligent—locked onto Jess.
"Her name is Ana," Jess said, the name tasting bitter. "And she's... she's not just a cheerleader, Dani. She's a weapon. She destroys people."
Dani sighed, a long exhale that seemed to deflate her posture. "Yeah. I gathered that. After the fact.”
"She made my life hell," Jess said, her voice rising slightly. "For three years. She outed me—falsely said I came onto her without consent—to cover her own ass. She turned the whole squad against me. And you... you just..."
"I was lonely, and I didn't know that at the time, remember?" Dani said simply.
The honesty of it stopped Jess. She didn't try to act cool. She just looked at Jess with a raw, naked vulnerability that matched the exposed skin of her stomach.
"I thought Laurel was done with me," Dani continued, turning back to pour the water. "I mean, I knew we found her, but then she ran away. And I was sitting in this town, freezing my ass off, feeling like I'd chased her across the country for nothing at best and at worst just to traumatize her. And then there was this girl. And she was sad, and she was hot, and she wanted me." Dani stirred the mug, the spoon clinking rhythmically. "I'm not made of stone, Jess. I just wanted to feel something that wasn't panic for an hour. And… for the record, I hadn't had sex in about a year by that point.”
She walked over and held out the mug. "Here. Careful, it's nuclear."
Jess took the mug, wrapping her cold hands around the ceramic. "It's Ana," she whispered, looking down at the dark liquid. "It's just... it had to be her."
"I know," Dani said. She moved to the futon and flopped down, patting the space beside her. "Come sit. I promise I don't bite. Unless asked."
Jess felt a flush rise up her neck that had nothing to do with the room temperature. She moved to the futon and sat, leaving a precise twelve inches of space between them.
Dani tucked her legs up, resting her chin on her knees. The position stretched the Bikini Kill shirt tight across her chest. Jess tried very hard to look at Dani's eyes.
"Does it bother you?" Dani asked softly. "That it was her? Or that it was me?"
Jess looked at her, startled. "What?"
"I saw you at the game," Dani said. A slow grin spread across her face, lazy and sharp. "In Bozeman. Even from the stands, I saw you. You were running around managing everything, bossing those band kids around. You looked... capable. I like capable. You know when I'm not getting soda thrown on me."
Jess’s brain short-circuited again. "I was doing my job… And sorry."
"You were terrifying," Dani corrected. "In a good way. Like, 'step on me' energy. But then you spilled your drink on me and you did a complete 180."
Jess choked on her hot chocolate. She coughed, sputtering, while Dani laughed—a low, throaty sound that vibrated in the small space between them.
"You're blushing," Dani teased, leaning closer. She smelled like trouble. She smelled intoxicating.
"I am not," Jess lied. She set the mug down on the floor, needing her hands free, though she wasn't sure what for. "I'm just... hot. It's eighty degrees in here."
"Take off your sweater," Dani suggested. Her eyes dropped to Jess's chest, then flicked back up.
"I'm keeping the sweater," Jess said firmly, though her resolve was melting faster than the snow outside.
She had thought Dani was hot since that first moment in the stadium. She stupidly said it to Laurel. She was supposed to be the responsible one, the one who protected Laurel, the one who hated the chaos that Dani represented.
But looking at her now—this beautiful, broken, vibrant mess of a girl—Jess felt a pull in her gut that terrified her.
Dani was dangerous. Not in the way Ana was dangerous—calculated and cruel. Dani was dangerous because she didn't hide anything. She just was.
"You know," Dani said, shifting so she was facing Jess, her knee knocking lightly against Jess's thigh. "You were ready to kill me when you walked in here. I could see it. You wanted to scream at me."
"I still might," Jess said weakly.
"Go ahead." Dani spread her arms wide, leaving herself completely open. "Yell at me, Jess. Tell me I'm a slut. Tell me I'm a traitor. Get it out of your system."
Jess looked at her. She looked at the faint scars on Dani’s arms, the chipped black nail polish, the defiant tilt of her chin. She thought about Ana crying on the bleachers. She thought about Laurel, safe in her room but alone.
"I can't," Jess sighed, her shoulders slumping. "Because you're right. You were lonely. And... and I get it."
"You get it?"
"Yeah." Jess looked down at her hands. "It's lonely. Caring this much. Trying to keep everyone safe. Sometimes you just want to... be reckless."
Dani studied her for a long moment. Then, slowly, she reached out and hooked a finger through a belt loop on Jess's jeans. It was a small touch, barely anything, but it sent a jolt of electricity straight up Jess's spine.
"You should try it sometime," Dani murmured. "Being reckless."
Jess looked up, meeting Dani's gaze. The air in the room seemed to thicken, charged with static.
"I'm not like you, Dani," Jess whispered. "I don't just... leap."
"Maybe you just need someone to push you," Dani said. She leaned in, just an inch, testing the water. "Or pull you."
Jess held her breath. She knew she should pull away. She knew this was messy—Laurel loved Dani, Dani loved Laurel, and Jess was supposed to be the neutral party. But sitting here on this lumpy futon, with the blizzard howling outside and this girl looking at her like she was the only interesting thing in the state of Montana, Jess didn't want to be neutral.
"So," Dani said, her voice dropping to a hush. "Are we gonna talk about Ana all night? Or are you gonna tell me why you really came over here when you knew Laurel wasn't coming?"
"I told you," Jess stammered. "To talk."
"Uh-huh." Dani smirked, letting go of the belt loop to trace a pattern on the denim of Jess's knee. "Well. We're talking."
Jess swallowed hard. "Your shirt," she blurted out. "Bikini Kill. Rebel Girl."
Dani’s eyes lit up. "You know them?"
"I... I looked them up. After Laurel mentioned you liked them."
"You did research on me?" Dani looked delighted. "That is so incredibly on brand for you, Captain."
"I like to be prepared," Jess defended, crossing her arms again.
"And are you?" Dani asked, her gaze dropping to Jess's lips for a split second. "Prepared?"
Jess stared at her. Dani Rivera was a natural flirt; she probably didn't even realize she was doing it half the time. It was just how she interacted with the world—leading with chin and charisma. Maybe she was just trying to prove a point.
"I don't think anyone can prepare for you," Jess admitted.
Dani laughed again, softer this time. She reached for her own mug of whatever she was drinking—probably the whiskey—and took a sip, her eyes never leaving Jess's face.
"Stick around, Jess," she said. "The storm's not letting up anytime soon. Might as well get comfortable."
Jess looked at the window, where the world had disappeared into a wall of white. Then she looked back at Dani, who was watching her with a mixture of challenge and invitation.
"Okay," Jess said, reaching for her hot chocolate. "I'll stay."
Dani grinned, and for the first time that night, the room didn't feel quite so small. It just felt hot.
Laurel Melody Parker, October 23rd, 2018, Laurel, Montana
The walk home had been surreal.
Laurel moved through the snow like a ghost, her mind replaying the scene on the bleachers over and over. Ana's face, shifting from fury to recognition to something desperate. Ana's lips against hers, cold and tasting like cherry lip gloss and salt from tears. Ana running away into the white.
By the time she reached the Payton house, she was numb—and not just from the cold. The lights were off in the living room, which meant either Derrick was still at work or he was napping in front of the TV. Laurel hoped for the former. She couldn't deal with her father right now. She couldn't deal with anyone.
She slipped through the front door as quietly as possible, toeing off her snow-crusted boots in the entryway. The house was quiet except for the hum of the refrigerator and the distant sound of wind rattling the windows. Good. She had the place to herself.
Her bedroom door creaked when she opened it—she really needed to oil that hinge—but no one came running to investigate. She closed the door behind her, locked it, and for good measure shoved the dresser in front of it. The familiar ritual of barricading herself in.
Only then did she allow herself to breathe.
The room was exactly as she'd left it that morning: rumpled bed, scattered papers, the box of her mother's belongings still sitting in the corner where she'd been slowly sorting through it. The poster of Paramore on the wall. The small collection of punk albums she'd rescued from California. All the fragments of a life she was still trying to piece together.
Laurel crossed to the closet, reaching past clothes that didn't fit and shoes she never wore to find the shoebox hidden in the back. Inside was her mother's journal, the leather worn soft from handling, and a photograph—a Polaroid that April had taken on the beach in Marisol Heights, back before everything fell apart.
In the photo, April was laughing, her auburn hair catching the sunlight, her green eyes crinkling at the corners. She looked happy. Genuinely, uncomplicatedly happy. The kind of happy that Laurel barely remembered feeling.
Laurel carried both objects to the bed, settling cross-legged against her pillows. The snow was still falling outside her window, the sky already darkening toward evening even though it was barely five o'clock. The room was cold—the heating in this house was always unreliable—but she pulled a blanket around her shoulders and ignored the chill.
"Hey, Mom," she said softly, looking at the photograph. "It's been a weird day."
Talking to her mother's photo had become a habit over the past few weeks—ever since she'd started reading the journal, started remembering all the things she'd buried. It felt stupid, she knew. April couldn't hear her. April was gone, had been gone for over a year, was nothing but ashes scattered somewhere Laurel had never been told about.
But saying the words out loud helped. Made them real. Made her feel less alone in this room, in this house, in this town that had never wanted her.
"Ana kissed me," she said. "I know. I can't believe it either."
The photograph didn't respond, of course. But Laurel could imagine what April would say. Her mother had always been good at seeing through to the heart of things, at asking the right questions.
"I don't know what it means. I don't think she knows either." Laurel traced her finger over the edge of the photo. "She figured out who I am. That I'm trans, I mean. She put it together from... I don't even know. Watching me, probably. Noticing things. She's smarter than she lets on."
She thought about Ana's face in that moment of recognition. The shock, yes, but also something else. Something that looked almost like relief.
"She's been hiding too," Laurel continued. "She's gay—or bi, or something—and she's been hiding it from everyone. Her mom sounds awful. Like, Richard-level awful. And she's been using all this cruelty as armor, I think. Hurting other people so no one looks too closely at her."
April would have understood that. April had grown up in a house full of expectations too, with parents who valued appearances over everything else. She'd escaped by marrying Derrick, which turned out to be trading one kind of prison for another. But she'd also found Laurel—found herself as a mother, found a purpose that transcended all the bullshit.
"I don't know what to do," Laurel admitted. "Ana knows my secret now. She could tell everyone. She could destroy me." She paused, considering. "But I don't think she will. I think she's too scared of what I know about her."
Mutually assured destruction. Not the healthiest foundation for a relationship, but probably better than outright hostility.
"And there's still Dani. And Jess." Laurel picked up the journal, running her fingers over the leather cover. "They're both—I mean, they both care about me. A lot. And I care about them. But I don't know how to be what they need right now. I don't know how to be what anyone needs."
She opened the journal to a random page, letting the familiar handwriting wash over her. April's voice, preserved in ink.
March 15, 2014
Laurel came home from school today with a smile so bright it practically lit up the apartment. Dani asked her to the spring dance. I haven't seen her this happy since we left Montana. She spent three hours trying on different outfits, asking me if each one was "too much" or "not enough." I told her she could wear a garbage bag and Dani would still think she was beautiful. She threw a pillow at me.
This is what I wanted for her. This feeling of being normal. Of being a teenage girl worried about dances and crushes and clothes. After everything she went through—the assault, the escape, the years of dysphoria before we even had words for what she was feeling—she deserves this. She deserves to be happy.
I hope it lasts. I hope I can give her enough good days to outweigh the bad ones.
Laurel closed the journal, her throat tight. April had wanted so much for her. Had sacrificed so much. And here she was, nearly two years later, barely surviving. Living in the house of the man April had fled. Hiding the identity April had helped her claim.
"I'm trying, Mom," she whispered. "I'm trying so hard. But it's just—it's so much. Everything is so much."
She thought about the hormones she'd ordered. About the package that would arrive in less than two weeks, the one that would allow her to start taking her body back. About the countdown on her phone: seventy-three days until she turned eighteen. Until she was free.
"I just have to hold on," she said. "Right? That's what you'd tell me. Just hold on a little longer. The hard part is almost over."
But was it? Even after January, even after she was legally free—what then? College was a question mark. Money was a question mark. Derrick might be legally unable to control her, but that didn't mean the rest of the world would suddenly become welcoming.
And there was still the matter of her heart. The tangled mess of feelings for Dani, for Jess, even for Ashton. The numbness that had settled over her since Newport, the flatness that made it hard to feel anything strongly.
"I think I'm broken," she admitted to the photograph. "Not in a dramatic way. Just... something's off. The way I feel about people, about romance, about love—it's not the way it used to be. When I was with Dani before, everything was so intense. I felt everything so deeply. But now..."
She tried to remember the last time she'd felt genuine passion for anything. The performance in Spokane came close—that moment in the golden bodysuit, the rush of being seen. But even that had faded quickly, overwhelmed by the return to reality.
"Dr. Reeves would probably say that's a good thing," she said bitterly. "That I'm finally 'letting go' of my 'obsessive attachments' or whatever bullshit she called it. But it doesn't feel like letting go. It feels like losing something. Like there's a part of me that got left behind in that facility, and I don't know how to get it back."
The snow was piling up on her windowsill now, a thick layer of white that softened the edges of everything. Inside the room, the light was fading, casting long shadows across the walls.
"I talked to Ashton today too," Laurel continued. "He asked me out. Like, officially. And I said no, and I thought I was just being practical—focusing on myself, not getting into relationships until I'm stable—but now I'm wondering if that's even true. If maybe I said no because I can't imagine feeling that way about anyone anymore."
She set down the journal and the photograph, pulling the blanket tighter around herself.
"What if Newport took that from me? What if all that therapy, all that medication, all that pressure to be someone I'm not—what if it actually worked, in a twisted way? Not enough to make me stop being trans, but enough to break something else. The part that knew how to love."
The thought was terrifying. More terrifying than Derrick, than the school rumors, than any of the external threats. Because those things could be survived, could be endured until she got out. But if she was fundamentally damaged, if her capacity for connection had been permanently altered...
"I don't want to be alone forever," she whispered. "I don't want to go through life feeling nothing. I want to be able to love someone—really love them, the way you loved me. The way Dani loves me. But I don't know if I can anymore."
She sat in the darkness for a long time, watching the snow fall, thinking about all the ways a person could be broken without anyone being able to see.
Her phone had been buzzing beside her, and by the time she looked at the lock screen read “2 missed calls - Evelyn”
That's odd. She grabbed her phone, dread pooling like acid in her stomach. She unlocked it, swiping to her notifications and the first text from Evelyn read “Ashton got back together with Sarah.”
“...What?” Laurel's eye twitched.