Dani Rivera, October 13th 2018, Bozeman Montana
The motel room was disgusting, filled with their bottles from the last few nights as Sam lay sprawled drunkenly on the bed. Dani looked down at him and opened the curtains. In doing so eliciting a groan from Sam.
“Get up, we've got to get moving.” Dani said, nudging Sam's shoulder with her hands.
Sam groggily blinked his eyes open. Sam groaned, a sound like gravel turning over, and threw an arm over his face to block the aggressive morning light. “Five more minutes, Dani. The world can’t possibly need us before noon.”
“It’s almost ten, and the world—or at least the part of it we care about—is an hour and a half away in a town called Laurel, ironically.” Dani said, pulling on her boots with sharp, efficient tugs. The motel room smelled like stale beer, cheap pizza, and desperation. She kicked a stray empty bottle with the toe of her boot. “And we have an appointment.”
Sam sat up, wincing. His dyed green hair was a mess, and the stubble on his jaw was more pronounced in the harsh light. He squinted at Dani, who was already dressed in ripped jeans and the same My Chemical Romance hoodie she’d worn to the game last night, the teal scarf, a remake of her original gift to Laurel, defiant slash against the faded black. “An appointment? We don’t have appointments. We have vague plans that involve showing a picture of three kids at Pride to strangers and hoping for a miracle.”
“We have one now.” Dani tossed his phone at him. It landed with a soft thud on the lumpy comforter. “Got a text this morning. From someone named Jess. She’s a friend of Laurel’s.”
That got his attention. Sam scrubbed a hand over his face, suddenly more awake. “A friend? Are you sure it’s not a trap? Someone trying to spin us in circles for fun again?”
“She got my number from her phone, the one you found online,” Dani said, her voice tight. “She said Laurel’s safe but going through a lot. She told me to be at the public library in Laurel at four o’clock this afternoon.” She paced the small space between the beds, the motion too big for the room. “I told her we’d be there.”
Sam stared at her. “You told… Dani, what if it's not our Laurel?
“What choice do we have?” Dani stopped, her hands clenched. “We’ve been in this damn state for a week, Sam. We went to the game last night hoping for a one-in-a-million chance she’d be there. I had you get on the PA system and call for her like she was a lost kid at the mall.” Her voice cracked. “This is the first real lead we’ve had in forever. I’m taking it.”
Sam sighed, the sound heavy with a weariness that went beyond a hangover. He knew that look on Dani’s face. It was the same one she’d had when she decided they were driving from California to Montana in her beat-to-hell 2004 Saturn with nothing but a box of photos and a pocketful of hope on the memory of Laurel having family here. “Okay,” he said, swinging his legs off the bed. “Okay. Library at four. But we’re going in carefully. And if this feels wrong, we bail. Deal?”
“Deal,” Dani said, though they both knew she wouldn’t. She’d never bail on Laurel. She grabbed her keys and their fake IDs they had used for the booze last night and went to warm up the car.
Dani Rivera, April 25th 2015, Marisol Heights, California
The sound of wet drywall and plaster falling from the ceiling and ricocheting off the glass table in the dining room had sounded like the world was ending. The Rivera house had seen better days to put it mildly. Water damage had ruined the integrity of the house's foundation, wind and rain made it feel like the entire house was rocking, and the sickening sounds of all the leaks coming through the ceiling and crashing into buckets sounded like a violent waterfall begging for mercy.
Dani held her little sister Bree’s hand and huddled in one of the safe(er) parts of the house.
It hadn't always been like this. Dani’s mother Marianne had once been a financially stable and loving mother. But the death of Dani’s father in a car accident had left Marianne too delusional and prideful to properly care for her three daughters. She would never acknowledge anything was wrong, never asking for help or handouts. Never going to a food bank or getting financial assistance even as her children were starving.
Dani’s panicked breathing had only made Bree more alarmed as the coastal storm wore on outside. Dani had stopped arguing with her mother, sometimes it hurt more knowing the only parent she had left was actively giving up, as if her children were less important than her pride.
The ceiling groaned, a low, guttural sound that vibrated through the floorboards. Dani pulled Bree closer, tucking her little sister’s head under her chin. The storm outside wasn’t just a storm; it was an assault, the wind and rain trying to tear their house apart plank by plank. Each drip into the plastic buckets scattered around the living room was a tick of a clock they were all trying to ignore.
“It’s okay,” Dani whispered, her voice a thin thread against the chaos. “It’s just water.”
Bree trembled against her. “It’s loud.”
“I know.”
Their mother, Marianne, stood by the window, her back to them. She wasn’t looking at the storm. She was staring at her own reflection in the dark, rain-streaked glass, a framed photo of her late husband clutched in her hand. She’d been talking to it off and on all night, quiet murmurs that were more unnerving than the storm itself.
“The roof is fine, Miguel,” she’d said an hour ago, tracing his face on the portrait. “Just a little spring cleaning.”
Dani had wanted to scream. There was nothing fine. The drywall in the hallway was soft as a sponge. A patch of black mold was colonizing the corner of the kitchen. Their oldest sister, Sofia, had left two months ago, her tearful apology “I can’t fix this, Dani. I can’t watch this anymore” was still a raw wound. She’d gone to live with a friend whose parents had a spare room, but not three. Dani couldn't even blame her.
A loud crack, sharper than thunder, split the air. Plaster and wet drywall rained down onto the dining room table, a slurry of white and brown that missed one of the buckets entirely. Bree shrieked and buried her face in Dani’s hoodie.
Marianne didn’t flinch. She just sighed, a sound of weary annoyance, as if a guest had spilled a drink. “I’ll get the dustpan,” she murmured to the photograph.
That’s when something in Dani broke. The fear, the hunger, the constant, grinding effort of pretending this was a life—it all snapped.
“No,” Dani said, her voice shaking but clear. She stood up, gently moving Bree behind her. “You’re not getting the dustpan. You’re going to look at us.”
Marianne turned slowly, her eyes unfocused, still half in a conversation with a ghost. “Daniela, what has gotten into you? I’m handling it.”
“You’re not handling anything!” The words tore out of her, hot and ragged. “The ceiling is falling in! Bree is terrified! We ate the last of the canned soup yesterday! Sofia is gone because you’d rather talk to a picture than admit you need help!”
Marianne’s face hardened, the soft grief collapsing into a brittle, defensive pride. “Don’t you dare speak about your father that way. Or your sister. She made her choice.”
“She didn’t have a choice!” Dani’s hands were balled into fists. “And neither do we! I’m fourteen, Mom. I shouldn’t have to be the one making sure Bree does her homework or figuring out how to stretch a box of crackers for three days. That’s your job!”
For a second, a flicker of something—shame, maybe, or horror—crossed Marianne’s face. Then it was gone, replaced by the mask. “I am doing the best I can.”
“No, you’re not,” Dani whispered, the fight draining out of her, leaving only a cold, hollow ache. “You’re not even trying.”
She grabbed Bree’s hand, pulled her toward the relative safety of the makeshift bedroom she'd been using, and shut the door on her mother’s vacant stare. They huddled on Dani’s bed, listening to the storm and the drip, drip, drip of their house dissolving around them. It was in that moment, holding her shivering sister in a room that smelled of damp and decay, that Dani made a promise to herself. She would never let someone she loved feel this alone. She would never stand by and watch them drown. She would find a way out.
Dani Rivera, September 26th 2015, Marisol Heights, California
Dani had dressed nicely for this, she wore a pinstriped black suit she had saved up for with some help from Sam, she had helped her get everything she needed in order to ask Laurel to homecoming… but Dani was currently in the process of chickening out for the twelfth time trying to stir up the courage to call Laurel.
“You’re a chicken, Rivera,” Sam’s voice laughed behind her, tinny and judgmental. “A well-dressed chicken. Just knock on her door and ask her.” Sam was wearing a Hawaiian shirt and cargo shorts, super underdressed next to Dani.
Dani paced the small patch of concrete outside Sam's apartment building, the pinstriped suit feeling more like a costume with every passing second. “I can’t! What if she says no? What if she laughs? What if a meteor hits the earth right as I ask and it’s my fault because I tempted fate with my hubris?”
“Okay, you’ve officially lost it,” Sam sighed. “Hang up the phone. Go over there. Bring the stupid flag. Girls like stupid flags.”
“It’s not a stupid flag, it’s a grand gesture!” Dani hissed, but she was already walking, her feet carrying her toward Laurel’s apartment building three blocks away before her brain could veto the mission.
She clutched the rolled-up practice flag in her hand. It was a terrible idea. On the orange and teal silk, she’d used white fabric paint to write ‘HOCO?’. It looked less like a romantic invitation and more like a cry for help from the dripping fabric paint.
She took the stairs to Laurel’s apartment two at a time, her heart a frantic drum solo against her ribs. She stood outside the door for a full minute, practicing her smile in the reflective surface of the peephole. Finally, she knocked.
The door opened. Laurel stood there in an oversized tee and shorts, her hair a messy halo, eyes wide with surprise. “Dani? What are you….Wow. You’re in a suit.”
“I am in a suit,” Dani confirmed, her carefully rehearsed speech evaporating on her tongue. She shoved the flag at Laurel instead. “This is for you.”
Laurel unrolled it. Her eyes scanned the painted letters, and a slow, beautiful smile spread across her face. It was the smile Dani had been chasing for a year, the one that made the whole world feel quiet and right.
“Homecoming?” Laurel whispered, looking up at her, her eyes shining.
“Yeah,” Dani managed, her voice suddenly rough. “With me. If you want. We could… I don’t know, dance ironically to the bad DJ? Make fun of the theme? It’s ‘A Night in Paris,’ which is hilarious because we’re in Marisol Heights. San Francisco is way cooler and it's like 15 minutes from here-”
Laurel didn’t answer right away. She just dropped the flag, stepped forward, and wrapped her arms around Dani’s neck, burying her face in the crook of her shoulder. “Yes,” she muffled into the fabric of the suit jacket. “Obviously, yes.”
Dani’s arms went around her waist, pulling her close, a giddy laugh bubbling up from her chest. “Good. Because the suit was non-refundable.”
Laurel pulled back, still smiling, her cheeks flushed. “You’re ridiculous.”
“You love it,” Dani countered.
“I do,” Laurel admitted.
They stood there wrapped around each other smiling nervously out on Laurel's porch, leaning into each other until there was no more room left and they shared their first kiss.
Dani Rivera, October 2nd 2015, Marisol Heights, California
The dance had been stellar. The gym, draped in cheap tulle and fairy lights, smelled like hairspray and teenage sweat. The DJ played a questionable mix of top 40 hits and 1980s throwbacks that no one had asked for. The theme, ‘A Night in Paris,’ was represented by a single, sad-looking cardboard Eiffel Tower in the corner.
Laurel, in a simple, elegant navy blue dress that her mother had helped her pick out, looked breathtaking. She’d been nervous at first, her shoulders tense, but Dani had kept a steadying hand on the small of her back, whispering terrible jokes into her ear until Laurel’s laughter was louder than her anxiety. They didn’t dance much, preferring to stand by the bleachers, making up elaborate backstories for the other couples and sharing snacks at one of the tables.
When a slow song finally came on, something soft and forgettable by a band neither of them knew, Dani had taken Laurel’s hand and led her to the edge of the dance floor. They swayed in a small circle, Laurel’s head resting on Dani’s shoulder, the teal of the scarf a soft brush against Dani’s cheek. In that moment, with the bad lighting and the off-key singing of their classmates, nothing else mattered. It was just them. A quiet, perfect bubble in the middle of the noise.
Afterwards, they walked home under a sky full of stars, their hands intertwined. They talked about everything and nothing—the future, color guard, the questionable fashion choices of their peers. At Laurel’s door, they’d shared another kiss, slow and sweet, full of the giddy promise of a beginning. Dani had walked home with Laurel’s smile burned into her memory, the happiest she’d been in a very, very long time.
The morning after homecoming, the apartment was filled with the scent of coffee and pancakes. April stood at the stove, humming along to the radio, a genuine, unforced smile on her face. April had relented and allowed Dani to stay over. She glanced over at the small kitchen table where Laurel and Dani sat, heads bent close together over pictures from the previous night, their laughter a bright, welcome sound.
Laurel was wearing one of Dani’s band t-shirts, the fabric soft and worn, swallowing her small frame. Dani, in turn, had on a pair of Laurel’s sweatpants that were just a little too short. They looked comfortable, happy, and utterly at home with each other.
“You’re telling me he wore that to homecoming?” Laurel giggled, pointing at a picture.
“I’m telling you he thought it looked good.” Dani confirmed, deadpan. “His date looked mortified.”
April brought over a platter of pancakes, setting it down between them. “Fuel for the fashion critics,” she said, her eyes warm. She looked at Dani. “That suit was very sharp last night, by the way. You two looked wonderful together.”
Dani’s cheeks flushed a faint pink. “Thanks, Mrs. Parker, I clean up okay?”
“You more than clean up okay,” April said, pouring them both more orange juice. She caught Laurel’s eye, and in that shared glance was a universe of understanding. You’re happy. I’m happy for you. It was as simple and as profound as that. There was no awkwardness, no interrogation. Just the quiet, steady joy of seeing her daughter bloom.
The morning passed in a comfortable, domestic haze. They ate pancakes, debated the merits of different punk bands, and planned a movie marathon for that afternoon. The apartment felt less like a safe house and more like a home, filled not just with safety, but with joy.
Around noon, Dani’s phone buzzed. She glanced at it, and the easy smile on her face tightened almost imperceptibly. “It’s my mom,” she said, her voice a little too casual. “I should probably head home.”
The shift in the atmosphere was subtle but immediate. Laurel’s hand found Dani’s under the table, a silent question. Dani squeezed back, a reassurance that felt like a lie.
“I’ll walk you out,” Laurel said, standing up.
At the door, the goodbye was quiet. “Text me when you get there?” Laurel asked, her voice soft.
“Always,” Dani promised. She leaned in and kissed her, a quick, sweet press of lips that was over too soon. “I’ll see you later.”
As Dani walked down the hallway, the warmth of Laurel’s apartment began to fade, replaced by a familiar, creeping dread. She stepped out of the building into the bright California sun, but all she felt was a chill. Home was not a place of pancakes and easy laughter. Home was a place of mold and falling plaster.
Dani Rivera, October 3rd 2015, Marisol Heights, California
The front door of the Rivera house creaked open into a wall of tense silence. The buckets were still scattered around the living room, some fuller than others from the last rain. The air was thick with the smell of damp and decay. Her mother, Marianne, was sitting at the dining room table, not talking to a photograph, but staring at her phone, her face a mask of cold fury. Bree was nowhere to be seen, likely hiding in her room.
“Where have you been?” Marianne asked, her voice dangerously low. She didn’t look up from the phone.
“I was at Laurel’s,” Dani said, dropping her keys into the bowl by the door. “I told you I was staying over.”
“You told me you were at a friend’s house,” Marianne corrected, her voice sharp. She finally looked up, and her eyes were like chips of ice. “You didn’t tell me you were playing dress-up.”
She turned the phone around. It was a photo someone had posted from the dance. Dani in her suit, her arm around Laurel’s waist, both of them smiling.
“What is this, Daniela?”
Dani’s stomach twisted. “It’s homecoming. I went with Laurel.”
“In a boy’s suit.” Marianne’s lip curled in disgust. “Looking like… that. With that girl. What is wrong with you? Is this some kind of sickness?” Has she made you like this?”
The word ‘sickness’ landed like a slap. “There’s nothing wrong with me,” Dani said, her voice shaking. “And there is nothing wrong with Laurel.”
“Don’t you lie to me!” Marianne stood up, her chair scraping harshly against the floor. “I raised you to be a good Catholic girl. I didn’t raise you to be… this abomination. What would your father say if he could see you now? Shaming his memory, shaming this family.”
“Dad would be more ashamed that his kids are living in a house that’s falling apart while their mother does nothing!” Dani shot back, the anger finally boiling over. “You care more about what I wore to a dance than the fact that there’s black mold in the kitchen!”
Marianne’s face contorted, grief and rage warring for control. “This is your fault! All of this! Ever since your father died, you’ve been nothing but trouble. Defiant, angry… unnatural. You bring this darkness into my house.”
“I’m not the one talking to ghosts, Mom!”
The moment the words left her mouth, Dani knew she’d crossed a line. Marianne’s face went white, then a mottled, furious red. She took a step forward, her hand raised. For a second, Dani thought she was going to strike her.
Instead, her hand dropped, and her voice went dead calm. “Get out.”
Dani stared at her, her heart hammering. “What?”
“You heard me,” Marianne whispered, her voice filled with a chilling finality. “If you want to live in sin, if you want to be this… thing… you will not do it under my roof. You are not my daughter anymore. Pack your things and get out of my house.”
Tears streamed down Dani’s face, hot and bitter. She didn’t argue. There was no point. She turned and walked to her room on numb legs, the sound of her mother’s condemnation echoing in her ears. She threw a few changes of clothes, her toothbrush, and the burned CD from Laurel into a backpack.
She stopped at Bree’s door. It was cracked open. Her little sister sat on her bed, clutching a stuffed animal, her face pale with fear.
“Dani?” Bree whispered.
Dani knelt in front of her, her own tears blurring her vision. “I have to go away for a little while, okay? But I’m not leaving you. I’ll call you. I promise.”
She hugged her sister tight, a fierce, desperate embrace, then stood up and walked out of the room without looking back. She walked past her mother, who stood like a statue in the living room, and out the front door.
The door clicked shut behind her, the sound of a life ending. Dani stood on the cracked sidewalk, her backpack slung over her shoulder, the bright California sun feeling like a cruel joke. She was fourteen years old, and she was homeless. She pulled out her phone, her hands shaking, and scrolled to the one contact that felt like a lifeline.
Her thumb hovered over Laurel’s name. She couldn’t. She couldn’t bring that darkness to Laurel’s door, not after the perfect morning they’d had. Her finger moved down the list.
Sam.
She pressed call, and as the phone began to ring, she sank down onto the curb, buried her face in her hands, and finally let herself break.
Dani Rivera, October 13th 2018, Laurel Montana
The drive from Bozeman to Laurel was a straight shot through a landscape that felt empty. The Saturn rattled, a constant, worrying shimmy in the steering wheel that Sam kept pretending not to notice. The mountains loomed, greys amd purples under a low-slung sky. It was a world away from the sun-bleached pastels of Marisol Heights.
“Are you sure about this?” Sam asked for the third time, his voice raspy. He was nursing a bottle of water like it was a holy relic, his green hair a shocking slash of color against the muted browns and greys of the Montana prairie scrolling past the window.
“No,” Dani said, not taking her eyes off the road. “But I’m doing it anyway.”
Her phone was on the passenger seat between them, a silent, charged object. The text exchange with ‘Jess’ was burned into her mind. She’s safe but she’s going through a lot. What did that mean?
“It just feels… easy,” Sam mused, rubbing his temples. “We search for, what, almost a year? We follow up on her having family in Montana, after scouring San Francisco for months, we drive for two days, and suddenly a random friend texts you to meet at a library? It feels like the beginning of a Resident Evil game.”
“Our whole life is the beginning of a horror game,” Dani retorted, her knuckles white on the steering wheel. “This is the first time it’s felt like the part where the main character finds anything useful instead of another locked door.” She glanced at him, her expression softening for a fraction of a second. “I have to believe it’s her, Sam. If I don’t, then what are we even doing out here?”
Sam sighed, leaning his head against the cool glass of the window. He knew. He’d been there since the beginning of the end. He’d been the one she called from the curb outside her mother’s house, her voice a shattered wreck. He’d been the one who helped her pack the few belongings she had left in the world after Laurel was taken away. He’d been her partner in this desperate, cross-country hunt for the love of her life.
“I know,” he said quietly. “I just… I want it to be her. And I want her to be okay. And I’m scared it’s going to be neither.”
The miles dissolved. The past was a constant, humming presence in the car, more real than the road ahead. It was a landscape of its own, full of sunlight and shadows, of found family and devastating loss. And it all started with a secret she couldn’t keep anymore.
Dani Rivera, October 16th 2015, Marisol Heights, California
She'd been staying at Sam's the last two weeks and while it was better than her old home, she couldn't bear to think of her couch as comforting. Dani had been putting the conversation off with Laurel, trying to dodge the subject out of embarrassment or fear.
Each lie felt like swallowing a small stone.
The breaking point came on a Tuesday, during color guard practice. They were on the high school’s practice field, the same field where Dani had first taught Laurel how to do a drop spin. The air was warm, smelling of grass and distant car exhaust. They were working on a new rifle toss, a tricky sequence that required perfect timing.
Laurel, as always, was focused, her movements clean and precise. She’d become one of the best on the team, her quiet determination translating into a fierce, elegant grace. Dani, on the other hand, was a mess. Her timing was off, her thoughts were a tangled knot of anxiety, and she’d dropped her rifle three times in a row.
“Rivera, focus!” Coach Núñez called from the sideline. “Your head’s not in it today.”
On the fourth try, the rifle slipped from her sweaty grip on the release. It spun awkwardly, not high enough, and came down hard, the wooden stock cracking against her forehead. The impact sent a dizzying shock through her skull. She stumbled back, dropping the rifle with a clatter, her hand flying to her head.
“Dani!”
Laurel was there in a second, her face a mask of panic. She gently pulled Dani’s hand away, her eyes widening at the sight of the blood already welling from a small gash above her eyebrow.
“You’re bleeding,” Laurel whispered, her voice tight with fear.
“I’m fine,” Dani mumbled, though the world was starting to tilt.
“No, you’re not.” Laurel’s voice was firm. She looped an arm around Dani’s waist, supporting her. “Coach! She needs the nurse!”
The next twenty minutes were a blur of concerned faces, antiseptic wipes, and a butterfly bandage that felt too small for the throbbing in her head. Coach Núñez had sent her to the nurse’s office with Laurel as her escort, and now they sat on a bench outside the school’s main office, waiting for the world to stop spinning.
Laurel hadn’t said a word. She just sat beside Dani, her knee pressed against hers, a silent, solid presence. She held a cold pack to Dani’s head, her touch gentle.
“You’ve been acting weird lately,” Laurel said finally, her voice quiet but unyielding. She wasn’t looking at Dani, but at the scuffed linoleum floor. “You’re not eating at lunch. You’re wearing the same hoodie every other day. And you haven't come over.” She turned to face her, and her eyes were full of a hurt that was deeper than worry. “What’s going on, Dani? And don’t lie to me.”
The directness of it, the raw vulnerability in Laurel’s gaze, shattered the last of Dani’s defenses. The stones in her stomach churned. She tried to form a response, another deflection, but all that came out was a choked sob.
And then it all spilled out. The whole ugly, miserable story. The fight with her mom. The hateful words. Being thrown out. The nights on Sam’s couch, feeling like a ghost in her own life. The shame. The fear. The crushing weight of being fourteen and utterly, terrifyingly alone. She cried, ugly, gasping sobs, burying her face in her hands as the story tumbled out of her.
Laurel didn’t interrupt. She didn’t offer platitudes. She just listened, her hand a steady warmth on Dani’s back. When Dani finally fell silent, her voice raw and her body shaking with spent emotion, Laurel wrapped her arms around her and held her, tight and fierce.
“You’re not alone,” Laurel whispered into her hair. “You’re not. You should have told me.”
“I was ashamed,” Dani mumbled into her shoulder. “I didn’t want to… bring my mess into your life. Your life is finally good.”
Laurel pulled back, her eyes blazing with a protective fire that Dani had never seen before. “You are not a mess,” she said, her voice shaking with intensity. “You are my person. Your problems are my problems. We don’t do this alone. Ever.”
She stood up, pulling Dani with her. “Come on.”
“Where are we going?” Dani asked, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.
“Home,” Laurel said, as if it were the simplest, most obvious thing in the world. “You’re coming home with me.”
April Parker came home from a long shift at the hospital to find two teenage girls and a mountain of emotional baggage in her living room. Dani was curled on the couch, looking small and broken, a fresh bandage stark against her forehead. Laurel was in the kitchen, making tea with a fierce, determined focus.
Laurel explained the situation in a low, urgent voice, her words tumbling over each other. April listened, her expression unreadable, taking in the whole story without interruption. She looked from her daughter’s desperate, pleading face to the girl huddled on her couch, and she saw not a problem, but a reflection. Another child who needed a safe harbor.
She walked into the living room and sat on the coffee table in front of Dani. “Dani,” she said, her voice calm and steady. “Look at me.”
Dani slowly lifted her head. Her eyes were red-rimmed and full of a weary apprehension.
“This is your home now,” April said, her voice leaving no room for argument. “For as long as you need it. We’ll figure out the details. We’ll talk to social services, we’ll figure out the legal guardianship. My father is a lawyer; he’ll help. But the most important thing is that you are safe. You are wanted here. Do you understand?”
Tears welled in Dani’s eyes again, but this time they were not tears of shame or fear. They were tears of overwhelming, disbelieving relief. She nodded, unable to speak.
“Good,” April said, her voice softening. She reached out and gently brushed a stray piece of hair from Dani’s forehead, her touch as gentle as a paramedic’s. “Now, Laurel is making tea, and I think there’s some leftover cake in the fridge. We’re going to eat, and then we’re going to figure out how to get the rest of your things from your mom's house. One step at a time.”
And just like that, Dani’s world, which had been shrinking down to the size of a lumpy couch and a backpack of clothes, expanded again. It wasn’t a fix. It was a beginning. It was the moment a found family clicked into place, three broken people choosing to make something whole together.
Jessica Perot, October 13th 2018, Laurel, Montana
The house was quiet. Too quiet. Jess sat in the worn armchair in the corner of her living room, the one with the floral pattern faded from years of sunlight, and listened to the silence from upstairs. It wasn’t a peaceful silence. It was the heavy, weighted quiet of exhaustion, the kind that follows a storm. Laurel was asleep in her bed, finally, after a morning that had stripped them both raw.
Jess’s phone felt hot in her hand, a guilty weight. She kept rereading the texts, her own words staring back at her like an accusation.
CaptainJessSparrow: Be at the public library in town by 4 pm.
DaniCalifornia: I'll be there.
It was 2:30. An hour and a half.
Her stomach churned. It had been a reckless, impulsive decision, born from a toxic cocktail of jealousy, protectiveness, and the voice of Ana Yankowski whispering in her ear.
You’re not enough. Someone else will always be more important.
She’d seen the name ‘Dani’ and immediately pictured a threat, an interloper from a past she couldn’t compete with. She’d needed to see this person, to size them up, to stand as the gatekeeper to Laurel’s fragile, newly-remembered world.
She’d justified it as protecting Laurel. But now, in the quiet of her own home, she had to admit it was about protecting herself, too.
Her mom, Gina, bustled in from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. “She still sleeping?” she asked, her voice a soft murmur.
Jess nodded. “Out like a light. I don’t think she’s really slept in days.”
Gina’s face was a mixture of sympathy and a fierce, maternal anger that was aimed squarely at Derrick Payton. “That man,” she muttered, shaking her head. “I swear, if he wasn’t her father…” She left the threat hanging in the air, then sighed. “Well, she’s safe here. I made chicken noodle soup for when she wakes up. The cure for everything.” She paused, her gaze sharpening on Jess. “And you? You look like you’re about to vibrate out of your skin. What’s going on in that head of yours?”
Jess forced a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Just worried about her.”
It wasn’t a complete lie. But it wasn’t the whole truth, either. The whole truth was that she was about to walk into a meeting that could either be a bridge to Laurel’s past or a bomb dropped into her present, and she had no idea which.
“I’m, uh, going to the library,” Jess said, standing up and trying to sound casual. “I have to return a book before it’s overdue.”
Gina raised an eyebrow. “You haven’t checked out a book since summer reading before sophomore year.”
“It’s a new habit,” Jess lied, grabbing her keys. “Be back in a bit. Don’t let her leave if she wakes up.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Gina said, her eyes following Jess with a knowing look that made Jess feel about twelve years old.
The drive to the library was short, the familiar streets of Laurel looking gray and alien. Every passing car made her jumpy. Was that them? That beat-up sedan? That truck? She felt like a spy in a movie she hadn’t written.
The Laurel Public Library was a low, brick building that smelled of old paper, floor wax, and the faint, sweet scent of decaying book glue. It was a place of quiet, orderly knowledge, a stark contrast to the chaotic mess of emotions churning in her gut. She pushed through the heavy wooden doors and scanned the room.
Over in the non-fiction section, by the oversized atlases, two figures stood out. They didn’t belong. One was a guy with messy, dyed-green hair, wearing a faded band t-shirt that looked too thin for the Montana cold. He was slouched against a bookshelf, looking bored and anxious at the same time. The other… the other was the girl from the football game.
The girl she spilled soda on. The one she thought was hot. Oh shit.
She was leaning over a table, her back to Jess, but Jess recognized her instantly. The same dark hair, the same defiant posture. She was wearing a worn My Chemical Romance hoodie and a teal scarf that seemed too bright for the muted colors of the library. As Jess approached, the girl turned, and her eyes—dark, intense, and searching—locked onto Jess’s. There was a small, silver ring in her lower lip.
“Jess?” the girl asked, her voice low and urgent.
Jess’s throat went dry. “Dani?”
The girl nodded, taking a step forward. The guy with the green hair pushed off the bookshelf and moved to stand beside her, his arms crossed, his expression wary.
“I’m Sam,” he said, his voice a low counterpoint to Dani’s intensity. “Where is she?”
Jess’s protective instincts flared. She crossed her own arms, mirroring him. “First, you’re going to tell me who you are. And why you’ve been looking for her.”
Dani’s patience snapped. “Who are we? We’re her family. The real one. The one she chose.” Her voice was shaking with a year’s worth of desperation. “We were there for her first day of school as herself. I was there when she joined color guard. I was there when her mother, April, made her pancakes the morning after our first homecoming dance together. So don’t you dare stand there and gatekeep her from us.”
The mention of April, of homecoming, of color guard—it was like a series of rapid-fire punches. This wasn’t some casual acquaintance. This was deep. This was history.
“You’re the girl from the game,” Jess said, the words coming out flat. “I spilled soda on you.”
Dani blinked, the memory registering. A flicker of something—annoyance, maybe, or just surprise—crossed her face before the urgency returned. “Yeah, great to see you again. Now where is she? Is she okay? Your text said she was going through a lot.”
“Her dad,” Jess said, the words tasting like ash. “He’s… he’s Derrick Payton. He’s why she’s back here. He’s why she’s not…” She trailed off, gesturing vaguely.
Sam’s face hardened. “We know who he is. April told us stories.”
“She’s been living as a boy again,” Jess said, laying the ugly truth bare. “She’s been living as a boy named Montana. Her dad doesn’t know that she ever transitioned. He found out about her wearing makeup and he… he lost it this morning. She’s a wreck, She made herself forget who she was, she's been repressing a lot.”
The color drained from Dani’s face. The fierce intensity was replaced by a look of such profound, gut-wrenching pain that Jess had to look away. “He’s making her be him again?” Dani whispered, the words barely audible. “In that house?”
Sam's normally calm face turned to desperation.
“She’s been remembering,” Jess added quickly, wanting to offer some balm to the wound she’d just inflicted. “She found a letter from her mom last night. She knows who she is again. She told me this morning. She’s Laurel.”
Dani closed her eyes, a single tear tracing a path down her cheek. Sam put a hand on her shoulder, a silent, grounding presence.
“We have to get her out of there,” Dani said, her voice thick with emotion. “We can take her back to California. We have a place. My sister… she’ll help. We can figure it out.”
And there it was. The stalemate. The moment where hope crashed against the hard wall of reality.
“You can’t,” Jess said, her voice firm but gentle. “Dani, she’s seventeen. She’s a minor for a few more months. Derrick has legal custody. If you take her, it’s kidnapping. He’ll call the cops, and they will bring her right back here. It will only make things a thousand times worse for her.”
“So what are we supposed to do?” Dani’s voice rose, frustration and helplessness warring in her tone. “Just leave her here to be emotionally abused? To have him erase her all over again?”
“No,” Jess said, her own frustration mounting. “We wait. We support her. We make a plan for the day she turns eighteen. But we can’t just swoop in and carry her away. This isn’t a movie.”
“She needs to see us,” Dani insisted, her eyes pleading. “She needs to know we’re here. That we didn’t abandon her.” She took a step closer, her voice dropping to a desperate whisper. “Please, Jess. Just bring her here. Let her see us. Let her know she’s not alone.”
Jess looked from Dani’s tear-streaked, desperate face to Sam’s quiet, steady gaze. She saw their story, their love for Laurel, laid bare in the sterile quiet of the library. They weren’t a threat. They were a lifeline. And Laurel was drowning.
Her own jealousy, her own fear, felt small and petty in the face of their devotion. They had a right to be here. Laurel had a right to know they were here.
Against every rational instinct, against the voice in her head that screamed this was a terrible idea, she found herself nodding.
“Okay,” she breathed. “Okay. I’ll go get her. Wait here.”
She turned and walked away before she could change her mind, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She felt their eyes on her back the entire way to the door.
As she pulled out of the library parking lot, she glanced in her rearview mirror. A beat-up, dark-colored Saturn pulled out behind her, keeping a respectful distance.
They didn’t trust her.
She couldn’t blame them. She wasn’t sure she trusted herself.
Laurel Melody Parker, October 13th 2018, Laurel, Montana
Laurel woke slowly, drifting up from a deep, dreamless sleep into the soft, unfamiliar comfort of Jess’s bedroom. For a moment, she didn’t know where she was. The walls were lilac and mint, not the oppressive wood paneling of her room at Derrick’s. The air smelled like Jess’s perfume and laundry detergent, not stale anger. She was curled on her side, a heavy comforter tucked around her, the weight of it a comforting pressure.
The memories of the morning returned, not as a sharp, stabbing pain, but as a dull, throbbing ache. Her father’s words. The venom in his voice. The way the kitchen had felt like it was shrinking around her.
Tranny.
The word echoed, ugly and sharp. But then, another memory surfaced, pushing the first one back. Jess’s arms around her. The quiet, unwavering acceptance in her voice.
“I know.”
“You’re okay.”
She had told someone. She had said her own name out loud, the real one, and the world hadn’t ended. In fact, in this small, cluttered room, it felt like it was just beginning. A fragile, terrifying, beautiful beginning.
She sat up, the comforter pooling in her lap. Her body felt heavy, boneless with exhaustion, but her mind felt… clearer. The frantic, buzzing panic was gone. She felt hollowed out, but it was a clean kind of hollow, a space waiting to be filled.
She heard footsteps on the stairs, and the door creaked open. Jess stood in the doorway, her car keys dangling from her finger. She looked pale, her expression tight with an anxiety that she was trying very hard to hide.
“Hey,” Jess said, her voice a little too bright. “You’re up.”
“Yeah,” Laurel said, her own voice raspy from sleep and crying. “Where’d you go?”
“Library,” Jess said quickly, not meeting her eyes. She started fussing with a stack of books on her dresser. “Had to… return something.”
Laurel knew she was lying. She could feel it in the tense set of Jess’s shoulders, in the way she wouldn’t stay still. A knot of unease tightened in Laurel’s stomach.
“Are you okay?” Laurel asked. “You seem… weird.”
Jess finally turned, forcing a smile. “I’m fine. I just… I think we should get out of the house for a bit. Go for a walk. The fresh air will be good for you.”
Laurel shrank back. The thought of going outside, of being seen, made her skin crawl. “I don’t want to. I just want to stay here.”
“Come on, Laurel,” Jess urged, her voice gentle but insistent. “We won’t go far. Just down to the park and back. I’ll be right with you. You can’t stay cooped up in here forever.”
The use of her name, so casually, so naturally, sent a strange warmth through her. It was a powerful lure. And she trusted Jess. Even with the weird energy humming off her, she trusted her. Jess wouldn’t let anything bad happen.
“Okay,” she relented, swinging her legs off the bed. “But if I see anyone I know, I’m hiding behind you.”
“Deal,” Jess said, a flicker of relief crossing her face.
Laurel pulled on her shoes and the same oversized hoodie she’d worn that morning, the fabric a familiar, comforting shield. She tugged the hood up, letting it shadow her face, and followed Jess downstairs.
They stepped out of the apartment building into the sharp, clean cold of the late afternoon. The sun was low in the sky, casting long, dramatic shadows across the street. Laurel hunched her shoulders, pulling her arms inside the sleeves of her hoodie, trying to make herself as small as possible. She felt exposed, vulnerable, every passing car a potential threat.
Jess walked close, her shoulder brushing against Laurel’s, a silent promise of protection. “See? It’s not so bad,” Jess said, her breath pluming in the air.
They were just passing the edge of the building, the sidewalk opening up to the street, when Laurel saw it. A dark, beat-up Saturn parked across the road. Two people were standing beside it, their figures silhouetted against the low sun.
And time stopped.
The world went silent. The sound of the traffic, the rustle of dry leaves skittering across the pavement, Jess’s voice beside her—it all vanished, replaced by the deafening roar of blood in her ears.
It was them.
It was Sam, his green hair a shocking, impossible splash of color in the gray landscape of Laurel, Montana. He was him now. But Laurel barely had time to process that.
Dani.
She wasn’t a memory. She wasn’t a ghost from a life lived a thousand years ago. She was real. She was here. Wearing a hoodie and that teal scarf, the one Laurel had loved so much. Her hair was a little shorter, the silver ring in her lip glinting in the dying light. She looked older, harder, but her eyes… her eyes were the same. Dark, intense, and full of a fierce, desperate love that Laurel felt like a physical blow, even from across the street.
And then, the horror crashed over her.
She was seeing them. Here. Now. Like this.
The dysphoria that had been a dull ache all day roared to life, a monstrous, clawing thing inside her. She was suddenly, agonizingly aware of everything she was not. She was not the girl in the navy blue dress at homecoming. She was not the girl who had kissed Dani on her sunlit porch. She was a thing of sharp angles and wrong proportions, hidden inside a boy’s hoodie in a town that had tried to kill her. Her face was wrong, her voice was wrong, her body was a prison, and they were seeing her in it.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. She was supposed to be free first. She was supposed to be beautiful again. She was supposed to walk back into their lives as Laurel, whole and healed, not as this broken, half-remembered shell.
Across the street, Dani took a step forward, her face a mess of disbelief and hope and a pain that mirrored Laurel’s own. Her lips parted, and a single, whispered word drifted across the space between them, a sound that shattered the silence and Laurel’s heart all at once.
“Laurel?”
The name, her name, from Dani’s mouth, was the final, unbearable blow.
And then, another realization, sharper and more painful than any other.
Jess.
Jess had brought them here. Jess, who had held her while she cried. Jess, who had promised she was safe. Jess had led her out here, into this ambush, and let them see her like this. The betrayal was a white-hot knife in her chest.
She took a step back, her body acting on pure, primal instinct. Away from the impossible sight of her past. Away from the friend who had just broken her.
Then she turned.
And she ran.