The Haven Ridge van wheezed to a stop in front of Millbrook Middle School, coughing like an old smoker before settling into a rattling idle. The driver barely looked back as the doors swung open. Mia didn't glance at him either. She unbuckled her seatbelt and stepped onto the cracked asphalt with the cool indifference of someone who'd walked into too many places where she wasn't welcome. She pulled her hoodie tighter over her head, tucking her hands deep into her sleeves.
The school looked the same. The blue-painted doors. The overstuffed recycling bins. The crooked sign by the flagpole that hadn't been fixed since sixth grade. But the sameness didn't comfort her. If anything, it made her feel like an intruder in her own skin. Like she'd been away for years instead of just weeks.
Kids swarmed the courtyard, backpack straps hanging off one shoulder, laughing, comparing notes, tossing snack wrappers into the air. Normal kids. Her age. But their eyes skimmed past her like she didn't register anymore.
Only one person acknowledged her. Trevor stood leaning against the brick wall near the bike racks, hoodie half-zipped, earbuds dangling from his neck. He caught her gaze and gave a quick, silent nod. He didn't smile. Didn't smirk. Just a flicker of recognition. Mia nodded back. No need for words. They both came from Haven Ridge. That was enough.
She found herself scanning the crowd instinctively. Hoping, almost. But Haley wasn't here. She wouldn't be. Haley went to a school over an hour away, some distant district no one at Haven Ridge could explain. Mia had tried not to let it bother her, but it did. Haley had been her tether, calm, grounded, always knowing when to talk and when not to. Without her, the world felt a little more jagged.
And then she saw her.
Audrey stood just outside the school entrance, her hair styled in a neat braid that gleamed in the sunlight. Her clothes were new, or at least new to her and they fit too. A soft blue sweater and a clean white skirt, nothing like the hand-me-downs or the too-small dresses Laura used to pretend were still acceptable. She was laughing at something Maya said, her voice carefree and clear in the crisp morning air. Anna stood beside them, grinning, slinging her bag over her shoulder.
For a moment, Mia froze in place.
Audrey stood a little straighter. Walked a little lighter. She looked—no, she was—different. Not because she was trying to be someone else, but because she finally didn't have to.
Mia's stomach twisted. The girl she remembered had shadows behind her eyes and flinched when her name was called too loudly. This girl? This girl looked whole. Like she belonged.
The bell screamed overhead, and Mia jerked her gaze away.
She slipped through the doors and made her way to English class.
Whispers started the moment she stepped into the room.
"She's back," someone hissed.
"I thought she was in, like, a home or something."
"Did you hear what she did?"
Mia gritted her teeth and took the seat farthest from the window. Same as always. Except everything had changed.
Mrs. Davies was already at the front of the room, flipping through papers and clapping her hands for attention. "Before we begin today," she said cheerfully, "I just want to give a shoutout to Audrey for her presentation last week. Beautifully written and very brave.."
A few students clapped. Audrey looked mildly embarrassed but pleased. She ducked her head and murmured a thank-you.
Mia's pencil dug into the paper in front of her, the lead threatening to snap.
Audrey. Always Audrey.
"Wait," someone whispered—too loud to be ignored. "Aren't they, like, sisters or something? Still?"
Someone else snorted. "Barely. I heard Mia was supposed to be in a psych ward. CPS is just being slow."
A ripple of giggles passed through the room like a virus. Mrs. Davies either didn't hear or chose to ignore it.
Mia didn't move. Her face burned, her jaw clenched, her body screaming for an outlet. Her old self might have slammed a desk or shouted something cruel and fast and sharp. But today, she sat still. She let the heat simmer and settle into her spine, burying itself like a splinter.
She stared straight ahead and didn't blink.
Across town, Elias Jones was pacing.
He'd already been through two mugs of coffee and nearly half the carpet in the living room.
"That last lawyer was useless," he snapped, waving a sheaf of crumpled notes at Laura. "Didn't push. Didn't argue. Just let them walk all over us."
Laura sat on the couch, motionless. She looked pale. Not fragile, just… dulled.
"We've worked hard to get this appointment," she said quietly. "Don't blow it before we even get in the door."
Elias opened his mouth to retort, but her voice hardened.
"If you blow this one too, Elias, we're out of options."
He shut up.
They arrived at the law office ten minutes early. The building was generic, beige walls, generic paintings, fake plants. But the man behind the desk was new: Mr. Grayson. Dark suit, clean desk, steely eyes that gave away nothing.
"Mr. and Mrs. Jones," he said, nodding politely. "Let's talk reunification."
His voice was calm. Precise. Unapologetic.
He explained that the court was watching closely. That their behavior, demeanor, and emotional consistency mattered more now than ever. That CPS's reports were not encouraging, but could be balanced with visible effort.
He outlined three core requirements: full cooperation with the department, respect for temporary placement, and visible attempts at parenting improvement. "I suggest registering for parenting classes immediately," he added. "It will demonstrate a commitment to change."
Elias gritted his teeth, a vein twitching in his jaw.
Laura, for once, beat him to the response.
"We understand," she said softly.
Mr. Grayson nodded once. "Then let's proceed."
Back at Millbrook, the gym echoed with the chaos of fourth period PE. Whistles blew, dodgeballs thudded, sneakers squeaked.
Mia had always hated PE. But this was worse.
She spotted Audrey immediately. She moved with ease, calling out to Maya during stretches, catching a ball and laughing when it bounced off Anna's shoulder.
Mia felt heavy. Slow. Not because of her body, but because of the weight behind her eyes.
She moved through the motions, counting down the minutes until she could disappear again. No one spoke to her. She didn't try.
After class, they ended up side by side at the lockers. Not planned. Not avoidable.
Mia's voice came before her brain could stop it.
"You've changed."
Audrey froze.
Then, without turning around, she answered, "I have."
No anger. No mockery.
Just truth.
And then she walked away.
Mia didn't follow.
That evening at Haven Ridge, the noise of the rec room buzzed faintly through the walls. Mia lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling. Her journal was open on her stomach, pen uncapped beside her.
She wrote:
She didn't flinch. She didn't lie. She just left me behind.
And below it, smaller:
They all did. But maybe that's not the part that hurts.
She flipped the journal shut and turned her face to the wall.
Audrey sat on the curb outside Millbrook, her knees drawn up to her chest. Most of the students were gone. The school security guard gave her a sympathetic smile before heading inside.
Violet was never late.
Audrey didn't have a phone. She didn't know the number to call. And she didn't want to go back inside and explain.
The shadows grew longer. She tried not to panic.
Finally, a familiar blue car rounded the corner and pulled to a stop.
Violet jumped out of the driver's seat, breathless.
"Audrey! I am so sorry, traffic was awful. I should've called the office, but I didn't think I'd be this late."
Audrey stood. Shrugged. "It's fine."
But her voice cracked just a little.
Violet caught it. "You okay?"
Audrey hesitated, then nodded. "I was a little scared."
Violet squeezed her shoulder. "Thank you for saying that. I'll always come. Even if I'm late."
And Audrey believed her.
That night, in her journal, Audrey wrote:
She didn't yell. She didn't smirk. She just looked like she didn't know who I was anymore.
And maybe I don't know her either.
And at Haven Ridge, Mia's final line read:
She's not scared of me anymore. That used to matter.
I don't know if it still should.