Monday, October 28, 2020
Leo's POV
Julie's laughter caught my attention before I even reached the kitchen. Her voice bubbled up from the hallway, unusually bright for a Monday. Peering around the corner, I watched her move through the room, eyes sparkling with something that made me pause, a quiet warmth blooming inside my chest. It was a welcome sight after weeks of guarded silences and distant gazes at her lyric book. I smiled softly, turning back to the kettle to pour myself a cup of tea.
"You seem chipper today," I signed gently when she passed by, backpack already slung over her shoulder.
She shrugged, cheeks slightly pink, her expression softening further. "Guess I had a good weekend."
I nodded, respecting her privacy but enjoying the energy shift. Julie headed out the door early, leaving behind a trace of excitement that lingered in the air long after she left.
When I finally arrived at school a bit later, Flynn was already deep into an animated conversation with some classmates by the lockers. The hallways buzzed with a kind of energy I couldn't quite place, whispers and excited chatter bouncing off the walls. I caught snippets—Julie's name, something about a song—but I didn't think much of it at the time, instead heading straight to my locker, lost in my own thoughts.
I stopped in front of the trophy case, not to admire the awards, but because the sunlight hit one of the plaques just right. The light bounced across the floor in this broken, golden ripple that made the whole hallway feel unreal. I took out my phone and tried to snap a photo, the angle awkward, my backpack nearly slipping off my shoulder.
"Let me guess," a voice said behind me. "Haunted by the ghost of school spirit?"
I glanced back, Carrie Wilson, arms crossed, eyebrow raised, a teasing glint in her eyes. I expected her to keep walking, maybe toss a classic Carrie-style burn over her shoulder. But she didn't. She leaned closer to the glass instead.
"No, wait — that's kind of sick," she murmured, nodding at the way the light refracted through a cracked corner. "Like the case is bleeding light or something."
I blinked, then looked again, and yeah. She wasn't wrong.
She gave me a half-smile and walked off before I could say anything. But the echo of her words stuck with me.
I jotted it down in my notes app before my phone buzzed in my pocket.
I glanced down at the screen. Flynn's latest Instagram post popped up, vibrant and loud, impossible to miss. It was an announcement: Catch Julie and the band - tonight at the school dance! written in bright blue letters set against a playful pink background decorated with starbursts that immediately drew attention, the retro, playful design perfectly captures Flynn's exuberant style.
I paused, staring at the post longer than necessary. Band-related, but Julie hadn't mentioned anything about performing again. The thought stirred a wave of surprise inside me; she'd only recently started singing again in the safety of the garage. Performing so soon, in front of a real crowd, seemed unexpected. Still, maybe performing at school felt easier to her, after all, these were people she knew, familiar faces she saw every day.
Looking up, I spotted Julie and Flynn at the far end of the hall. Flynn was animated, hands waving emphatically, clearly teasing Julie about something. Julie laughed again, shaking her head, cheeks burning a deeper shade of pink. The scene was infectious, warm and inviting, reassuring my brief hesitation. A quiet grin tugged at the corners of my mouth, and I pocketed my phone.
Whatever was happening, Julie is clearly happy, and that is enough for me.
First period was Advanced Studio Art, my favorite class, the only one that didn't make me feel like I was translating my thoughts through twelve filters just to be understood.
Ms. Navarro greeted me with a soft smile when I came in. I headed for my usual spot by the windows, already pulling out my sketchbook and a couple of watercolors I'd prepped last night.
We were working with texture today. I layered thin paper scraps and brushed a light wash of color over them, letting the pigments pool and stretch like breath. Around me, the classroom murmured with quiet energy; the scrape of palette knives, a classmate's playlist playing low through a tiny speaker tucked into a hoodie pocket.
Ms. Navarro stopped by my desk. She didn't say much, just rested her hand lightly against the table as she looked at the beginnings of my piece.
"I can feel something coming together here," she said, almost to herself.
I nodded, brushing a wet edge back into line. "Still figuring it out."
"That's the beauty of it." Her voice was gentle, like she understood more than I was saying. Maybe she did.
At lunch, I found Zay already sitting at our usual spot, poking at his food like it might talk back. I slid into the seat across from him, setting my tray down quietly. He looked up and gave me a small smile, but it didn't reach his eyes.
"You going to the dance tonight?" he asked after a beat, like the words had been sitting in his throat all morning.
"Nah," I signed, then said aloud, "Just staying in. Too much noise."
Zay nodded slowly, then looked away, pushing a piece of melon across his tray with his fork. "I don't know if I should go either. I mean... I kinda want to. But I still feel like 'the new kid.' Like everyone else already has their thing. Their people."
I nudged his elbow gently with mine. "You are the new kid. But that's not a bad thing. Doesn't mean you don't belong."
He let out a small, nervous laugh. "It just feels like everyone already knows where to be. Like... what am I gonna do? Stand around until someone notices me?"
"Start a conversation," I said, giving him a look. "Find the others who look just as out of place. There are always a few. You'd be surprised how many people feel like that, even the ones who look confident. And if it sucks, you can leave. Or not go at all. It's still a school night. No rules here."
Zay looked thoughtful. "Flynn's DJing, right? I've seen her in music class. She's cool. Weird in a good way."
"Yeah," I said with a smile. "Julie's best friend. Totally chaotic in the best possible way. And according to Flynn's Insta story, 'Julie and Her Hologram Band' is playing too."
Zay blinked. "Hologram? I mean, I saw that performance at the Spirit Rally, that 'Bright' song? I loved it. It felt... unreal in the best way. Like something straight out of a dream, but it felt so real. I haven't stopped thinking about it since."
I shrugged, lips twitching in a mock-wounded way. "Yep, they've been practicing out in the garage, total divas about it, kicked me out like I was ruining the vibe or something. I was exiled from my own art corner."
Zay finally cracked a smile, full and bright. "That's so wild. I still don't get how they did that. Like, everyone could see the boys. And hear them. But they're not... enrolled here, right?"
I tilted my head, letting my expression go half-curious, half-teasing. "Depends who you ask. Theories vary."
Zay shook his head, but he was still smiling. "Maybe I'll go. Just for a bit. I don't have to stay long."
"Exactly," I said. "You set your own limits. And if you end up dancing or meeting someone cool or just vibing to Flynn's set list? Bonus."
He nodded slowly, looking down at his tray again, but this time there was less hesitation in the movement.
I smiled. "That's great."
Last period was study hall, which meant I could go home early if I signed out. I did, quietly slipping out the side doors before the final bell.
The walk back was long and quiet, just how I liked it. A breeze tugged at the edges of my sketchbook as I passed the half-finished mural on 6th Street, sunbursts and outstretched hands painted in wild, messy colors. It looked like it had been abandoned mid-dream. I kind of loved that.
When I got home, the house was empty. Julie hadn't come back from school yet, and Flynn was probably dragging her to try on outfits or fussing over her hair or something. I made myself tea, the sound of the kettle comforting in the silence.
At the kitchen table, I opened my sketchbook to a clean page and just... sat with it. I didn't know what I was going to draw.
Carlos burst into the kitchen, eyes wide and serious, clutching a large salt container like a weapon. "I'm salting the garage," he declared firmly.
"Salting…?" I echoed, quickly putting in my implant out of curiosity. "Why?"
"Orbs in Dad's photos," he explained cryptically, already halfway out the door.
Intrigued—and admittedly amused—I followed him into the garage, catching snippets of conversation as we entered.
"...This room is clean. I'm not getting the ghost tinglies," Carlos stated confidently.
I froze momentarily, a faint whispering flickering through my hearing—soft, frantic, definitely not coming from Carlos or Julie. Julie looked tense, eyes flicking towards empty corners.
"Carlos, what are you doing?" she asked, clearly startled.
"Have no fear. If they come back, I will protect you, because I am the man of the house."
"Isn't Dad—or Leo—supposed to be the man of the house?" Julie retorted, a teasing smile peeking through her tension.
Carlos shrugged confidently. "There can be three. Dad needs all the help he can get, right?"
Julie and Flynn chuckled softly.
"According to the internet, salt burns their souls out. A little sprinkle will keep them from ever coming in here." Carlos threw salt around dramatically, and the whispers surged into panic, making my pulse quicken.
"No! Oh! Oh God, I'm, I'm fine. I'm fine. Totally fine," a voice—distinctly different, anxious and hurried—echoed softly in my ears.
Flynn quickly intervened. "Carlos, you know who's hungry? Me. Um, salt me a path to the kitchen."
I followed quietly behind, careful not to visibly react, my heart hammering.
As we made our way along the garden path between the garage and kitchen, the string lights overhead blinking faintly, Flynn slowed her step beside me.
"You okay?" she asked, cocking her head, eyebrows raised with a hint of mischief. "Or was that just a whole lot of weird for one afternoon?"
I offered a faint smile, brushing her off with a shake of my head. "I'm good."
She gave me a sideways look, then grinned. "You think Carlos is a weirdo, huh? For the ghost stuff?"
Before I could respond, she held up a finger. "First of all, he is. But he's our weirdo. And second of all, he's not wrong. Not completely. Like a little chaos prophet."
I laughed quietly under my breath and let the moment hang there, grateful she didn't press more. She nudged me playfully with her elbow before skipping ahead toward the kitchen door, still humming something under her breath.
The afternoon stretched quietly as I settled at the kitchen table, brush in hand, losing myself in watercolors that softly blended across the page. Time felt fluid, a soothing rhythm that filled the silence comfortably. The sun had begun its slow descent, casting longer shadows through the windows. Now and then, I glanced towards the front door, hoping Julie would return soon. She and Flynn had dashed off earlier after Carlos's salt fiasco. I wondered briefly if she'd make it back in time to get ready here or if she'd end up borrowing some of Flynn's clothes. Carlos, still buzzing with energy, had already moved on to plotting his next ghost trap.
While Carlos schemed with the intensity of a tiny, sugar-fueled general, I took the rare moment of stillness to check my phone. A new message from Flynn popped up first, a picture of her DJ setup in progress, complete with disco-ball emoji and a caption:
Flynn:"Tonight's forecast: chaos, sparkles, and holograms 😎."
I chuckled under my breath and sent back a blurry photo of my half-finished watercolor: warm colors bleeding into each other, soft and shapeless, like the music I couldn't quite hear but still felt.
Before I could lock my phone, another reply came in
Willow: 🌻
and a blue heart under the photo I'd sent her earlier. I stared at the screen for a long moment, letting the quiet bloom in my chest.
Eventually, the front door opened, pulling me from my reverie. Julie stepped in, alone now, her phone buzzing repeatedly in her hand. Her expression was bright yet preoccupied, and she offered me a small, distracted wave as she hurried upstairs to her room without breaking stride. Her excitement was palpable, even through her silence.
When she emerged again a while later, fully ready, I had just moved my painting supplies out to the garage, feeling the shift in evening energy. She wore a colorful, cropped mesh shirt layered over a fitted tank top, paired with relaxed, high-waisted pants. Her curls were styled with delicate clips sparkling faintly under the hall lights, each step radiating purpose. I caught her eye through the open garage door and waved goodbye. "Have fun tonight," I signed softly. Julie smiled in return, warm and fleeting, before disappearing into the dusk toward the dance.
Left to the quiet, my thoughts inevitably drifted back to the strange whispers earlier. I'd heard them again in passing, too quick to fully catch, but enough to tangle in my thoughts. Julie's new burst of confidence, Carlos's dramatic ghost theories. It wasn't unsettling... more like finding a pattern in brushstrokes you didn't know you'd made. Deciding the cool calm of the garage suited my mood, I sank into the familiar rhythm of painting, letting it anchor me in the stillness.
I settled down on the pull-out couch and reached for my sketchbook. Thursday was approaching, and Ms. Navarro's voice echoed in my head: "I'll be checking in with each of you at the end of every month."
I flipped slowly through the pages, letting the memories rise with each piece.
There was the thistle I'd drawn in early September, sketched entirely in pencil. Its fine lines traced delicate edges and protective spines, each stroke intentional and slow. I had chosen it for its meanings — courage, protection, healing — and shaded it with a softness that contrasted its sharp structure. I remember telling Ms. Navarro it reminded me of my family. I ran my fingers over the graphite, smudged ever so slightly along the petals, like it might still hold the warmth of that moment.
Next was the dreamscape coastline, a beach I half-remembered from a family trip. I had painted it with acrylics, using layers of textured sand-based paint to give the shore a gritty realism beneath the softness of the seafoam. The sky melted into blues and oranges, impossibly wide and curved like sound. I'd tried to capture how music felt, even when I couldn't hear it, the low buzz under my skin, like a storm humming in the distance. The brushstrokes were broad but deliberate, dragging through texture to catch the light in just the right way.
Then came the Spirit Rally sketches; Julie at the piano, the boys suddenly visible, the way the light wrapped around them like it had been waiting for that exact moment. I'd used pencil and charcoal for this one, layering deep shadows and smudged highlights to show motion and contrast. Behind them, I'd started filling in a block of color — burnt orange, scarlet, and plum — just enough to hint at the heat and energy of the performance. Reggie's grin had been the first thing I tried to capture. Not just his face, but the feeling of his joy. I'd drawn him twice: once in awe, once beaming like a star that had just remembered how to shine. The coal lent weight to his eyes, and the pencil let me flick light into the edges of his hair, like he was glowing from the inside out.
I flipped to the Soundlight series. These were looser, wilder curves and color bursts that danced across the page. I'd started each one in pencil, sketching quick, instinctive shapes to capture the movement I felt. Then I layered watercolor over the sketches, washes of yellow and red, blending some places to orange, to ground the motion in something warm and alive. When the paper had dried, I'd gone back in with a fountain pen, outlining certain strokes with care, letting the ink weave sharpness into the softness. They didn't look like people or things, but they carried emotion in a way I couldn't explain. Julie's music had sparked them, her and… something else.
And finally, the very first piece: Echoes. The cave mouth, shadowed and still, emerged from thick layers of oil paint, its edges softened by intentional blur. I'd used shimmer and metallic pigments to catch the light in the darkest parts, letting it glow subtly like a memory trying to be remembered. Painted over the summer, before school returned, before anything had changed. It felt far away now, but it still mattered. A beginning.
I looked at the stack of work, all spread out now like pieces of myself.
Thursday, I'd bring them in.
Not because they were perfect — none of them were — but because they were true. And maybe that was enough.
Around midnight, my phone vibrated, its screen flashing gently in the darkness, waking me from a light sleep on the couch. A short, reassuring message from Julie appeared:
Julie: Staying at Flynn's tonight. See you tomorrow.
I replied with a quick thumbs-up, the tension I hadn't noticed easing from my chest. I lay back down under my blanket, the dim light of the garage a comforting haze.
As I drifted back towards sleep, a sudden, faint flicker at the edge of my vision caught my attention. My breath hitched softly, gaze darting around the garage in sleepy confusion. The flicker had felt fleeting, barely noticeable, there and then gone again almost as quickly as it had appeared.
The room settled into darkness again, leaving me lying thoughtfully in the dim glow from the garden lights outside. Something was shifting around me, quiet but undeniable. It wasn't threatening... just new, different, like the soft stirring of colors before they became clear shapes on a canvas.
I smiled faintly, intrigued by whatever tomorrow might reveal.