The house felt smaller that morning.
Not because the walls had moved, but because I had changed. After everything that had happened the slap, the stolen rides, the quiet rebellions I could no longer pretend this house was the whole world. It pressed in on me from every side, heavy with rules I never agreed to and expectations that suffocated my breath.
I stood by the door, my school bag hanging loosely from my shoulder, listening to the familiar sounds of the house. My brothers' voices filled the air, loud and careless. George was already boasting about something, his confidence stretching beyond the room like it always did. Brandon laughed, light and unbothered. I wondered what it felt like to wake up every day knowing the world was ready to welcome you.
I slipped out quietly.
The street greeted me with a soft breeze, and for a moment, I paused. Outside the house, the air felt different lighter, freer. It carried sounds of distant conversations, footsteps, life moving forward. I walked slowly, my shoes tapping against the ground, my heart beating faster with each step away from home.
At school, the noise swallowed me whole. Students crowded the hallways, voices overlapping, laughter echoing against the walls. I felt small again, but not invisible. Something inside me refused to shrink the way it used to. I tightened my grip on my bag and kept walking.
In class, I took my usual seat near the window. From there, I could see the sky wide and endless. It always reminded me that there was more beyond what I was allowed to touch. The teacher droned on, explaining lessons I barely heard. My mind wandered, sketching dreams instead of notes.
When it was time for art class, my heart stirred. Art was the only place where my hands spoke louder than my voice. I laid my notebook on the desk, fingers trembling slightly as I opened it. Pencil met paper, and slowly, the world faded away. I drew movement lines that bent and curved like freedom. A girl standing tall. A girl unafraid.
"Annie."
The teacher's voice snapped me back. My stomach dropped.
"Yes, sir?" I asked softly.
He stood over my desk, eyes scanning my drawing. The class grew quiet. I braced myself, expecting criticism, dismissal, the familiar sting of being told I was wasting time.
"This is… interesting," he said slowly.
I looked up, surprised.
"You have talent," he continued, adjusting his glasses. "But talent needs discipline. Don't let it distract you from more practical goals."
Practical.
The word landed heavy on my chest. I nodded, lowering my eyes, but inside, something burned. Why was it always assumed that what I loved had no place in the future? That dreams were distractions, especially for someone like me?
During break, I sat alone under a tree, my notebook resting on my knees. Students passed by in groups, their laughter sharp and distant. I flipped through my sketches, tracing the lines with my fingers. Each drawing felt like a piece of myself I was still discovering.
"Hey."
I looked up to see a girl standing in front of me. She had braids pulled back into a messy ponytail and paint stains on her fingers. Her eyes were warm, curious.
"I saw your drawing in class," she said. "It's really good."
My throat tightened. Compliments were rare. "Thank you," I replied quietly.
"I'm Maya," she said, sitting beside me without waiting for permission. "You draw like someone who feels things deeply."
I didn't know how to answer that.
She smiled gently. "There's an art club after school. Not many people join, but… I think you'd fit in."
I hesitated. The word club echoed in my mind like danger. Staying after school meant questions. It meant permission I didn't have. It meant stepping outside the boundaries drawn so clearly for me.
"I can't," I said quickly.
Maya studied me for a moment, not judging, just understanding. "You don't have to decide now," she said. "Just know it's there."
When the bell rang, she stood and walked away, leaving behind something heavier than words possibility.
The walk home felt longer than usual. My thoughts tangled themselves into knots. The house loomed in the distance, familiar and unyielding. I slowed my steps, wishing the road would stretch forever.
Inside, the walls closed in again. My father's voice thundered from the living room, commanding, absolute. I slipped into my room and shut the door, leaning against it as if it could protect me from everything I felt.
I sat on my bed and opened my notebook. My hands shook as I drew, faster now, harder. I drew the school. The tree. A girl standing between two worlds one behind her, one ahead.
I thought about Maya. About the art club. About the way she spoke as if my dreams mattered.
For the first time, the question wasn't "Am I allowed?"
It was "What do I want?"
The answer scared me.
I wanted more.
More space. More freedom. More voice. More life than the one chosen for me.
I pressed my pencil down and wrote beneath the drawing:
I will not disappear.
Outside, the sun dipped low, casting golden light through my window. I watched it silently, my heart steady in a way it hadn't been before. The world beyond these walls was vast, uncertain, and frightening but it was real.
And for the first time, I knew this:
One day, I would step fully into it.