Chapter Text
Patty sat in church with her family—family being a generous word for just her mother and father, three figures swallowed by rows of strangers. The church itself was enormous, the kind built to inspire awe and obedience in equal measure. Vaulted ceilings arched high overhead, and towering panels of stained glass filtered sunlight into soft ribbons of color that spilled across the pews. It made you feel small, without quite knowing why, as if the building itself were reminding you of your place.
The pastor’s voice boomed through the space, amplified enough to fill every corner. He was talking about forgiveness—about how God was endlessly merciful, how He was the light everyone should seek in their lives. Or something like that. To Patty, the words blurred together, sliding past her ears without ever settling. Her mind was far too crowded to make room for the gospel.
All she could think about was how, once this was over, she had to go out with her boyfriend.
In the past, whenever Liam asked, she’d suddenly remember a massive math test she absolutely had to study for—one worth half her grade, conveniently enough. She was never quite sure why she avoided him. He was respectful, kind, gentle—everything a boyfriend was supposed to be. And yet, something about being with him made her feel off, like she was wearing someone else’s skin. She had to act around him, had to pretend she felt something she didn’t. He liked her far more than she liked him back, and that imbalance sat heavy in her chest, pressing in every time she thought about him.
The only reason she hadn’t made an excuse this time was guilt. She’d practically forgotten she even had a boyfriend all week. It wasn’t her fault, she told herself—it was school. Definitely school. Not the fact that she hated acting all couple-y in public, and definitely not the way the idea of being seen with him made her skin crawl. He wasn’t mean or unattractive; plenty of people even thought he was charming. But to Patty, he was just Liam. And somehow, that felt like reason enough not to want to be around him.
Her head throbbed dully. She couldn’t tell whether it was the looming date, the harsh fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, or the strain of holding a tight but friendly smile for the people around her. Maybe it was the stress of having to help plan the end-of-year party her friends had decided—without asking—would be at her house. Or perhaps it was all of it at once: the pressure to keep her perfect grades, the expectations stacking higher every day, the constant pretending. Adding her boyfriend to the list only made everything feel worse.
She barely noticed when people around her began standing, grabbing coats and purses, and filing out of the pews. Her chest felt heavy as she followed her parents toward the exit, knowing that soon she would have to act like she was in love with someone she didn’t even want to be around.
The car ride home lasted only fifteen minutes, though the dread waiting at the end of it made time feel warped—too fast and too slow all at once. Patty stared out the window as trees blurred past. She hated acting in front of people. It had always been something she did at school, a necessary performance. Lately, though, it had begun seeping into the rest of her life. It was exhausting.
Her performances drained her—every smile carefully placed, every laugh measured. The only reason she did it was that her mother had a very particular idea of who Patty was supposed to be: how perfect she should look, how polished she should act.
Her mother was always signing her up for sports and activities she didn’t care about. But since they fit her mom’s vision of perfection, Patty wasn’t allowed to complain. Her life was perfect. At least, that was what it was supposed to be.
She was still lost in thought when the car pulled into the driveway.
“Liam will be here in fifteen minutes,” her mother called as she shut the car door.
Patty nodded and slipped inside, carefully removing her shoes at the base of the stairs. Every step upward made her chest feel tighter.
In the bathroom, she turned on the faucet and waited for the water to run cold before splashing it onto her face. She hoped it would make her feel more awake, more real. It didn’t—just left a few strands of hair clinging damply to her cheeks. She stepped back from the mirror and assessed her reflection: a light pink cardigan, a floral knee-length skirt, and a matching headband with a tiny bow. Everything neat. Polished. Perfect.
She glanced at the clock.
11:55.
Five minutes.
She grabbed her bag from her room, pausing briefly by the calendar pinned beside her desk. Assembly. Monday. She sighed. She already knew it would be about something pointless.
Downstairs, she slipped into her shoes—pink flats with bows that matched her outfit exactly. As she reached the door, a blue Ford Mustang pulled into the driveway.
Liam.
She forced a breath, waved goodbye to her parents, and stepped outside. The date wouldn’t last long—maybe two or three hours—but she already knew it would feel like forever.
The moment she opened the car door, her smile snapped into place. Liam greeted her, launching into chatter about their plans and his week—football practice, his friends, something funny that happened in class. Patty nodded at the right moments and murmured responses when expected. Mostly, she stared out the window, conserving her energy.
Every so often, Liam glanced at her, his brow furrowing with concern.
“Patty,” he said eventually, slowing at a stoplight. “Are you okay? You’re kind of… staring off into space.”
She startled slightly and turned to him, smile widening. “Oh—I’m fine. Just a busy week. Too many tests.” Her voice was light, cheerful.
It wasn’t a complete lie. School was stressful. It just wasn’t the reason she felt like this.
Liam studied her for a moment, then shrugged and turned back to the road. The gesture made her skin crawl.
When she looked up again, they were already pulling into the diner’s parking lot.
Inside, the diner buzzed with noise—silverware clinking, voices overlapping, the sharp hiss of grease on a hot grill. Dark red vinyl booths lined the walls, cracked with age, and the paint was loud and cheerful, almost aggressive. Patty chose a booth near the window and slid in across from Liam.
The server approached quickly despite the lunch rush.
Patty stared at the menu, her eyes skimming the same lines again and again without absorbing them. Liam ordered first. When it was her turn, she recited a simple salad without looking up.
“Anything else?” the server asked.
Patty raised her eyes.
Lilly Bainbridge.
For a heartbeat, the world dropped away—the diner noise, the clatter of dishes, even Liam sitting across from her. Patty’s breath hitched before she caught herself. Lilly stood stiffly beside the table, notepad clenched in one hand, posture tight, as if she were already bracing for impact.
Patty forced her expression to be smooth.
She hadn’t thought about Lilly in years. Seeing her now sent a sharp, unfamiliar jolt through her chest—not quite fear, not quite guilt.
Lilly didn’t look happy to see her. If anything, she looked exhausted. Not the normal kind of tired, but the kind that sank deep into the bones.
The last Patty had heard, Lilly was a mute freak. People said she never spoke, that she stared at her desk through every class. That something had happened near the end of middle school—something that made her “go crazy” again.
Back then, Patty hadn’t cared.
Now Lilly was standing right in front of her.
Patty caught the scent of her perfume—cheap, overly floral, like it was trying too hard to hide something else. Lilly looked older. Sharper. Her dark curls fell down her back, framing a face that seemed heavier somehow, weighed down by things Patty couldn’t see.
“Long time no see,” Patty said, letting out a small giggle.
It sounded wrong in her ears.
Lilly didn’t smile. She glanced toward the kitchen, then back at the table. “That’s all?” she asked quietly. “I don’t have time for small talk.”
There was an edge beneath the exhaustion—something sharp.
Patty scoffed and shoved the menu toward her with more force than necessary before turning to the window, arms crossed. For the first time all day, she realized she hadn’t thought about how she looked, or whether her smile was convincing.
She hadn’t been acting.
And that terrified her almost as much as it thrilled her.
Across the table, Liam looked unsettled. His eyes flicked between Patty and Lilly, clearly trying to piece something together. Patty could practically see the gears turning as he wondered how she could know Looney Lilly. Lilly scribbled something on her notepad and walked away without another glance.
Neither Patty nor Liam spoke about it. The rest of the date passed quickly, just as Patty had hoped. By 2:30, Liam was driving her home. The silence in the car was thick, pressing in on her ears. Finally, he broke it.
“ How do you know the Bainbridge girl?” he asked, quieter than usual. Patty kept her gaze forward. “We used to be friends. Back in middle school. Before the incident.” She didn’t need to explain. Everyone knew what the incident meant.
Liam nodded slowly, clearly still thinking, but before he could say anything else, they pulled into her driveway.
She got out faster than necessary. Liam followed and hugged her goodbye. The contact made her shiver—it felt disgusting despite how innocent it was. She ended the hug quickly, waved, and went inside.
When her mother asked how the date went, Patty said it was fun. She could barely remember any of it. She only remembered the odd interaction with Lilly.
Upstairs, she put on a nightgown, even though it was still only 3 PM. Time slipped by as she read. Before she knew it, it was six o’clock. Her mother called her down for dinner, but Patty said she wasn’t hungry. She was too tired to move, too exhausted even to eat. She was drained, and she knew she would have to do it all over again tomorrow at school. By ten, she’d drifted off to sleep, her book resting lightly on her chest, lamp still on.
Morning came, and school passed in a blur. There were too many interactions to remember. All she remembers was zoning out, staring at her desk when she should’ve been paying attention. She counted down the hours until she could stop pretending. She practically ran out of the school when the bell rang, walking home faster than necessary. Her heels clacked against the sidewalk in a somewhat therapeutic way, something to focus on. Get her mind off the long day.
Once she got home, she dropped her bag by the stairs. As she walked up the stairs, everything in her started to ache.
She plopped down onto her bed. She lifted her head to look at her calendar. She remembered the assembly scheduled for six and sighed as she plopped her head against her pillow.
She glanced at the clock.
4:15. Relief washed over her. She still had time to rest.
Lilly lay sprawled across her bed, blankets twisted around her legs, her shoulders pressed uncomfortably into the headboard. A book rested open in her hands, its spine bent from being held too long in the same place, but she wasn’t really reading it. She’d barely made it past the first few pages before the words began slipping through her mind without sticking. Reading felt like a lie—it was more like letting her eyes drift over ink while her thoughts stayed stubbornly elsewhere.
The title on the cover read A Wrinkle in Time. People said it was incredible. Right now, it was just noise. Something to fill the silence.
Something to keep her from thinking too hard about the tight, buzzing feeling lodged in her chest.
She didn’t know what to call the feeling. Fear, maybe. Anger. Sadness. Probably all of it, knotted together so tightly it was impossible to pull apart. Whatever it was, she didn’t want to touch it. Didn’t want to name it because if she named it, it would become real—and real things had a habit of spiraling out of control.
She turned another page. Then another. The words blurred together.
Her head felt both full and empty at the same time, like thoughts were crashing into each other without forming anything solid. Frustration flared suddenly—sharp, hot, unreasonable—and before she could stop herself, she snapped the book shut. The sound echoed louder than she expected in the quiet room. She flinched, guilt prickling under her skin, and carefully set the book beside her, as if gentleness might undo the outburst.
Her gaze drifted to the ceiling. She focused on a small crack in the paint, tracing its uneven shape with her eyes, hoping something—anything—might shift inside her. She just wanted to feel better. Or at least less restless. Less trapped inside her own head.
The book hadn’t helped. If anything, it had only made her more aware of how uncomfortable she felt in her own skin.
She considered turning on the TV, then dismissed the idea immediately. Her mom was home. Lilly could already picture her sitting in her favorite chair, watching something overly dramatic or painfully cheerful, commenting too loudly, asking too many questions. The thought made Lilly’s chest tighten. She didn’t have the energy to pretend she cared.
Instead, she turned her head toward the wall.
Her calendar hung there—neat, unavoidable.
School Assembly. 6:00. Mandatory.
Her stomach dropped.
Probably something about graduation. Long speeches. Forced smiles. Adults talking about the future as if it were simple and exciting, instead of terrifying. Everyone would clap and cheer and act proud, as if pride alone could erase how lost everyone really was.
She checked the clock.
4:30.
“Fuck,” she whispered, the word slipping out before she could stop it.
Her voice sounded strange to her ears—thin, unused. She barely spoke anymore. Not since her dad. She’d learned that silence was safer. If she didn’t talk, no one could twist her words. No one could decide she was crazy again. No one could send her back to that place.
She sank deeper into the mattress, exhaustion weighing on her even as her thoughts raced. She felt restless, like her body wanted to crawl out of itself.
An hour and a half.
An hour and a half to sit with herself. To fill the time. To keep the memories from creeping back in.
She let out a slow breath, already tired.
Only then did she realize she’d been chewing at her nails again. Her fingers throbbed. When she looked down, her thumb was raw, a thin line of blood welling along the edge. She cursed silently and shoved her hands onto the book, pressing them flat against the cover.
Give them something to do. Something harmless.
Blood smeared faintly across the page.
With a frustrated huff, she shoved the book aside again.
She needed to move. If she stayed still, she was going to tear herself apart piece by piece before six o’clock ever came.
The thought barely finished forming before she shot upright.
She could ride her bike. Just wander the back roads until it was time.
The decision sent a jolt of relief through her chest.
She burst out of her bedroom and flew down the stairs, her feet barely touching the steps. Her mom called after her, startled, telling her to slow down, but Lilly didn’t stop. She yanked the front door open, grabbed her bike, and took off down the road, pedaling hard just to feel the burn in her legs.
She rode aimlessly—past quiet houses, familiar turns, streets she’d memorized years ago—until she realized she’d looped back onto Main Street for the fourth time. She always checked the same stretch of road, the one where Patty lived. The house she remembered. The sleepovers that felt like they would last forever. The way their eyes lingered too long on each other. The way their hands brushed without either of them pulling away.
She snapped out of it and glanced at her watch.
5:45.
Relief washed over her. At least she hadn’t spent the entire afternoon trapped in her room—even if she’d spent most of it wondering what Patty was doing in her house. Whether she’d show up to the assembly. Whether Lilly would hear those heels that used to be so familiar.
She walked her bike the rest of the way to school.
With every step closer, anxiety crept back into her chest, slow and heavy. Her thoughts turned sharp and unreasonable.
What if something happens?
What if I see something that isn’t there again?What if I lose control?
What if they send me back to Juniper Hill?
She shook her head hard, as if she could physically dislodge the thoughts, and pushed through the front doors.
The auditorium felt too big. Too loud. She didn’t know where to sit, how to stand, or what to do with her hands. She had no friends anymore. No one to sit beside. No one to pretend things were normal with.
She slipped into the far back corner—close enough to hear, far enough to disappear.
At some point, she realized she hadn’t always been like this. Somewhere along the way, she’d grown so bitter, so tired, that being around people felt unbearable. The constant talking. The pretending. So she stopped. She let herself be miserable. She pushed everyone away before they could leave her first.
The only place she still talked was at work. She had to. If she didn’t, she’d lose her job—and she and her mom needed the money. After her dad died, there was no safety net. As soon as Lilly was old enough to work, she did.
Feedback screeched through the microphone.
Lilly jolted, heart slamming against her ribs. The room quieted as the principal stepped onto the stage, heels clicking sharply against the floor. Her voice was warm and practiced, full of praise.
Lilly exhaled slowly. She was just about to stand and slip out when someone sat down beside her.
Her body went rigid.
She turned.
Patricia Stanton.
Panic exploded in her chest. Her hands fumbled for her bag as she scrambled to leave, but Patty’s fingers closed around her wrist—tight, unyielding—yanking her back down.
“We need to talk,” Patty whispered, her breath warm against Lilly’s ear.
A shiver ran down Lilly’s spine.
She tore herself free and bolted.
The bathroom stall felt too small. She slammed the door shut and collapsed into the corner, breath coming in short, uneven gasps. Her thoughts raced—too fast, too loud.
What did I do?
I didn’t even say anything.
Why is she here?
The bathroom door slammed open.
Lilly climbed onto the toilet, pressing herself against the wall, heart pounding as heels clicked across the tile. The sound dragged memories from places she tried not to think about—hallways, lockers, laughter. Pickles spilling onto the floor. Whispers. Stares. That sleepover.
A loud bang struck the stall door.
Patty knew she was there.
Lilly closed her eyes.
She couldn’t hide forever.
When she stepped out, she kept her head down, shoulders hunched, arms tight at her sides. Smaller. Less noticeable.
Patty stood there, arms crossed, her expression twisted with disgust.
“What’s wrong, freak?”
The shove knocked the breath from Lilly’s lungs. She stumbled back, finally looking up.
“Speak up, Lilly,” Patty sneered. “Or I might start believing the mute rumors.”
Lilly’s heart sank. Patty knew. That meant this wasn’t over. That meant it could start again.
She stared at the floor. “What do you want?” she whispered, her voice cracking despite her effort to keep it steady.
Patty scoffed.
Lilly wasn’t the girl she remembered. Not sharp. Not loud. Not fun to break.
And with one last look of bored dismissal, Patty turned and walked away.
Lilly stayed there long after she was gone, hands shaking, wondering how someone from the past could still have so much power over her.
She never thought she would miss it as much as she did.