Normal.
A word that tastes like cardboard.
My hands move on autopilot. Jersey off. Shoes unlaced. Bag packed.
My phone buzzes in the side pocket, and my stomach drops like it already knows.
Hospice, reminding me of our first appointment with our nurse today.
I don’t look. I can’t. If I look, the night ends before it begins.
Jade slams her locker shut with unnecessary drama. “You’re coming out.”
I freeze. “No.”
“Yes,” she says, like it’s a settled fact.
Blakely nods. “Just for a little while.”
“I can’t,” I repeat, sharper.
Jade plants her hands on her hips. “Sloane. One hour. You can drink water. You can stand in a corner. You can judge people’s outfits if that makes you feel better; I don’t care, but you’re coming.”
Blakely’s voice is gentler. “You told us you needed a break.”
My chest tightens.
I did say that. I said it like a confession. Like a plea.
Now they’re holding it up to me like proof I can survive this.
“It won’t help,” I mutter.
Jade rolls her eyes. “Nothing helps. That’s not the point. The point is you don’t get to drown quietly while we watch.”
Blakely squeezes my arm. “We’ll leave whenever you want.”
The words land, and something in my chest softens in the smallest, most painful way.
I stare down at my hands. At my taped fingers. At the bruises blooming on my knuckles.
I think about Pops asleep down the hall. The hospice nurse’s clipboard. The phrasewe’ll take good care of you.
I exhale slowly. “One hour.”
Jade’s grin is instant. “Yes. Okay. Perfect. We’re going to a party.”
I close my eyes like I’m bracing for impact. “Where?”
Jade’s eyes sparkle with evil. “PCU hockey house.”
My eyes fly open. “Absolutely not.”
Blakely coughs like she’s hiding a laugh. “Oh, come on.”
“No,” I say, already backing away. “Nope. Wrong. Not happening.”
Jade grabs my wrist before I can escape. “You’re not going because of Logan.”
