Archive of Our Own

August 27, 2007

JEN MASTERSON

10:04 a.m.

Jen sat outside The Big Squeeze, straw caught between her teeth but barely sipping. The mall buzzed around her—skateboards clattering, phones chiming, the hum of casual chaos—but her mind was far away, like she’d left her body sitting here while her thoughts drifted into places she didn’t want to name.

She zoned out hard, staring at a couple across the way who were laughing like the rest of the world didn’t matter. She didn’t even realize she was watching the girl more than the boy until—

“Earth to the J-Maasssster!” Jude’s voice cracked through her trance, punctuated with a lazy wave of his hand in front of her face. “Did you just astral project into another dimension? Because, like, your body’s here, but your brain’s, I dunno, off surfing Saturn or something.”

Jen blinked fast, cheeks hot. “What? No. Just… tired.”

“Pfft, you’re always tired lately.” Jude grinned, but his usual carefree energy only made the heaviness in her chest feel worse. “You gotta chill, dude. Like, exams aren’t the end of the universe.?”

She forced a laugh, but it came out thin. “I have to get to work.” She gathered her stuff quickly, almost too quickly, like if she didn’t move right now, everything inside her would start spilling out in front of him.

Work. School. Home. Repeat. Pressure piling like textbooks on a desk, one more assignment and the whole thing would collapse. At home, she had to be the responsible one—the buffer between her mom, her stepdad, Jonesy, and his equally irritating brothers. Playing the older sibling role when she never asked for it, never wanted it. And always, always in the shadow of her sister, who seemed to glide through life with a prettiness Jen could never match. Her mom could never leave a day without Jen knowing.

The mall was her one escape. Here, she could breathe. Or at least, she used to.

Because now the distractions weren’t enough. New thoughts kept intruding, persistent, sharp. Thoughts she shoved aside in the past but couldn’t keep down anymore. She was stupid for thinking she was out of the growing phase.

She liked guys—she knew that. She’d had boyfriends, crushes, the whole “normal” checklist. But then there were these other feelings. Glances she held for too long when Caitlyn laughed, the warmth in her chest when Nikki leaned against her shoulder, little bursts of electricity that didn’t feel like just friendship.

She caught herself replaying those moments, her stomach knotting tight. Friends did that kind of stuff… right? Resting your head on someone’s shoulder, brushing hands, whispering jokes close enough to feel breath on your skin. That’s all normal. Totally normal.

Except it felt different. And no amount of telling herself otherwise made it less true.

As Jen walked toward work, clutching her bag like it was the only thing holding her together, her thoughts struck her harder than it ever had before.

//

Work was supposed to be autopilot. Lace up her shoes, smile at customers, keep the store running smooth. Easy enough. Except today, even the familiar smell of popcorn and rubber floor mats couldn’t pull her head back where it needed to be.

She tied her hair too loose the first time, had to stop halfway down the store ailses to fix them. Then she rang up the wrong size on a pair, gave a kid hockey skates when he’d asked for figure. Little mistakes, small but stacking—like her brain was half a second behind everything.

“Masterson!” Coach’s bark snapped through the air, sharp as the whistle around his neck. His arms were crossed, eyes narrowed as Jen stumbled through another order. “That’s the third screw-up in ten minutes. You’re skating like your head’s in the clouds.”

Jen flushed, gripping the counter harder than she meant to. “Sorry, I’m just—”

“No excuses. Penalty box. Now.”

Her heart sank as the words hit. The Penalty Box wasn’t just a corner; it was a public timeout, the place where screw-ups sat in plain sight of everyone until they got their act together. For Jen, it wasn’t just embarrassing—it was humiliating. She was supposed to be good at this, reliable, responsible. Not the one making mistakes.

She sat down on the hard plastic bench, folding her arms tight across her chest. From here, she could see everything—the couples skating hand-in-hand, the laughter, the easy joy of people who weren’t carrying the weight she was. And of course, her friends wandering the mall, sometimes stopping by the rink. She prayed none of them would notice her sitting there, benched.

Her thoughts churned louder now, no customers to distract her. She was slipping, failing at school, at home, and now even here. And underneath all that pressure was this new, raw thing—her sexuality clawing its way to the surface no matter how she tried to push it down.

It was messing with her focus, her balance, her everything.

She pressed her palms against her knees, shaking her head like that could clear it. But all she saw was Nikki leaning close during movie nights, Caitlyn tugging her arm through the mall, smiles that lit something inside her she couldn’t define.

She couldn’t stop thinking—

What if this is why I can’t keep it together? What if I’ve been lying to myself this whole time?

//

Jen tried to make herself smaller on the hard plastic bench, chin tucked down, hoping the rink lights and the noise of wheels scraping the floor would drown her out. The last thing she needed was one of her friends seeing her like this—punished, unfocused, not the “together” Jen they knew.

Of course, fate had other plans.

“Penalty Box, huh?”

Her head jerked up, and there was Wyatt leaning on the railing, his guitar pick necklace dangling forward, eyebrows raised in that calm, knowing way that somehow always made her feel seen.

“Should’ve guessed,” he went on gently, “you only end up in here when something’s really on your mind.”

Jen forced a scoff, crossing her arms tighter. “I’m just tired. Exams, work, everything. It’s nothing.”

Wyatt tilted his head, unconvinced. “You don’t look like it’s nothing.”

The knot in her stomach twisted. He was too good at this—too good at reading her when she was barely holding it together. She looked away, fixing her eyes on a couple skating past, their laughter echoing.

“I just…” Jen hesitated, her throat tight. The words she wanted to say—I think something’s wrong with me, I don’t even know who I am anymore, I can’t stop thinking about girls—they all pressed against the back of her teeth, begging to come out.

But the fear slammed harder. Fear of what he’d think, what anyone would think. Fear of saying it out loud and making it real.

“I just need to focus,” she said quickly, cutting herself off. “That’s all. No big deal.”

Wyatt studied her for a beat, too quiet, and she felt exposed under his gaze. Finally, he sighed, giving her a small, careful smile.

“Okay. If you say so.” He leaned back, stuffing his hands in his hoodie pocket. “Just… don’t keep everything bottled up forever, Jen. It’s not good for you.”

Her chest clenched. He had no idea how close he was, how dangerous those words felt when the bottle inside her was already shaking, ready to burst.

She managed a weak nod. “Yeah. I won’t.”

But even as she said it, she knew it was a lie.

Coach blew the whistle again, sharp. “Get your head in the game, Masters, or you’re off for the day.”

Jen bit the inside of her cheek so hard it stung. She wasn’t sure which scared her more—messing up again, or what she’d find if she finally admitted the truth to herself.

//

12:34 a.m.

By the time her lunch break rolled around, Jen’s nerves felt frayed like old laces. She kicked off her skates, swapped them for sneakers, and tried to shake the weight clinging to her chest. Maybe being with the group would help. It usually did.

Outside The Big Squeeze, the usual chaos was already underway. Caitlyn was already mid-story, waving her hands dramatically about some sale gone wrong at the Khaki Barn. “And then the manager literally told me that beige and cream were the same color. Like, sorry, have you even seen a color wheel?”

Nikki rolled her eyes. “Tragic. Truly, a crime against fashion.”

Jonesy, lounging back like he owned the place, smirked. “Sounds like the manager deserves a medal for surviving your meltdown.”

“Ugh, shut up,” Caitlyn shot back, tossing a straw wrapper at him.

Wyatt chuckled under his breath, while Jude nodded along like he was absorbing ancient wisdom.

It was their normal, noisy rhythm. Comforting. Familiar.

Jen slipped into her chair, her smoothie sweating in her hand. “Finally!” Caitlyn chirped, waving her over. “You took forever. I swear, if you ditch us for work one more time—”

Jen tried to smile, sliding into the open seat beside her, but the corners of her mouth refused to hold.

“You look wiped,” Nikki noted, side-eye sharp but not unkind. “Coach riding you again?”

“Something like that,” Jen muttered, stirring her smoothie without tasting it. The straw scraped loud against the cup, a grating noise that made her flinch. No matter how silent it felt to Jen, it was still just as normal to everyone else.

She smiled when Caitlyn shoved her phone in her face to show off a pink bag, nodded when Nikki muttered that it looked like “a Barbie purse for toddlers,” even laughed halfheartedly when Jonesy made some dumb pun.

But it all felt far away, like she was behind glass watching the moment instead of living in it.

“Jen?” Caitlyn tilted her head, glossy hair catching the light. “You okay? You’ve been, like, totally spaced all day.”

Jen startled, forcing her grip tighter around her cup. “I’m fine. Just… exams, you know?”

“Ugh, same,” Caitlyn groaned dramatically. “I had to memorize, like, twenty French verbs last night. I thought my brain was going to, like, leak out of my ears.”

Nikki snorted. “Pretty sure it already did.”

The group chuckled, but Jen barely heard them. Her gaze lingered too long on Caitlyn’s bright, easy smile, then on the way Nikki’s arm draped casually over the back of her chair, confidence radiating like it was nothing.

Her chest tightened. She looked down quickly, stabbing her straw into her smoothie like it was the most important thing in the world.

The conversation swirled around her—Wyatt making a dry joke, Jude spinning some wild metaphor about school being like a video game boss battle—but Jen couldn’t find her way back in. Every laugh she forced felt hollow, every word she said an echo of what she thought she was supposed to sound like.

Inside, she was losing it.

//

Outside, she was also losing it. According to Nikki.

“Seriously, what’s wrong with you?” Nikki’s voice cut through the chatter, low and direct. Her sharp eyes narrowed at Jen like they could peel back layers until they found the truth.

Jen stiffened. She hadn’t realized how sweaty her palms were until Nikki’s question made her look down and see the damp sheen on her skin. She wiped them against her jeans under the table, forcing a shrug.

“Nothing. I’m fine.”

A beat passed. Then Jonesy, of course, leaned forward with his usual lack of awareness. “Yeah, but, like—what’s wrong with you?”

Jen snapped her head toward him, irritation bubbling. “I just said I’m fine.”

Jonesy raised his hands in mock surrender. “Whoa, sorry, just asking. Sheesh.”

Before the air could settle, Jude chimed in, voice all lazy drawl but weirdly observant. “Duuuude, you’ve never been this bummed since, like, that time you and Caitlyn missed out on those boy band tickets. What were they called again? The—uh—Sugar Monkeys? Candy Gorillas?”

“Sweet Crush,” Caitlyn corrected instantly, rolling her eyes but smiling at the memory.

Jen forced a laugh, hollow and thin. “I said I’m okay. Seriously. Just tired.”

But even as she said it, she could feel everyone’s eyes still on her. Like they all saw through the cracks she’d been patching with weak excuses. Her throat tightened. She couldn’t do this here, not with all of them staring, not with Nikki’s sharp gaze cutting into her and Caitlyn’s smile tugging at her chest like a hook.

“I’ll be right back.” She pushed away from the table before anyone could answer, clutching her smoothie like a shield.

She ducked into the bathroom, locking the door behind her. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, harsh against her flushed skin. She gripped the sink and leaned forward, meeting her reflection. Her cheeks were pink, strands of hair sticking to her temple from sweat.

“You’re fine,” she whispered to herself, gripping the edge of the counter harder. “You’re fine. Just pull it together.”

But her reflection didn’t look fine. It looked cornered.

And for the first time, she wasn’t sure if she could keep pretending.

//

Jen’s hands shook as she leaned over the sink, pressing her forehead against the cool mirror. The sound of the water dripping from the faucet echoed in the tiny bathroom like a metronome marking her panic.

It all hit her at once—the exams, work mistakes, the endless pressure at home trying to be someone she wasn’t, the weight of Jonesy and his brothers’ chaos, always being seen as the 3rd parent to Emma , and now… this new, confusing tangle in her chest that she didn’t know how to name.

Her shoulders shook, hot tears spilling down without permission. She couldn’t stop them. Every forced smile she’d plastered over the past week came crashing down. The “perfect” mask was gone. Her reflection blurred with tears, eyes wide and desperate, and the breath caught in her chest felt like it would never let go.

“I can’t… I can’t do this,” she whispered to herself, voice breaking. “I can’t—”

The bathroom door creaked, and Jen froze, wiping at her eyes too quickly.

“Nnn…Jen?”

Her head snapped up. Nikki was standing there, arms crossed but leaning slightly, cautious yet unafraid. Her sharp eyes softened when she saw Jen’s face, the streaked mascara, the trembling hands.

“Uh… you—uh…” Nikki’s voice faltered for the first time Jen could remember. “I just—look, you don’t have to explain if you don’t want to, but… you’re, like… really upset.”

Jen shook her head violently, backing toward the sink like she could push the words back inside. “No, no, don’t… don’t say anything. Don’t—”

Nikki stepped closer, slowly, carefully, closing the distance but not crowding her. “Hey. I can see you. You don’t have to pretend with me.”

Jen’s chest heaved. The sobs wouldn’t stop, but the words she’d been holding in finally threatened to come out. “I… I can’t… I can’t… it’s too much. Everything. I’m… I’m—”

Nikki reached out tentatively, placing a hand on Jen’s shoulder. Light, grounding. “Shh. It’s okay. Just breathe. I’m here. You’re not alone.”

Jen shook her head, hot tears dripping onto her sleeve. “No one… no one can know. Not about this. Not… not about me…”

“I won’t tell anyone,” Nikki said softly, steady. “I just… I can be here. That’s all. Just for you.”

Jen’s body sagged against the counter, shaking. For the first time in days, maybe weeks, she let herself feel completely, utterly unguarded.

Nikki didn’t move, didn’t rush, didn’t ask questions. She just stayed there, letting Jen collapse, letting her pain exist without judgment. And for the first time, Jen realized she didn’t have to face it completely alone.

//

Jen pressed her face into her sleeve, shaking hard, trying to squeeze all the chaos into one shape she could understand. School, work, home, Jonesy, her sister—everything she could name, everything that made sense. If she could just cram it all into one giant problem, maybe it would feel manageable.

“It’s… it’s just… everything,” she choked out, her voice muffled. “Exams, work, home… I keep messing up, and… and I can’t… I can’t… keep it all together. I just…”

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to swallow down the other part—the part that didn’t have a name yet, the part about Caitlyn and Nikki, the glances, the warmth that lingered too long. That part she couldn’t yet put into words, and so she forced it into the chaos of her other problems instead.

Nikki crouched slightly, close but not intrusive, letting Jen fill the silence with the storm she could talk about. “Okay,” Nikki said softly. “Everything’s a lot. I get that.”

Jen nodded, her hands still gripping the sink, as if the porcelain could anchor her. “It’s… it’s just… I don’t know how to… how to fix it. I feel like I’m failing at everything all at once. And I… I just…”

She swallowed hard, forcing a shaky breath. The words about who she really was hovered behind her teeth, but she clamped down on them. No one needed to know that yet. That part was messy, confusing, and terrifying.

“It’s just… me,” she finally admitted, voice small. “I’m the problem.”

Nikki gave a slow nod, letting the words settle. “Alright. Then we deal with you. One thing at a time. No judgment. No pressure. You just… breathe.”

Jen wanted to believe her, wanted to cling to that idea that if she just handled the stuff she could name, maybe she’d be okay. Maybe the part she couldn’t name would go away on its own.

For now, though, she let the sobs ease, the tension in her shoulders melt slightly. She wasn’t ready to confront that other piece, and she wouldn’t let Nikki even get close. So she focused on the familiar problems, on the pieces she knew, stacking them neatly in her mind like building blocks she could handle.

And in that small, fragile way, it helped.

//

5:46 p.m.

The walk home was quiet compared to the mall, but the knot in Jen’s stomach hadn’t loosened. She tried to shake off the breakdown, telling herself it was just the stress piling up, that it wasn’t a “real” thing she had to face yet. A deep breath. Another. Pretend she could leave it at the mall.

The moment she opened the door, the chaos hit her like a wave.

Jonesy’s dad was hovering near the couch, trying—awkwardly, almost desperately—to be the “dad” Jen needed. “Hey, pumpkin, did you—uh—want me to make some snacks? Or maybe help with homework? Anything at all?” His voice was too eager, too loud, the kind of effort that made Jen’s skin crawl a little.

Jonesy darted past him, laughing maniacally as Robbie and Diego, his little brothers, tore through the living room like miniature hurricanes. Pillows flew, a cereal box tumbled across the floor, and one of Diego’s shoes narrowly missed Jen’s head.

“Jonesy! Robbie! Diego!” Her mom called from the kitchen, holding onto Emma. Her voice was like a warm, sing-song, like she was unconcerned with the tornado of boys. “Okay, okay, let’s slow down a bit—oh, Jen, honey! How was your day?”

Jen’s bag thumped onto the counter as she stepped inside. She gave a small smile, nodding quickly. “Good… fine.”

Her mom rushed over, planting a kiss on her cheek, fussing with her hair. “You look tired! Let me make you something warm. Soup? Tea?”

Jen nodded again, letting her mom’s affection wash over her halfheartedly. She leaned against the counter, letting her eyes drift over the chaos—the boys wrestling, Jonesy referring the rough housing,, the cereal box still sliding across the floor—and felt the familiar ache settle back into her chest.

This was her life now. Messy. Loud. Demanding. A whirlwind she couldn’t ever really step out of. No corner to breathe in, no silence to think without interruption. And yet… it was normal. Her normal. And she couldn't do anything about it.

She tried to focus on fixing herself up, straightening her hair, smoothing down her clothes, pretending the tears from earlier were nothing more than a stray moment. But even as she tried, the tension didn’t fully leave.

Because no matter how much chaos she could name—school, work, home—there was that other piece, the one she couldn’t touch yet. And it waited, quiet but insistent, in the corners of her chest.

For now, Jen pushed it down and let the noise of her home swallow her up. This was her life. And she’d survive it. Somehow.

//

Jen closed her door and leaned back against it, letting out a shaky breath. Finally, some silence. Finally, a moment to try and breathe without the chaos of her family pressing in from every side. She sank onto her bed, curling up slightly, eyes fixed on the ceiling as if the cracks in the paint could absorb her thoughts.

Just breathe. Just… breathe…

She counted each inhale, each exhale, willing herself to calm down. Trying to tell herself the breakdown at the mall, the pressure at work, the chaos at home—it was all temporary. She could handle it. She had to.

Then…

“Jen! Come on! Nikki told me what happened!”

Her heart lurched. The door flung open before she could even react, and there was Jonesy, standing in the doorway with that infuriating half-grin that made her feel like a kid caught in the act of doing something dumb.

“Jonesy—” she started, but he didn’t wait for her.

“Look, you really don’t need to stress like this. I mean, seriously,” he said, gesturing to himself with a smirk. “I barely even do anything right and I survive, right? So… yeah. Chill out, crybaby,” he added, and Jen’s stomach sank at the tone. Patronizing. Mocking, just slightly enough to sting.

“I—” Jen’s voice caught. She tried to swallow the lump in her throat, tried to make herself small in her own room. “I… it’s not like that.”

Jonesy leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, tilting his head like he was studying a science experiment. “Uh-huh. Sure. But really, come on. You’re crying over school and… what? Work? Seriously?” His grin was teasing, like he thought he was funny.

Jen’s chest tightened. She could feel the tears prickling again, hot and unwelcome. The weight in her chest pressed harder, and all she wanted was to vanish. To have someone, anyone, just get it without making it a joke.

“I just…” she whispered, voice trembling. “I just need a minute.”

Jonesy finally raised his hands, a bit of a shrug, though the grin never left. “Alright, alright. But, uh… don’t cry too much, yeah? You’ll wrinkle your face or something.”

Jen huffed, part furious, part too drained to fight back, and curled further into herself. She wished he’d leave. She wished the world would leave. She wished she could untangle the mess in her chest without anyone noticing, without anyone patronizing her for being… her..?

//

Jen laid back against her bed, staring at the ceiling, but her thoughts refused to settle. The familiar rhythm of chaos, of homework, work, and family noise, faded, replaced by this new, sharp awareness in her chest.

She’d never had a “crush” on a girl before. Not like the ones she’d had on guys. But… she had noticed. Caitlyn laughing a little too brightly, Nikki brushing close when she wasn’t expecting it. Even little things, like how her chest tightened when they leaned against her or the warmth she felt at fleeting touches. She’d always brushed it off, thought maybe it was just friendship, thought maybe she was imagining it.

But now the thought wouldn’t leave.

It wasn’t scary that she’d be gay. Not really. Even if she were, that part of her wouldn’t make her a bad person, wouldn’t hurt her. The scary part was the world around her.

Her mom, with her constant commentary, the backhanded remarks she’d made about reality TV stars who were queer. Jen knew how her mom’s “jokes” hid judgments. And Jonesy—he was a womanizer, constantly teasing anyone for the slightest thing. Just imagine how merciless he’d be if he ever caught wind of this.

And then… the thought that gnawed at her worst. Caitlyn and Nikki. Would they even want to hang out with her if she was… different? Would they back away if they thought she might “hit on them”? She didn’t want to ruin friendships she cared about—couldn’t risk it.

Her chest felt tight, constricted, like the air itself was judging her. She’d been through breakdowns today over school, work, and family, but this… this was different. This wasn’t about being tired or failing or juggling chaos. This was about herself. About a part of her she didn’t know how to name, didn’t know how to show, didn’t know if she could trust anyone with.

She hugged her knees to her chest, and laid on her side, trying to tell herself it was okay. It’s okay. You’re okay. You don’t have to say anything.

But deep down, she knew that avoiding it only made the knot in her chest grow. And for the first time, Jen realized that maybe some parts of herself couldn’t just be shoved into the chaos of life, couldn’t be drowned out by work or homework or family noise.

Some parts of herself… demanded to be noticed.

but it was hard trying to get noticed when stuck here playing perfect responsible Jen.

//

She had laid there for around 7 minutes while her eyes drifted around her room, landing on the small journal tucked on her desk. The one she hadn’t written in for weeks, forgotten beneath a pile of school papers and stray pens. Its cover was worn, pages slightly curled—but it had always been a place she could spill thoughts she didn’t dare say out loud.

Her gaze shifted, lingering on the memories of the mall. Nikki crouched beside her in the bathroom, patient and steady, letting her cry without judgment. Wyatt, too, calm and observant, never pressing, just letting her feel what she needed to feel. If anything, she could trust one of them. Maybe both.

She bit her lip, chewing over the knot in her chest. The things she hadn’t said to anyone—things she barely understood herself—were tangled up in fear, pressure, and… something else. Something she wasn’t ready to name out loud yet. But maybe, just maybe, the journal didn’t need a name. It just needed words.

Slowly, carefully, she swung her legs off the bed and reached for it. The spine creaked a little as she opened to a blank page. Her pen hovered above it, uncertain. For a long moment, she didn’t write. Just stared.

Then, with a shaky breath, she began writing anything that came to mind. It was all a mix of “messing up” and “crying about stupid things”

Her hand moved slowly at first, the words spilling out more easily than she expected. She didn’t have to frame them, didn’t have to make sense of them yet. Just the act of letting them leave her chest felt like a small release.

For the first time in days, maybe weeks, Jen felt a flicker of calm. The chaos outside her room still existed, her family still existed, school and work still existed—but here, in this small act, she had a sliver of control.

And maybe, someday soon, she could let herself trust that flicker enough to face the rest.

//

8:22 p.m.

Dinner was usual, apart from the fact that Jen was basically avoiding everything. Eye contact, conversation, maybe even her food. She hadn't eaten a lot before she scrapped her leftovers in the trash and then washed her dish.

The only place she really felt comfortable at the moment was in her room...

//

1:02 a.m.

After hours of studying, Jen had finally laid on her bed once again, eyes staring at the ceiling, the journal pushed aside but still open like a promise she’d come back to it. The house should’ve been quiet. It was past one in the morning, hours when her brain usually forced her to drift into sleep.

But the walls were thin, thinner than they should’ve been, and the sound creeping through made her chest tighten all over again. Jonesy and his little brothers—Diego and Robbie—were sitting somewhere in the living room, blasting an action movie like the world was ending. Explosions, gunfire, someone shouting over someone else—way too loud for 1 a.m.

Jen pulled the blanket up to her chin, wincing at a particularly loud crash on the TV. She pressed her hands over her ears, trying to block it out, but it only made the isolation in her room feel sharper.

Why does it never stop? she thought bitterly. Work, school, family, friends… and now even sleep isn’t safe. Every time she tried to find a moment of peace, the noise found her. The chaos was relentless.

She closed her eyes anyway, hoping the journal earlier had drained some of the tension out. She replayed Nikki’s calm presence, Wyatt’s quiet understanding, the way both had let her feel without judgment. Those moments were tiny anchors in the storm.

But even imagining them couldn’t fully push back the sound of her stepbrothers laughing at explosions and Jonesy shouting over the movie. Her body tensed; a shiver ran down her spine.

I just… I just want a moment, she thought. Just one minute without everything screaming at me.

She hugged her knees, rocking slightly, letting the exhaustion press into her. Sleep didn’t come. The house didn’t stop. And yet, somewhere deep down, Jen held onto the tiny, flickering thought that maybe—tomorrow—she could find another quiet moment, another sliver of control in her messy, relentless life.

//

9:35 a.m.

Jen woke with a start, the remnants of sleep tangled with lingering anxiety. The first thing she heard wasn’t silence or the usual morning quiet—it was the loud, chaotic chorus of her little brothers, Diego and Robbie, screaming and laughing as they ransacked her room.

Her eyes snapped open. Her journal, pens, and clothes were scattered across the floor. Her bed was half-sat on by one of them, blankets pulled to the side. And there they were, grinning like mischief incarnate.

“Jen! Jen! You’re awake!” Diego shouted, waving an English book in the air.

Robbie kicked at her socks for no reason, shrieking as though the socks were a mortal enemy. “Come on! You have to see this! It’s epic!”

Jen bolted upright, heart pounding. “Get out! Get out of my room!” Her voice was sharper than she intended, raw with sleep and lingering tension from the night.

Jonesy poked his head in just behind them, smirking. “Whoa, chill. They’re just having fun. No need to scream at the tiny humans.”

Fun? Jen’s brain was still foggy from sleep, and her chest was still tight from yesterday’s chaos. She scrambled to gather her scattered things, but every step brought a new interruption—Diego dumping her pencils, Robbie swinging from the bedpost.

“I… I need space!” she yelled, exasperation fraying the edges of her voice. “You’re ruining everything!”

Jonesy shrugged, completely unbothered. “Hey, I’m helping! Kind of. Sort of. Maybe. Don’t be so dramatic.”

Jen groaned, flopping back onto her bed for a brief reprieve, rubbing her face with both hands. This is my life now, she thought bitterly. Chaos, noise, pressure… no room to breathe, no quiet to think. And she wasn’t even sure where the “quiet” she needed could exist anymore.

Her journal sat on her desk, untouched for the morning, a small reminder that she had somewhere to process, somewhere to control—even if it felt impossible right now.

//

Jen barely had time to catch her breath after the whirlwind of her brothers’ intrusion before Diego and Robbie finally scampered out, giggling and tripping over each other as they fled. Their footprints echoed down the hallway, punctuated by shrill laughter, but the noise didn’t fade completely. It lingered, bouncing off the walls of the house like a cruel echo, a reminder that privacy here was nothing more than a fleeting illusion.

Jen exhaled shakily, leaning against her bedpost, trying to steady her pulse. Her journal… she froze. Her hands darted to her desk, but it was gone.

Her chest tightened violently. No… no, no, no…

She heard it then: muffled but distinct—the unmistakable sound of her brothers reading aloud, their voices high and teasing, punctuated with bursts of laughter.

“…and then I wrote—oh my gosh, this part! She actually thinks about, like, girls sometimes? That’s hilarious!”

“…so, I guess she’s into girls or something!”

Her stomach dropped. That was… that was her journal. Her thoughts.

“Jen! Look what you left lying around!” Jonesy’s voice came, a little too loud, too teasing, bouncing down the hallway like an echo in a cave.

Before she could process it, she was storming down the hallway, every step fueled by a mix of fear, anger, and humiliation. She burst into Jonesy’s room, where all three of them—Jonesy, Diego, and Robbie—were doubled over, laughing hysterically.

“Give it back! Give it back!” she screamed, lunging for the journal.

Jonesy raised an eyebrow, smirk spreading across his face. And then… he said it, loud enough for her to hear every word:

“Holy shit, Jen… you dig chicks?!”

Her hands snatched the journal from him, gripping it like a lifeline. Her voice cracked, shaking, fury and panic blending into one uncontrollable scream.

“How dare you! That’s private! That’s mine! You don’t get to read that!”

Diego and Robbie kept laughing, thinking this was all a game. Jonesy’s smirk faltered slightly under the intensity of her glare, but he didn’t apologize. He just shrugged, clearly enjoying the chaos.

Jen’s chest heaved, breaths coming in ragged bursts, tears stinging her eyes again. “Do you even know how humiliating this is?! You think it’s funny?!”

Her mom’s voice suddenly cut through the chaos, sharp but calm, trying to anchor the storm: “Jen! Stop screaming! Calm down, honey, everyone just—just breathe!”

Her stomach dropped. Every word they spoke scraped against her raw nerves. Every laugh felt like a spotlight burning down on her.

Jen didn’t answer. Her hands still clutched the journal, her entire body trembling. She didn’t trust herself to speak without screaming again. Slowly, deliberately, she turned on her heel and stormed out of the room, retreating down the hallway. The laughter followed her for a few steps before fading into the distance, but the echoes of it lingered like an unwelcome shadow.

She slammed her bedroom door behind her, pressing her back against it, sliding to the floor. Her chest was still heaving, adrenaline and panic colliding inside her. The journal rested in her lap, safe now, but the raw, unfiltered vulnerability she’d penned just last night had been exposed, mocked, and weaponized in a way she never could’ve imagined.

And there came the feeling again, Jen felt the crushing weight of the world settle on her—not just from school, work, or family chaos, but from the terrifying reality that the part of herself she was only beginning to understand had been seen, even if only by accident.

Her hands trembled as she opened the journal, flipping to the last page she had written. She wanted to erase it all, burn it, hide it, forget it ever existed. But more than that, she wanted to cry until the noise outside—and inside—stopped completely. She isn't a goddamn dyke.

Jen’s hands shook as she stared at the open pages of her journal. Every word she had written, every thought she had dared to put down, suddenly felt exposed, vulnerable, and dangerous. The laughter from downstairs still echoed faintly in her ears, like a cruel soundtrack reminding her of what had just happened.

Her chest tightened. The panic, the shame, the anger—all tangled together, burning hot in her veins.

Without thinking, she grabbed the nearest page and ripped it out. Then another. And another. Each tear was a tiny release, a frantic attempt to erase herself before anyone else could see, judge, or mock her again.

She ripped faster, heart hammering, until the entire stack of pages was in fragments. Her hands were raw from the effort, her nails catching on the paper, but she didn’t care.

She flung the shredded pieces into the bin with force, the paper fluttering like broken confessions. She shoved them down, stabbing at them until they were crumpled beyond recognition.

And then she stood there, trembling, chest heaving, staring at the empty journal on her desk.

It wasn’t gone—not really—but it felt meaningless now. Every thought, every word, every fragment of herself she had tried to understand and preserve had been thrown away. Just like that.

Her room was silent, save for the faint hum of the house settling around her, the muffled chaos from downstairs still lingering like smoke in the air. Jen sank to the floor, hugging her knees, letting the tears she had tried to hold back finally spill.

She didn’t know how to process anything—not the panic, not the anger, not the fear of what she was feeling about herself. All she knew was that for now, she needed to destroy the evidence of it, to push it away, even if it meant hurting herself in the process.

For the first time in a long time, Jen felt utterly, completely alone.

//

By mid-morning, Jen had pulled herself together enough to make a plan: she’d go to work early. Anything to avoid the house, the chaos, the remnants of her brothers’ teasing, and the suffocating pressure pressing on her chest. If she arrived a few hours before her shift, she could carve out a bubble of control—a place where she knew what to expect, a place where mistakes could be measured and managed.

She grabbed her jacket and slipped out the door, moving quietly so she wouldn’t run into anyone downstairs. The cool air outside felt like a small blessing, brushing against her flushed cheeks and tangling with her messy hair.

By the time she arrived at the rink, it was empty—just her, the hum of the lights, and the faint scent of waxed floors and skate leather. Her boots echoed softly as she walked across the rink, heart still pounding from yesterday’s chaos, her hands stuffed in her pockets to keep from trembling.

Coach’s office door opened just as she was hanging up her coat. “Jen! Wow… a few hours early, huh? I like that,” he said, clapping his hands together. “Making up for yesterday’s mistakes, huh? Proud of you!”

Jen forced a small smile, nodding. “Yeah… thought I’d… get ahead today.”

Coach grinned, oblivious to the storm still swirling inside her. “Good. That’s the kind of initiative I like to see. Don’t worry about yesterday. Everyone has off days. Today’s your day.”

Jen exhaled, a tiny flicker of relief at his words. The rink offered a strange kind of sanctuary—the predictable motions, the focus on skating drills, the crisp echo of blades on ice. Here, her mistakes were measurable. Here, she could pour herself into something tangible, something she could control.

Coach’s voice called out instructions, sharp but encouraging, slicing through the haze. Jen pushed herself, focusing on precision, on form, on getting everything exactly right. Each glide, each turn, each push against the ice felt like reclaiming a piece of herself that had been scattered by yesterday’s chaos.

For now, work was safe. Work was predictable. Work didn’t demand she explain herself, didn’t judge her for thoughts she couldn’t yet name, didn’t expose her vulnerability.

And for the first time since yesterday, Jen felt a fraction of control again.

//

August 28th 2007

JONSEY GARCIA

10:02 a.m.

Jonesy had always worn the charming, teasing attitude like armor. It was part of his natural defense—kept things light, kept people laughing, kept him from facing the awkward, messy truths of life. But right now… right now, he couldn’t lie to himself. He felt bad.

He and his little brothers had gone through Jen’s journal earlier, reading the silly bits aloud and laughing at the parts they thought were harmless. He told himself that was all it was—fun, harmless teasing. But somewhere, between Diego’s high-pitched shrieks and Robbie’s over-the-top reactions, he realized: those “silly” paragraphs weren’t what was really in that journal. They were just the surface. Right before each joke, each playful exaggeration… Jen was struggling. All by herself.

The thought gnawed at him. All the teasing, all the laughter—it hadn’t been funny anymore. Not really. Not when he thought about what she must have felt in that room, alone, pouring her thoughts onto paper.

He decided he had to try and make things right. Just a little. Maybe it wouldn’t fix everything, but it had to start somewhere.

He headed down the hallway toward Jen’s room, quietly, unsure what he expected to find. Maybe an apology from her? Maybe just to see her and figure out how bad he’d made her feel?

When he opened the door, he froze. Her room was empty. Her bed was still slightly unkempt, but the journal lay on the desk, open no longer—its pages shredded and crumpled into the bin. Scrap after scrap, tossed and forgotten.

Jonesy’s chest tightened. He knelt slowly by the bin, picking up a few of the torn pages, scanning them just enough to see the words, the raw honesty in Jen’s handwriting. She had been pouring everything—stress, fear, confusion—onto these pages, and he had, even if unintentionally, mocked pieces of it.

A pang of guilt hit him harder than he expected. He had teased her like he always did, laughed at things he thought were silly, never imagining how much she carried on her own. And now, the evidence of her struggle was crumpled in a bin.

Jonesy let out a soft sigh, dropping the scraps back down. He had never really known how to handle this kind of situation—not someone else’s vulnerability, not his own guilt—but he knew he couldn’t just ignore it.

Maybe, he thought, if he could just find a way to apologize—or even just show her he saw how much she’d been carrying—he could start to make amends.

But for now… all he could do was look around the empty room, heart heavier than usual, and hope he could find the right words before it was too late.