MELODY
...

Hilton feels exactly the same as when I left. The same routines, the same faces, the same quiet life moving forward without me.

Everyone seems happy I’m back. Mom beams at me over dinner, acting like nothing ever happened. My old teammates wave at me in the hallways, asking if I’m “all good now.”

“All good now.” What a joke.

I plaster on a smile and nod, pretending the words don’t sting. The truth is, nothing feels good anymore. I don’t know how to explain that seeing them isn’t good for me.

Basketball is off the table.

Coach wanted me back.

He sat me down his first chance, his eyes full of encouragement. “Mel, we want you on the court again. Let’s ease you back in.”

I told him I needed to think about it, but the truth was I wasn’t ready. Still, I forced myself to try. I showed up to practice one afternoon and let my teammates pass me the ball.

The second it hit my palms, I froze.

It felt foreign, like I was holding someone else’s dream. Not mine. Not anymore.

The court, the cheering, the sharp squeak of sneakers against polished wood—it all felt so far away. Like a distant memory I didn’t know how to relive.

I handed the ball back. That’s when I knew.

Basketball was really gone.

As if I didn’t pour every ounce of myself into it. As if basketball wasn’t the one thing that gave me purpose, the one thing I was good at.

Now it’s gone. Just like that.

I try to tell myself it doesn’t matter, that I can find something else to focus on, but the emptiness is suffocating.

And then there’s Steph.

God, I can’t stop thinking about her. No matter how hard I try, she’s always there—in the back of my mind, in the way the sunlight hits the windows, in the smell of coffee brewing in the kitchen.

I hate it.

I hate that she’s wormed her way so deeply into my life that even now, when I’ve left her behind, she’s still here.

I hate that I check my phone a dozen times a day since she stopped calling, hoping for a message, a missed call, anything.

But there’s nothing. Just the same empty screen, day after day.

I wonder if she’s moved on. If she’s found someone else to fill the space I left behind. That giggly bitch in the background maybe.

The thought makes my stomach twist.

As if that wasn’t enough, I’m stuck repeating the semester.

While everyone else is preparing for graduation, I’m sitting in classrooms with juniors who barely know my name. It’s humiliating, watching my friends talk about college applications and their plans for the future while I’m stuck here, floundering.

I sit in the back of the classroom and pretend I don’t hear them.

I try to focus on my classes, to throw myself into the work, but it feels pointless. What’s the point of any of it if I can’t play basketball?

The thought of spending another year in this town, watching everyone else move on while I stay behind, is unbearable.

And the worst part? I don’t even know what I want anymore.

Basketball was my dream. Steph was my dream.

And now they’re both gone.

I should be moving forward. That’s what everyone expects, anyway. But instead, I’m falling apart.

I can’t focus in class. Repeating the semester feels like a punishment I don’t deserve, a cruel reminder of all the time I’ve lost.

It's torture.

***

It all catches up to me one afternoon.

I’m in the school bathroom between classes, leaning over the sink. My reflection looks like a stranger’s—pale skin, tired eyes, lips pressed into a thin line.

Who am I, even?

I turn the faucet on, splashing cold water on my face, but it doesn’t help. My chest feels tight, my breath shallow.

Before I realize it, I’m sliding to the floor.

I bury my face in my hands, willing the tears to stay back, but they come anyway.

Silent at first, then shaking sobs that wrack my body.

I don’t know how long I sit there, but eventually, the bathroom door creaks open.

“Mel?”

Jess’s voice.

I glance up, startled. She’s standing in the doorway, her backpack slung over one shoulder, her brow furrowed in concern.

“Are you okay?” she asks, stepping closer.

I force a bitter laugh, wiping at my face. “Do I look okay?”

She doesn’t flinch. Instead, she sits down beside me, setting her bag on the floor.

“What’s going on?”

I shake my head, not trusting myself to speak.

Jess waits, her expression soft but steady. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but… you’ve seemed off since you came back. I’m worried about you.”

Her words catch me off guard.

“I’m just… struggling,” I admit after a long pause. My voice cracks, and I hate how vulnerable I sound.

Jess nods, like she understands. “With what?”

“Everything.” The word slips out. “Basketball, school… my life. None of it feels right anymore.”

Her brow furrows. “I thought Coach wanted you back on the team.”

“He did,” I say quietly. “But it didn’t feel the same. I couldn’t do it. It’s like… it’s not mine anymore.”

Jess doesn’t say anything right away, but her presence is grounding.

“Mel, it’s okay to feel lost,” she says finally. “It doesn’t mean you won’t find your way again.”

I sniff.

“I just don’t know where to start,” I whisper.

“You don’t have to figure it all out at once,” she says. “Just take it one day at a time. And if you ever need someone to talk to, I’m here, okay?”

Her kindness feels like a lifeline, and for the first time in days, I let myself lean on it.

“Thanks,” I murmur.

She smiles, standing up and offering me a hand. “Come on. Let’s get out of here. You need ice cream.”

I take her hand, letting her pull me to my feet.

***

That night, I lie awake in bed, staring at the ceiling.

Jess is next to me, her head buried in my pillow making small snores but her words echo in my mind. It’s okay to feel lost.

I want to believe her.

But as I close my eyes and picture Steph’s face, the ache in my chest tells me I have a long way to go.