CHAPTER NINE
❛ dreams change, and so do we. ❜

I HAD NO IDEA WHAT TO MAKE OF the other night. Neither did Stanley Barber, apparently, as my wake-up call on Sunday morning consisted of an extremely excitable string of texts:

          Him: HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT

          Him: WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED LAST NIGHT

          Him: Well I know what happened but WOW

          Him: Did you know?

          Him: Has she always been a superhero?

I didn't respond until Monday morning. It was the last thing I wanted to think or talk about, and the same went for Sydney, I'm assuming. My head hurt, and I wasn't in the mood for this. So on Monday before school, I groggily began typing back as I returned to Syd's room after breakfast:

Me: No, I didn't know. And she's not a superhero.

He responded immediately, with:

Him: She can do shit WITH HER MIND. I think that's superhero territory if you ask me.

Me: Superhero? She could have killed us that night! Death by falling trees!

Him: Yeah... but she didn't!

Me: Whatever. I don't want to talk about this now. I'll see you at school.

Him: See you :)

     I slipped my phone back into my bag, which sat sluggishly slumped against the wall next to where I slept. I then peered over at Sydney; she was still tucked in under the duvet, only her ginger bedhead poking out of the top as she calmly snoozed. This was the calmest I'd seen her since that night.

That look in her eyes — the pure fear — still haunted me. She didn't seem to know where to begin in terms of how to deal with this. Neither did I.

As far as I could tell, she had never had this... thing before. I mean, it's not like she was sending things flying in our childhood or anything. So where had it come from? And why now, of all times, was it flaring up? Just to make my week a million times better than it already was, the universe decided it was time to throw in a psychokinetic crisis.

So many questions that would probably never get an answer.

Aunt Maggie swung open the door, balancing a laundry basket on her hip. Her face soured the moment she laid eyes on her daughter, who was still fast asleep on a school morning. She turned to me with disappointment etched in her face. "Sometimes, Hallie, I think I was given the wrong daughter." she sighed, shaking her head.

I forced an uneasy chuckle.

"Sydney, it's 7:30!" Maggie stood in the doorway, watching as Sydney shot upright in her bed.

"So what? It's Sunday." her daughter mumbled drowsily, rubbing her eye with one hand.

"It's Monday. You have school."

"Yeah, I can't go. I'm sick."

"Yeah, nice try." Aunt Maggie snorted bitterly. "Look. I need you to grab Liam after school because I'm working a double. And make sure that he gets some dinner, not just a mustard sandwich like last time, okay?"

Sydney scoffed. And just as her Mom left the room, she mumbled, "I'm practically his mom."

I didn't know where to look. My eyes bore into the carpet that hadn't been vacuum cleaned for a decade, as I heard footsteps approaching the bedroom again. "What did you just say?" Maggie whispered, every syllable laced with spite. When she didn't reply, she stood taller and tenser. "No, I'm curious. Say it again."

My mouth went dry, saliva inching down the sides of my sandpaper throat as I swallowed it. This was a relationship between mother and daughter hanging in the air, so brittle it could snap if neither of them treaded carefully. In the deafening silence that followed, Sydney finally seemed to calculate a response.

"You always ask me to do everything, and it's not fair." she stated, folding her arms across her chest defensively.

"It's not fair?" Maggie repeated in venomous disbelief.

Liam emerged from the dark hallway, poking his head in past her arm. He was still young and demure, but as I knew all too well — and so did they — not stupid. His eyes told stories of many similar disputes between them, ones that I didn't even know the half of. It was heartbreaking. He was so used to it.

"Um..." he stopped as both glared at him, then softening at his face. "I— I don't mind cooking dinner tonight, guys..."

Maggie sighed again, blinking rapidly in frustration. "That's nice, sweetie. It's just— you know what? Can you just give us a minute?"

"C'mon Liam, let's go." I walked past the doorway, placing my hand on the small of Liam's back as I led him out. The door shut behind us, and we hovered nearby to eavesdrop. We didn't know why we were doing it, because what we were hearing was brutal; it was just instinct.

"I haven't been perfect," said Aunt Maggie. "And I know me working sixty hours a week isn't ideal for you, but—"

"I hate when this happens." Liam kicked the ground, his head bowed low.

I nodded slowly. There was a photograph strung up on the wall, of my Uncle holding a newborn Sydney (I assumed) and making silly faces at her. In the background, Maggie was laying in a hospital bed, smiling weakly at her husband and daughter. All I could do was stare long and hard at it.

"Does this... happen often?" I asked.

"It—"

"This is about your attitude!"

"If Dad was here with me and Liam, he wouldn't ask me to do so much."

He winced at Maggie's indignant gasp behind the door, before finishing, "Yeah. Too much. I wish it'd just..."

"—this is the scenario where I'm dead?"

"... stop."

Not looking me in the eye, Liam took a step to the side, closer to me. His cheek was touching the cloth on my hoodie sleeve, like he wanted to lean in but was hesitant to be rejected.

"Why are you throwing him under the bus?"

"Because I'M the one who's STILL HERE!"

I couldn't take this anymore. Seeing him so hurt, hearing a relationship falling apart next door. It was out-of-character, but I gently placed my hand on my cousin's arm, welcoming him into a closer embrace. I felt his shoulders rise up as he dragged in a long, exhausted breath, before they dropped as he puffed it out again.

"— you wanna know what's really not fair?" I could hear Maggie's voice start to waver, as if she was fighting back the urge to cry. "You always chose him over me. And now, he's been gone for almost a year, and you're still choosing him."

The door suddenly creaked open, and my Aunt stepped out. Liam and I straightened up immediately, stood in the doorway like soldiers standing for inspection. Her knuckles were white as she clung onto the laundry basket, and her eyes glistened in a sheet of unshed, heated tears.

I looked again at that photograph on the wall, of Sydney and her parents. And it hit me then that not only had she lost her father, but now she'd lost her mother...

And if she wasn't careful, she'd let her brother slip through her fingers too.

***

When I got to school, I realised that Stanley Barber meant business when it came to our new... situation.

Seconds after I'd followed closely behind my cousin into the main hallway, I'd watched as he zoomed over from a far corner — like a paper clip drawn to a magnet — and was practically attached to Sydney's hip as he spouted a load of theorems and ideas all at once about her newfound abilities.

From what I could see, even from the back of their heads, she was having none of it as she didn't speak a single word in return. The girl's bathroom was conveniently ahead of her, and it took one swift swivel on her heel to turn and disappear straight into a cubicle where Stanley couldn't follow her. Knowing his place, he leaned awkwardly against the wall next to the door and scratched the back of his head.

     I kept walking and found my locker, beginning to fiddle with the padlock to open it. And when I did, a pair of honey brown eyes were peering at me over the rusted, mint green metal door; alive and inquisitive as ever.

     "Hi, Stanley." I decided to avert my eyes to the textbooks stacked inside my locker, because I could feel my cheeks burning as I, once again, was mortified at the memory of last night. But at least my little 'accident' seemed to be water under the bridge, now that my cousin was a superhero in his eyes.

     He gave me a small but eager nod, saying nothing more. "So..." he paused expectantly, looking me up and down. "What d'you think?"

     "That's... a pretty vague question."

     "Oh c'mon, you know exactly what I'm talking about! Last night? The trees? I mean, how the fuck did Syd just suddenly get kinetic pow—"

"Hey, keep your voice down!" I glared at him from behind the locker door, bundling a German textbook into my arms.

"Sorry. But she must have gotten them somewhere."

"Doesn't matter."

Stanley sighed, jutting his bottom lip out so he redirected the flow to fan his curls momentarily, before they rested back over his forehead. "I was thinking... maybe we should try and test Syd's powers?"

     I blinked at him. "No. Absolutely not."

     "Why not?" he countered. "If she has this, she might as well learn to control it."

     "She needs to contain it, not control it." I fired right back. "It's scary to think what she's capable of. It would be better if we could just—" the words dissolved just as I attempted to speak them, images of Brad's bleeding nose and Banana's decorated coffin flashing before me. "— I don't know, find a way to hide it and forget that it ever happened."

     His eyes were narrowed at me; a sceptical, judgemental stare overtaking them. Then he tilted his head to the side, inspecting me further. "You've seen something else, haven't you?"

     "I— what? No!" I stammered, hiding my face back in my locker again. "What makes you think that?"

     "Hallie, if you know something, you need to tell me." Stanley rubbed the area just next to his left eye, and that's when I noticed it: a small cut, sitting between the top of his eyelid and the corner of his brow. It was probably nothing, but it had grabbed my full attention. The skin around it looked tender, and a slight shade of pink, like it was swelling up.

"I know as much as you do," I said, distracted. "Anyway, what happened to your eye?"

"M-my eye?"

Now it was his turn to be a stammering mess.

"That wasn't there last night." I told him.

"It wasn't?"

"No."

"Right. Well, uh—" he traced his fingertip over the cut again, this time more self-consciously. "— I just, kinda, you know... slipped, and, uh, cut my eye. Pretty stupid, right?" he shrugged, but there was a jittery animation behind it that made it sound more superficial than light-hearted. "Clumsy me."

It went right over my head, every lying word. No one slips and gets a cut placed with that much precision.

"Yeah, right," I rebuked. "I don't believe that for a second—"

My voice trailed off as I slammed my locker door and caught Stanley's gaze. It threw me off, the way he looked at me. Usually there was always this joyous glint in his eyes, this upbeat nature that he always had no matter what. Now, however, he seemed more spooked than anything. Like I'd said something completely out of line, his darkest secret.

I hadn't considered how he actually got that cut, and I wasn't going to leap to conclusions. But the walls had collapsed, the façade had been breached; it was something darker than I'd originally thought, and something he clearly wasn't comfortable sharing with people.

Eager to escape this tense moment, I refocused my attention on the approaching figure of Calvin over his shoulder.

"Whatever. I should be getting to class now, so..." I shot him one last look before brushing past his shoulder and parting ways. I heard him search for words, but the attempts soon stopped and he too disappeared into the merging crowds of students.

Calvin whistled when I reached him. "Stan alright? That looked pretty intense."

"He's fine," I told him. Although I wasn't so sure he was.

"So anyway, I wanted to ask you something."

"Oh yeah? About what?"

"Ryder."

I cringed at the memory of him scooting over to me in that room, his breath reeking of cheap alcohol. "Go on."

"Well... how'd it go? Y'know, at the weekend?" he inquired, smoothing out a dog-eared corner of a page in his textbook.

"Honestly?" I shook my head in disbelief. "Horribly. He was wasted, and we started arguing, and then I went through so I'm pretty sure he saw blood on the chair."

"Well. Shit." he cleared his throat. "What did you guys argue about? I mean, if you don't mind me asking?"

Sulking, I tucked a red strand of hair behind my ear. "About him using me, which he claimed to have no idea what I was talking about."

Calvin pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes darting uncomfortably away from mine. I stopped, hugging my textbook closer to my chest. He had this look that I didn't like one bit. "Calvin..." I looked him dead in the eye, which made him squirm. "What is it?"

Please. Put me out of my misery.

"I... might have told you a little white lie about Ryder."

"What accounts for a 'little white lie'?"

"So, um— he did have a girlfriend and they did break up last year, but..." he paused mid-sentence, running a hand through his hair. Oh no. "... but the whole thing where he used her was made up."

     I took a step back, trying to get my head around the new situation I'd suddenly entered. He'd lied. Calvin had fed me lies about Ryder, and for what? Because he got on his nerves? Because he wanted my attention?

     "Hang on..." I knocked my textbook lightly against my forehead, exasperated. "So you're telling me... that I gave Ryder — someone who I get along with fairly well — the cold shoulder... and I didn't even have a valid reason for it?"

     "... Yep."

     I couldn't believe this. It explained a lot, though. Fuck! No wonder Ryder acted so cold towards me last night. But it didn't explain why Calvin had lied in the first place.

C'mon, he was kind of right. Ryder isn't your type. But who knows if we could have had a chance? Not a chance. He blew it! No, YOU TWO blew it. It doesn't make sense. Accept it. You're just not compatible.

     "What— why are you telling me this now?" I implored desperately.

     "Because I owe you an explanation," he explained. Calvin inhaled a shaky breath and shuddered. "But not now. It's not the right time, or the right place."

     "Uh... okay?"

     "I'm sorry again, Hallie. And good luck in German." he walked off, leaving me next to the classroom door. As two girls giggling brushed past, it dawned on me that I'd have to sit next to Ryder for a whole hour yet. And to make matters worse, he was already there: unpacking his bag, his lips sealed in an unshakable frown.

     Lord give me strength...

     Cooly, I strode over to my desk and placed my bag on my chair. I unzipped it and started unpacking, only stopping to give him a curt nod and say, "Hi."

With a gruff return of my greeting, he slid into his chair and didn't look at me. So I did the same, focusing instead on Mr. Klingemann at the front; he'd caught a nasty cold, and was hacking and sniffing as he tried to calm the class. I was thankful for being seated near the back, for I was out of range for any infection from him. The poor souls at the front however, were rigid as they held their breaths, only releasing to murmur their name when he croaked it out during registration.

After he'd finished taking out names, Mr. Klingemann stood and scribbled something on the chalkboard: a page number, and an instruction written in German. Wordlessly, he tapped his message with his hand, before catching a cough in a tissue that was held in the other.

It was another twenty minutes — mainly filled by the scribble of pens, the occasional turn of a page, and the (unfortunately) frequent sniffles coming from the front — before Ryder finally spoke to me.

"Hey," he pointed to a word in the textbook. "D'you know what that means?"

I looked myself, before whispering back, "Drums."

"No it doesn't."

"What? Of course it does." I retorted, absorbed in my work.

"I thought it was a plane."

"No, that's Flugzeug. Anyway, why're you asking if you think you already know?"

"Just checking! I swear that it's a plane though..."

"Fine," I slid him a German Dictionary. "Then find Schlagzeug for yourself, then."

He flippantly flicked to the German-English section, filing through in alphabetical order to find the word that had sparked our disagreement. When he presumably found it, I was met with a cold silence as he tried to hide his disappointment. I glanced over at his page, furrowing my eyebrows when I spotted he was only on the first question; whereas I, on the other hand, had just begun the fifth and was almost onto the extension task.

"You're still on the first question?" I whisper-yelled.

"Yeah. You got a problem with that?"

"Why didn't you ask me for help earlier?"

"Oh, I don't know," he dropped his pencil and raised his hands up. "I didn't want you to think that I was —" he began doing air quotations with his fingers. "— using you."

I rolled my eyes and pulled my chair closer to him, gritting my teeth at the squeak it made against the floor. "Look, I'm sorry about that. I was being... incredibly judgemental over some stupid rumour I'd heard—"

     The both of us jumped as Mr. Klingemann sneezed loudly. I could have sworn it caused a seismic shift in the Earth's plates.

    "What rumour?" Ryder asked curiously.

     "About your last girlfriend, who kind of resembled... you know... me?"

     "I'm not sure I follow."

     I bit my lip, jumping again at another explosive sneeze which was followed by an awkward 'bless you' from a guy sat near the front. "She was smart, got good grades and stuff. I heard that you broke up because... well, it was implied that you were maybe using her to do well in exam season, and then after that you didn't need her anymore."

     To my utter confusion, Ryder's frown softened into what was almost a smirk, as he chuckled weakly. "No, you've got the wrong end of the stick. Fiona broke up with me because —" he flinched at the honk of Mr. Klingemann blowing his nose. "— because she felt like a relationship was too much pressure for her, and I went with it. It's a shame, though... she was nice."

     "Yeah?"

     "Yeah. She wasn't all over me like the other girls were."

     Other girls? I thought playfully. But there was something solemn in the way he said it that kept me stoic.

     Ryder tapped the desk and picked his pencil up. "Anyway, mind helping me with this?"

     "Sure."

     The last half an hour of the lesson moved on by much less painfully, besides from the occasional, bunged up noises from our teacher. I really wanted to ask him more, though. I was reassured that he wasn't using me, but I wasn't convinced that it made our predicament any better. The problem was how to phrase it...

     That ended up not being my problem, however, since the moment the lesson ended Ryder came to join me as I walked out.

     "The other night, on our date..." he trailed off, staring at his feet. "I was pretty irritable."

     "Yeah, you were." I responded bluntly.

     Slightly taken aback by the shameless honesty, he hesitated before continuing. "Before I met you I'd just been talking to my parents. You know my Mom is a teacher here, right?"

     I nodded. She taught me for History in the Sophomore year, and was probably one of the best teachers I've had.

     "Well, she was there with my Dad, and... they said that they're gonna have a trial divorce."

     "Oh!" I raised my eyebrows.

     "Yeah. It was a pretty shit thing to find out. And we argued a lot after that too, which hardly ever happens. So I was really stressed after that, and it was totally unfair that I've been taking it out on you ever since, so... I'm sorry."

I scratched at a spot that sat inconveniently under my jawline. That wasn't quite what I was expecting from him. At all. Nevertheless, he came across as genuinely distressed by his predicament, so sympathy gave me a surge of newfound confidence that made me sound wise beyond my years.

"That's okay. But Ryder," I said, making eye contact with him. "I don't know if we should do that again. The date thing, I mean."

He didn't say anything, so I went on.

"I mean, think about it. Really think about it. What do we have in common outside of this classroom?" I pursed my lips together with a shrug of my shoulders. "Not a whole lot. But that's okay. Some things... just... aren't meant to be. That doesn't mean I don't like you, though."

Ryder rubbed his chin, trying not to look at me. "Yeah, yeah, I get it."

"Ryder. I mean it. And sure, our music taste clashes and we're awful at small talk, but I don't think you're a bad guy. Truly. And I guess I'm like that girl, Fiona, where I don't know if I have what it takes for a relationship right now. Don't waste your time on me. You've got your whole life to experiment with people, so what're you waiting for?"

He broke out into a smile, as he leaned his head back. "You sound like a therapist."

"Some therapy that would be. I can barely even open up myself, let alone be approachable enough to make strangers do it." I wrinkled my nose.

"So..." he held out his hand. "We're cool?"

"We're cool," I took his hand and shook it firmly.

***

I was expecting a call from my own parents that afternoon. And the talk with Ryder had gotten me thinking... I can't remember the last time I sat down with my parents — both of them — and had a serious talk. The last time that happened was when they told me that my Uncle had killed himself. Almost a year ago.

And Ryder had argued with them.

Sometimes I wished my parents would argue with me. It would suggest that I was at least of enough significance to them that I was worth arguing with.

The monotonous ringtone that I'd refused to change (for the desire to not be embarrassed every time I answered the phone) vibrated from my pocket and pierced the silence in Sydney's bedroom, where I'd been sitting alone waiting on her bed for the past ten minutes.

"Hey honey!"

"Mom. Hi."

"Your Dad's having a nap right now, so I'm afraid you're gonna have to talk to just me today." she chirped, her voice far too honeyed to be comforting or relaxed. "We just got back from a long hike."

"Oh, did you?" I pretended to swell with pride, but my unimpressed face displayed nothing of the sort.

"Yeah! Oh, and yesterday we visited the Saratoga Automobile Museum."

"Wow..." I said. "Riveting."

    "Oh c'mon, don't sound so sarcastic. I'm sure your life hasn't been that much more exciting back home."

     If only she knew what I'd been up to. But I masked my real week with the mundane everyday that she knew from me. "I guess not. It's the good ol' daily grind for me."

     "Did you have cello practice today?"

     "No, Mom, that was yesterday." I corrected her.

      "Was it? Oops. My bad. Anyway, was it good? Working hard?" she asked, with a faux eagerness that made my heart sink further into my chest.

"Yeah..."

Something strange overcame me. I don't know what it was, but it hit me in tidal waves that doubled me over. This overwhelming dissatisfaction... with my life? With my parents? With cello? I didn't know. But there was something I wanted to try: a social experiment, of sorts. I didn't know what I was trying to get from it — looking back, I got nothing. I still wanted to test it though.

     "Actually, that's something I've been wanting to talk to you about," I licked my lips, not sure where to go from there.

    "Oh yeah?"

     I cleared my throat. "I've been thinking... that maybe it's time that I quit cello."

     For a good ten seconds, I was sat there: listening to my Mom's short, peevish bursts of laughter that crackled into my ear. She took a disconcertingly long breath, sharp on my eardrum through the phone, before she finally asked, "Hang on, you... you're not serious, are you?"

     The words I'd wanted to speak came then, like a screenplay waiting to be brought to life in a moving picture; boxed in highlighted lines of bold, neon yellow.

      "Maybe I am."

      "But... w-what? Honey, you've been doing those lessons for years. It's your dream."

      "Dreams change, and so do we. I'm not the person I was when I was in Elementary School."

      "Oh my God, what's come over you?"

      "I'm not happy, Mom!"

      My voice caught on my words, cracking. Heart thumping against my rib cage like a drum. No, you won't show it. Don't make her think you're weak.

      "Those lessons cost money, Hallie. Money we've worked hard to earn. Don't be so selfish."

      "Did... did you even hear what I just said?"

      "What?"

      "I-I'm not happy."

      "Yeah, none of us are, sweetie. The answer is no. I'm sorry."

      I heard words after that, but none of them mattered. They were white noise to me. The phone slipped out of my hand after my thumb softly grazed the screen to end the call.

      My whole body was alive in an electrical circuit of adrenaline: it flowed in currents, shocking me every time they came full circle into the reality that my mom just... didn't care. My hands trembled on my lap, and my skin had broken out in a clammy, suffocatingly hot sweat. And my heart... my heart...

     My heart. It raced. Thump, thump, thump. The palpitations exploded through my chest and flew up to my throat, rendering me breathless. Thump, thump, thump. God, just slow down... you're going too fast, much too fast. I can't keep up. Shit.

Thump, thump, thump. It's familiar, but it's been long enough to strike terror through me, and then that makes my heart beat more, and oh please, just make it stop...

I tried to use my fists to push myself up off the bed, but my legs gave way underneath me and I stumbled back onto the softness of the duvet. Think, think. It aches, I'd forgotten that. What do you do? It's been so long, I don't know. WHAT DO YOU DO? I DON'T FUCKING KNOW—

"Syd?" I called out, sighing softly at how much breath that required afterwards. I heard her call back, but it wasn't enough, my vision was swimming before me, and oh I couldn't see—

     "SYDNEY!"

     Thump thump thump...

     I must have screamed this time, or something closer to that, because I felt it rip through my throat. Sydney skidded into the doorway, hovering as she locked eyes on me. One look was all it took.

     Thump thump thump...

     "What do you do? What d'you usually do when you have a—"

     "I don't know, I don't know, I've forgotten..."

     Thumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthump...

     I'm dying. I feel like I'm dying. I'm gonna die. Oh my God, I'm gonna die.

     "Okay, uhhh— wait, wasn't there something about, uh, cold water?"

     It comes back in a flash, with a multitude of other things. YES! I nod so hard my head almost rolls off my neck, I can't think anything else, I just need to remember what to do...

     Now I want you to try something for me, Hallie. It's called the Valsalva manoeuvre. I need you to try holding your nose, closing your —

     — mouth and trying to blow out as much air as I can. I shudder at the feeling of it, the restriction, but it's nothing compared to the way my heart has got my mind, my body, my soul in a headlock. It —

     — feels funny, I don't like it, Doctor.

     I know. Just keep it up though, you're doing great.

     Oh, my ears just popped!

     That happens, don't worry... alright, it's been about ten seconds now. Is anything changing yet?

     I think s—

     — nothing changes. I try for another ten, but still nothing. Liam's in the door now, and he looks horrified. Of course. He's never seen it happen before. I'd be scared too if I was watching it.

     "Syd, what's happening?"

     THUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMP

     "I'll explain in a second, everything will be fine. Here, try this."

     THUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMP

     She hands me an ice pack, the cold seeping through my hands... another method... I press it to my face, and begin to count... I know I shouldn't focus on the numbers, but it's how I'm wired... I need it to work... please...

You know vagal manoeuvres only work twenty percent of the time. SHUT UP. Or you'll have to go to the emergency room. IT IS GOING TO WORK.

     THUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMP

      "Anything yet?"

     "N-nope..."

     "Try again."

     She's hovering by the phone, an internal debate... to call or not to call an ambulance... I'm thinking the same thing, but another part of me knows... hopes... this will be over as soon as it began...

     I try again... one, two, three... four, five, six... seven, eight, nine...

     THUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMP

      Ten, eleven, twelve... thirteen, fourteen, fifteen...

      THUMPTHUMP— thump, thump, thump...

      "It worked, it worked!"

      "Holy shit, okay..."

      "Is she alright now?"

      "Yeah, just give her a minute."

      For a while, I sit slumped in the chair by Sydney's desk: catching my breath, getting used to my regular heart rate again, which beats reassuringly steady, like the predictable rhythm of a metronome. I come to, emerging from the panic too, and Liam and Sydney are both staring at me, their faces painted in concern.

      "What... just happened?" Liam asked, looking from me to his sister.

      "I'll explain to you later, Goob." she patted his back. "Go back downstairs before you burn down the house."

      "Okay..." he smoothed down his apron, and disappeared down the corridor to leave us two alone. It was bizarre. After all of the intensity of the attack, the panic, the reactions to it, everything felt so still. Too still. An eerie calmness settled over us; I heard pans clanging and sizzling downstairs as the slightly nauseating aroma of food floated up, and the radio was playing accompanied by a chorus of Liam humming. Like nothing had happened.

I still could never quite grasp how to return to a normal day after feeling like I was about to die.

      Sydney breathed out through her nose. "You alright now?"

Swallowing, I let my head fall into my hands as I rubbed my eyes. "Yeah."

"Do I need to call an ambulance?"

"No, don't worry..." I hated how unhinged I felt after one of these. How spontaneous they were, and how they reminded me that I could never just let this go. Or I could, but it wasn't necessary unless I had a decent amount of them.

I watched as she shifted her position on the side of the bed, her hands clasped together in a tight ball on her lap. Her eyes were more alarmingly blue than ever, as they flicked from various parts of my body, taking them in and observing, processing, and being relieved at my gradual recovery.

"You remembered what to do." I remarked. Sydney perked up, her lips curling into a smile.

"Yeah," she nodded. "My parents kinda hammered it into me after you went into hospital that time, so... I think Dad even made me practice on him."

"Practice on you?"

"He randomly told me that it was happening 'now' and I had to stay calm and tell him what to do. He said it was so I could get used to the pressure you're under as the caretaker."

I managed to let out a soft laugh, rubbing my chest afterwards at the throbbing ache that still remained. "Sounds like something he'd do."

"Yeah," said Sydney. She tilted her head at me. "He worried about you a lot. Wanted to make sure you were okay. I think he thought of you like his second daughter, sometimes."

I said nothing. I couldn't. If I did, I might have cried right there and then. And not even because I was upset; just because I was exhausted. Of everything.

Her words rung true, though. That's how I felt with my Uncle — like I was his second daughter, and he, my first father. The warmth I used to feel in his arms was the warmth I should've felt with my dad. The loss I felt when I heard of his passing was the loss I should've felt if it had been my dad in that situation. And that went for Maggie, too, who paid me more attention than my mom ever could; she wasn't Uncle Novak, though.

      "I heard you talking to your Mom before. About quitting cello and everything," Sydney admitted sheepishly, before adding, "I don't think I've ever heard you so outwardly emotional."

      I've never been so outwardly emotional before, I thought. I still don't know what came over me. I hadn't thought it through at all, but I'd suddenly been consumed by this overdue yearning for her... approval? Or whatever I wanted from her. A long time passed, where I tried to find the right words, until I finally opened my mouth and told my cousin:

      "I just... wanted her to care... about something I was doing."

      Sydney stared. And then she patted my knee, and I held her hand. And we just sat, the silence more comfortable than any forced conversation I could have had with my parents.

________________________

A/N:

yikes... this chapter was super dramatic. and 34 PAGES LONG WTF?

if you're curious, hallie has SVT (supraventricular tachycardia) which is where your heart suddenly beats much faster than normal. the episodes are really random too. tit's not life threatening unless it's super frequent i think (i've tried to do a lot of research, which was actually quite interesting to learn about) so there's that. but this will all be touched on later in the story too, so stay tuned for that...

also, if you have SVT or know someone with it, i hope this was somewhat accurate. i spent a while trying to figure out the best way to portray her SVT attack (which was kind of amidst a mini panic attack too)

anyway my dudes, stay safe, and have a good day/evening 💓

song of the chapter: 'homage' - mild high club
(hallie and ryder make up)

published: 3rd may, 2020