Chapter 8

Miley woke up before her alarm.

Not suddenly. Not with panic. Just awake-eyes open, staring at the pale ceiling while the house breathed softly around her. Somewhere downstairs, a cupboard closed. A spoon tapped against ceramic. Morning had already started without her needing to rush.

She checked the time, rolled over once, then sat up.

The floor was cold. She stepped into it anyway.

Her clothes were easy today. A skirt she reached for without looking. A sweater that was already folded the way she liked it. She tied her hair back, fixed one loose strand near her ear, and moved on.

Downstairs smelled like toast.

Her mother stood by the counter. Her father sat at the table, phone in hand. Miley took her usual place, wrapped her fingers around a warm cup, and listened to the quiet stretch between their words.

Nothing needed to be said.

Outside, the air had a bite to it. She adjusted her bag strap as she walked, slowing slightly at the narrow part of the road without thinking about why. Leaves gathered near the fence again. She stepped around them.

Blackwood High loomed ahead, solid and unchanged.

Inside, sound hit first-voices, lockers, footsteps overlapping. Miley moved with the flow, stepping aside when she needed to, slipping through gaps without stopping.

“Miley!”

Anya waved from near the classroom, already talking as soon as they fell into step together.

“You will not believe what happened in math yesterday-“

Miley smiled, nodded, laughed when Anya paused for breath. She didn’t interrupt. She didn’t need to.

Class settled quickly. Chairs scraped. Pages flipped. Miley opened her notebook and started writing as the teacher spoke, her pen moving smoothly across the page.

At some point, a question was asked.

Her hand went up.

She answered. The teacher nodded. The lesson continued.

Felix sat a few rows ahead.

She noticed him the way she noticed windows or desks-present, familiar, unremarkable. He glanced back once and smiled, quick and easy, before turning forward again.

Between classes, he walked beside her for a moment.

“You’re getting used to this place,” he said casually.

“Guess so,” she replied.

They talked about nothing important. The weather. How long the day felt already.
When the bell rang, they separated without fuss.

Lunch was loud.

Anya claimed a table and talked through most of the meal, hands moving as much as her mouth. Miley listened, chiming in here and there, watching students pass by the windows outside.

When the bell rang, she was already standing.

The afternoon passed without resistance. Notes filled pages. Time folded neatly from one class into the next. When school ended, the sky was heavy with clouds, exactly the way it usually was.

She walked home at an easy pace, kicked a small stone once, then left it behind.

The house was quiet.

Dinner happened. Conversation drifted. Nothing lingered.

Later, in her room, Miley lay on her bed and stared at the ceiling while her phone dimmed in her hand. She wasn’t reading anymore. She didn’t mind.

The day had gone well.

She turned onto her side, pulled the blanket closer, and let sleep take her without effort.

Tomorrow would come.

And she didn’t give that a second thought.
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Chapter ended