Thea had not yet realized that, before dawn, her life would tumble down a steep hill. The day had been normal, after all. She woke up early, which was her routine. Though she loved to snooze until midday had reared its head high into the clouds, Thea knew that in order to have a good day, she needed to use her Tibetan singing bowl to meditate.

She had arrived at the studio late and quickly set up for her morning class. During the day, she had encountered the few stay-at-home Moms who came into her studio. With deep sighs and steady hands, she led the group through her routine. Raising her hands in the air, she felt as though she was grasping the sunlight between her slender fingertips. A flush reached her cheeks, and she bowed her head at the end of her lesson, her cheery self diminished by her gratitude for the world she had come to know.

Now, having finished her workout, she drinks from her bottle. She maned the desk at the front of the studio while the other instructor ran a cycling session. It was a nice break, although Thea loved her job. Occasionally, she would have a potential client come in and ask about their diet plans or the times for working out. Like many other days, there were no strangers milling about town today. Perhaps it was because there were storm clouds rolling in.

The phone on the desk beeps in front of her. Quickly, Thea latches on to the phone and picks up.

In her polished customer-service voice, Thea speaks. "Hi there, welcome to Hamilton Wellness, my name's Thea-"

"It's Keisha," her sister cuts off the spiel she is used to hearing. Thea rolls her eyes at the mere mention of Keisha. She is always calling, and she is always annoying. "Are you going to be home for dinner?"

Thea straightens her back, leaning into the call. She looks over her shoulder, to make sure the next workout group aren't finishing up yet. "Are you seriously calling me about this?" Thea hushes her voice into barely a whisper. "You know I could get in trouble for talking on the phone? Is this about Freddie?"

She hears a pause on the line. In response, Thea folds her arms over themselves, pulling back from the desk. For a second, she thought her sister might be bothering her with something important during work hours but of course, she wasn't. If Keisha had called with news, Thea would've been sure her sister was abducted by aliens in the night.

"Can you just be out for a few hours?" Keisha whines into the line. "I mean, seriously. Go to a bar for once. Bring bike-boy, he's cute."

Thea rolls her eyes. She hears chatter down the hallway behind her, and she quickly whispers goodbye before slamming the phone down. A few sweaty people make their way into the changeroom, not bothering to come out to the front room first. Eventually, Brandon (the so-called bike boy) rounds the corner.

"You look tired," Thea leans over the desk. Her cheeks tighten as she leans in, her smile spreading from cheek to cheek.

"Never," Brandon takes a swipe from her bottle, sipping from it.

Thea mocks annoyance, grabbing the bottle back as soon as she can. Though she's never been good at reading people, Thea thinks Brandon has feelings for her. At least, he talks to her every chance he gets. Maybe the Bike Boy is just super high energy; after all, he is employed to work out all day for hours on end.

"After work want to grab drinks at the bar?" She asks, before pulling back. She furrows her brow, batting her eyes quickly as her brain stalls for a way to make this seem like she isn't asking him out. "Like, I hear they have a new musician, and she is like, decent. That's what Keisha is telling me."

Brandon raises an eyebrow, smiling. "So, what time is Keisha's boyfriend leaving? I can't be out late. Beauty sleep and all that."

Thea's chest releases the pressure which was building in her lungs. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it," Brandon leans in, his face tightening and his eyes steading. "To anyone. Ever."

~~~

The only thing which kept Erik from standing up in the middle of geography and screeching at the top of his lungs was that since soccer class was cancelled, he was going to be able to beat his Dad home. Therefore, the tv was finally free to try out the new game he had gotten for his birthday.

His knee bounces under his chair while he stares at the clock in the corner of the room. It ticked, and ticked, and ticked, and Erik was going to lose his mind.

"Would you quit that?" The girl, in the desk attached to his, leans over and kicks his leg.

He turns and glares at her. Her bright blue eyes blink repeatedly. Without stopping his persistent leg, he grabs the pen off his desk. Staring the girl down, Erik clicks it. She flinches at the metallic sound. Then, he clicks it, again, and again.

"Mr. Crossford," from the front of the classroom, the teacher scolds him.

The bell rings. Erik scoops his notebook off his desk, not bothering to put it in his backpack. Quickly, he dodges around the other students, who are only just beginning to pack their bags, and out the front door. Only having narrowly avoided his angry teacher, Erik runs down the hallway to his locker.

After the quick pop of his combination, Erik takes out the one book he needs and dashes down the hallway.

"Not so fast, Mr. Crossford," his teacher is leaning against the doorframe, staring Erik down. "Unless you want me to call your father, I suggest you come inside."

Erik taps his foot on the ground. Other students push past him from where he stands in the middle of the hall, bumping against each other while on their phones or laughing with their friends. While Erik knows he has to go inside the classroom, he debates running home as fast as you can.

Rolling his eyes, Erik follows his teacher in the classroom. The door stays open behind them, filling the classroom with laughter and cold air. Sometimes, Erik feels like there is a ghost in the hallways following him. Or at least, he feels like his body is being haunted.

"It seems we are going to have to put up with each other for another semester, Erik," the teacher leans back against his desk, crossing one leg over the other and placing his hands on his hips. Erik hopes, for a second, that he falls from the precarious position. "What do you want from me? Do you need me to move you away from Melissa?"

Erik stares back blankly. This is how it works with him and Mr. Hamby. The two have conversations alone after class, with speeches Mr. Hamby must imagine are inspiring, but Erik just finds sad. If Mr. Hamby is going to make Erik out to be some troubled youth in need of saving, Erik doesn't mind playing insolent and insufferable.

Mr. Hamby runs a hand over the back of his neck, scratching it. "Just, stay out of trouble, kid. It's your last year. Have you applied anywhere?"

Erik doesn't answer.

"Well, you should," Mr. Hamby waits for a response he doesn't expect. "You do well enough in my class for someone who is obviously not trying, and from what Coach tells me you are good enough at soccer to go to a nice state school. So just, try not to crack any heads open this year, alright?"

Erik nods his head once. It's the closest thing he will give Mr. Hamby to an acknowledgement.

"Alright kid, get out," Mr. Hamby raises a hand to shoo him away.

Erik runs out of the classroom.

~~~

Jamie gently shuts the door behind him. He kicks off his shoes, leaving them in a mess on the mat, and hangs up his jacket. September is already sucking the life out of the air. The wind, harsh, has messed up his hair beyond repair. Ignoring his red cheeks and chapped hands, the consequences of walking across town, Jamie pressed his forehead against the door. He takes a deep sigh, in and out, over and over.

Pulling back, he glances around the room for Kyle. The kitchen/living/dining room is Kyle-free, showing no signs that the boy had even stepped inside. At least, there are no dirty dishes nor a trail of breadcrumbs leading back to one of the two tiny bedrooms.

Jamie relaxes. He drops his backpack, leaving his uniform in a heap on the ground. It isn't often that Jamie has space to himself, since Kyle doesn't have a job to go to, nor friends and family to see.

Once inside, Jamie goes to the fridge, scratching the back of his neck. Normally, Jamie takes food home from the café to avoid cooking after his shift, but he figured today since he wasn't scheduled for the bar, he might as well try to save money. He eventually settles on a grilled cheese, pulling out gouda and havarti from the fridge and bread from the cupboard.

His vibrates in his pocket before he can get the frying pan ready. He glances down at the text message from his younger brother, Justin.

Want to watch a movie at yours Saturday? Mom and Dad are having a dinner party.

Jamie scratches his head, wiping his brow. For a second, he debates calling his brother to ask if his parents put him up to this, but the thought washes over him quickly. Instead, he goes back to cooking his sandwich.

He leaves the pan on the stove, watching the butter brown the white, spongy bread. It crackles in the pan. For a second, Jamie debates handing out his resume to one of the nicer restaurants downtown, where middle-aged married couples go for their anniversaries, but he shakes the thought out of his mind. He isn't good enough at cooking yet, and probably he could be forty before he's even remotely talented.

The phone buzzes again. Jamie jumps on the distraction.

Dude, you have read receipts on.

I'm not here to like, interrogate Kyle or anything. Mom and Dad know August is a slow month for the bar.

The smoke alarm goes off overhead. Jamie turns back to the burning sandwich. Quickly, he takes it off the stove, cursing under his breath. He climbs on to the table, turning the alarm off.

"Sorry!" Jamie calls out into the apartment. He looks towards Kyle's door, waiting for a response. None comes.

Jamie gets down off the table, shuffling his feet across the cheap floor. For a second, he debates just not looking inside. If he doesn't know, he can pretend everything is fine, if just for a second.

Instead, Jamie slowly creaks the door open. The bed is messy and there are clothes all over the floor, by Kyle is nowhere.

Jamie's face falters.

~~~

Cara kneels on her bed, resting her chin on her upright knee. Her left-hand fidgets with a pen while she stares down her calculus notes. She drops the pen, grabbing her wrist with the other hand. Her wrist burns, the carpel tunnel plaguing it is acting up again. Frustrated, Cara closes the notebook and leans back against the wall.

Above her, she hears birds chirping. She lets out a sigh, pulling herself up from the bed. Leaning out of the doorframe, she calls downstairs. "Baba!"

"What is it, love?" The stairs beneath the bannister creak as her Baba comes up the stairs. He rounds the corner, moving closer to her.

He lets out a heavy sigh as he walks into the room. The sweet tweeting rings out through the vent in the ceiling, filling the room with its melody. He looks over his shoulder back at Cara, scratching the back of his neck.

"I'm sorry, love," he climbs onto her desk chair and closes the vent. Though the sound is quieter, the heavy thuds of a bird's wings hitting the vent vibrate through the room. "Sounds like some eggs have hatched. I'm surprised you didn't hear them building a nest."

Cara sighs, looking up at the ceiling. The birds, which woke her up this morning, have apparently nested in her vent. "Can't we like, I don't know, call a friendly exterminator?"

"If you can find such a thing, of course," he laughs, staring up at the ceiling.

"I can't study in here!" She moans, glancing over at her books. While the carpel tunnel is what prevents her from studying, mostly, the birds aren't helping. "It's so loud."

"First of all, it's the first week of classes, you don't need to study. You should be having fun with friends!" Baba pauses, biting down on his tongue. "Don't tell Dad I said that. Second of all, the only thing I can do is plug the vent from the outside. That'll make the babies slowly starve to death."

The birds continue to flap above. For a second, Cara is tempted to say yes. After all, it is her last year and she really needs to get ahead of the game if Med-school is going to stay on the table. Every year she gets closer and closer to applying, and every year she needs to work harder and harder. Also, it doesn't help that she goes to the school in town (which is not prestigious at all).

"I'm not a monster," she finally looks at her Baba. Behind his shoulder, she glances out into the cold fall air.

Her Baba follows her gaze. He scratches the back of his neck, before turning to his daughter. "I'll let you take the car to the café if you want, but you have to promise me that you aren't going to tell your brother. Also, you have to be back before he gets out of soccer practice."

Cara beams. She runs over to her Baba, hugging him tightly. Closing her eyes, she lets his warm arms fill her.

"Thank you," she whispers. Cara means it in every possible way.

~~~

Surprising Eden, the boys had managed to cram a foosball table into his apartment. The football boys and their smell (still sweaty from morning practice) filled the room. From where he was perched on the couch, with his hands furrowed together and his chin pressed against them, Eden closed his eyes. Perhaps, he thought, if he remained quiet, the noise would not reach his superintendent's office.

"You've got to get a bigger room, man," Liam, the team Captain, leans against Eden. At first, Eden stumbles under the boy's weight. He manages to catch himself at the last second. "Can't Mommy and Daddy pay for a nicer one?"

Eden did not mention that his parents, though kind and well-off, were already paying the rent for both his brothers. While his parents paid the parts of his tuition which football didn't cover, Eden paid for the apartment. In fact, he was happy too.

"If I had a nicer one, we couldn't all party here," he tells the boys. "No rich old people to complain."

Liam laughs, slapping Eden on the back. He pulls off the couch, squeezing through the tight group of boys to head over to Eden's fridge. When he finds nothing inside which satisfies him, he moves over to the cupboards.

Eden gets up, moving to the foosball table. He leans closer to the board, watching as the ball moves back and forth across the table. Sometimes, he wonders if he would've been good at soccer too. However, as he was well aware, the boys who played soccer were all gay (according to Liam anyway).

The temperature in the room is rising. One of the boys plugs his phone into the stereo, playing out rap music. The sound vibrates through the room, shaking the magnets on the fridge.

"Hope you don't want to play," Michael shakes his head back and forth, though his eyes remain on the table. With the flick of a wrist, the ball goes through the goal. "If your foosball is anything like your throw, you've got to be on the other team."

A few of the guys cackle. Eden forces a smile on to his face, shaking his head. "My hands work well enough to please your girl."

Another chorus of laughter erupts. Michael's fists tighten, and he spins the foosball rod with all his might. The sound cracks through the air, the metal rods snapping in the middle. Michael shakes his head back and forth. "Your foosball table is shit, Liam."

From across the room, Liam shrugs.

Michael storms away from the table, knocking Eden backwards as he bumps against the boy while leaving the room. Eden rubs at his elbow, looking at the boy walk away.

Eden wishes he had chosen to take the insult.

~~~

June tries to blow hair out of her face, unsuccessfully, as the wind obstructs her view of her front door. Frustrated, she drops two of her bags on the porch and begins to dig through her pockets for the key. She pulls out a long keychain, rolling her fingertips over each key before finally, finally, grabbing the right one. She sticks in through the front door, opening it up.

"I'm home," her sing-song voice rings through the front entrance, rolling over the balcony and up the stairs.

No one answers her call. June rolls her eyes, walking back outside and picking up the rest of her bags. She leaves the door open ajar and so the cold wind rustles through the house. After dropping her bags on the welcome mat, she begins to move through the foyer and into the kitchen.

Frustrated, she glances down at her watch and stamps her foot on the ground. She's got an hour or two before anyone comes back from work to visit.

To past the time, June begins to bring her stuff upstairs. She throws the few things she brought home into her drawers, stuffing them full. She looks from her bed to her sister's, both covered in plain white sheets. The walls of the room are barren of posters and instead have framed artwork on them. June laments how her Mom has a habit of transforming every single living space in their house. Although the kids keep it messy, it looks like a damn Ikea catalogue.

The front door slams shut. With a grin on her face, June rounds the corner. She leans against the wall, listening to the voices of her younger brothers at the door. They've dropped their bags and are making their way up the stairs. June gets ready to leap out, listening to each step get closer and closer.

Then, she notices the picture of August on the wall. He's in his navy-blue uniform, looking off to just the left of the camera. His hair is shorter than he likes it; the bright red strands buzzed tight against his head. He isn't smiling.

"Jesus, June," Neal puts a hand on her arm, squeezing it. "We thought there was a damn intruder."

She doesn't look down at Neal, nor at Dean who is standing beside her. She looks at August. "I'm sneaky, I guess."

"What are you doing home?" Dean asks, walking in front of her. Now, she is forced to face them both.

June shrugs, pulling herself up and off of the wall. She looks between her two brothers, who are both much taller than she had anticipated. She's been gone for what, two months? They're already gigantic.

"We're done filming," she tries to bring herself back to the room. Although she spent hundreds of hours on set, she can barely remember the main character's name, nor the director.

"Earth to Junie," Dean waves a hand in front of her face. Neal snaps at him, pointing to the picture behind Dean.

"I'm fine," she tells them, forcing herself to pay attention. "Really."

~~~

Wesley drops the last few strawberries in the blender and closes the lid. He flicks on a switch, and a loud whirring interrupts his thoughts. The diner is loud enough that his sounds camouflage in the loud voices of its patrons, but from here, Wesley is enveloped by the whizzing blender.

It is a sweet destruction (literally). It is fruit being hurtled to its death, rapidly and without warning. Later, it shall taste like liquid gold, but now it is being torn to shreds. It is a loud sound interrupting the 60's rock music which plays softly from the jukebox in the corner. While the blender is atmospheric in and of itself, it drowns out something old and precious. It is a loud sound interrupting the bickerings of his mothers in the kitchen. With the chaos the blender brings, Wesley must acknowledge that it also brings him solace. If only for a few seconds, he can pretend today is normal.

Wesley stops the blender. Instead of moving, he leans against the cold linoleum counter. He sees his reflection stare back at him. His hair is gelled back into place, with one lose strand curling (intentionally) on his forehead. God, he hates when he looks like this. He hates the white apron around his waist and the rollerblades on his feet. Worst of all is the itchy black t-shirt which reads I'm lickin' for chickn' across the back.

He pours out the smoothie from the blender into a glass cup. He delicately positions a strawberry on the rim, as well as a twisting, red-and-white-striped straw. This place is so cheesy, especially for a truck stop just on the edge of town, but it is better pay than anything he has ever known, and if he quick, his Mom's would refuse to give him a reference.

Which means, he is trapped here. Worst of all, he is trapped in their house on the edge of town, because he works so few hours that he can't afford rent. Wesley doesn't assume it is intentional; he knows it is. He drops the milkshake on the tray, beginning to skate across the restaurant.

The checkered floors may look nice and fitting in with the vibe of the restaurant, but they make it harder to skate on. Every step Wesley takes is slow, his feet shortly moving one in front of the other. He tries to force a smile on his face, but it is turned sour. Wes decides that everything sweet in him was poured into the smoothie he is carrying now.

He drops it on the table in front of him, giving over everything happy he has to a middle-aged trucker in a booth alone. The man doesn't even look away from the burger he is shoving further and further into his mouth. Wes imagines that the man is filling himself so much that he will mould into the seat and become stuck with him in the diner.

"You're welcome!" Wes smiles.

~~~

"Are you kidding me?" Lee grimaces, resisting the urge to slam her fists down against the desk. She would if her Mom wasn't in the next room to hear the resulting bang. Instead, Lee digs her short nails into the keyboard, which mashes out a long string of letters back.

Her brother, Cassian, leans in over her shoulder staring down at the screen. He runs his hands over her thin long sleeve. "It's not a big deal."

"A big deal?" She swivels around in her chair to actually stare at him. Her breathing is still heavy, but she lowers her voice. "I don't have enough material for a two-hour set!"

Cassian brushes her off. He makes his way across the kitchen, picking up a few dishes on the way to the sink and dropping them in. Once there, he fills the kettle with water. "The college kids will all be too drunk to even notice."

"That's not the point," she releases a sigh, before staring up at the ceiling. There are cracks in the roof above her, leading up to the attic above them. Lee tries to ignore the darkness above, but it enraptures her.

"Point is, you'll be paid double." Lee is pulled out of her daze. Her brother has already put the kettle on the stove, heating it. Sometimes, it bothers Lee that he knows all the tips and tricks to push her buttons.

"I should call the cops," she casts a glance over at her brother, "tell them all about the underage drinking going on there."

Cassian looks at her, tsking aloud. The kettle is beginning to boil, bubbling up and up. "You think the cops are going to do anything?"

Lee scrunches her nose, shaking it at him. He just laughs at her in response. Once again, Cassian has won this argument. Lee rolls her eyes but can't stop the corner of her lips from moving upward. It's the closest she'll get to smiling, but it is close enough for her brother's satisfaction.

Cassian takes the screaming kettle off the stove. He turns up to the cupboards, looking through them for mugs. After peering for a second, he turns to the sink. Grabbing two coffee-stained mugs, he runs them under cool water, quickly cleaning them. He fills his mug with milk and sugar, finally dropping the tea bag in, while he leaves Lee's mug with only now not-quite-boiling water and a tea bag.

"Yum, diabetes," she nods to his cup.

Cassian just shrugs, handing her tea over. "Don't change the subject. Not only will the cops do nothing if you call them, just like they did about Dad, but you'll lose your job."

Lee rolls her eyes, turning back to the family computer. She logs out of her email to prevent her mother from perusing her messages while she is gone. While she is nowhere near prepared for her set, she doesn't bother getting ready. Instead, she sits with Cassian. She might as well enjoy her night, before the bar.

After all, a long set is the worst of her troubles, right?

~~~

Her heavy fist slams into the door, over and over. The metal rattles against the door frame, although the sound is drowned out by loud music. Percy grabs the handle, pulling it towards her. The door is locked.

Her neighbours are so loud that her dog is whining under the kitchen table. Although she is tempted to take Hades for a walk, she has a shift in an hour and is not about to skip out. When Percy bought the apartment, she knew she'd have to deal with some students, but not an army of frat bros partying at 2:00 pm.

Her cheeks beginning to turn red, Percy runs back into her apartment. She lies down on the floor next to Hades, stroking his soft white fur. He looks back at her, his eyes dull and his ears titled down.

Percy reaches into her pocket, pulling out her phone.

Can you come get Hades? Neighbours again.

She waits for a reply back from her sister, who is only just getting off from school. Percy doesn't remember if Lily has anything after school on Tuesdays. Her sister was always busier than her, after all. Perhaps she hasn't even glanced at her phone yet.

Shouting starts to rise in the other room, and Percy hears loud laughter erupt. Hades whimpers beside her, his paw raising and scratching at his ear. Percy grimaces up at the wall, pulling herself to her feet. She hears the front door to the apartment slam, so she bolts out her own door.

"Hey, shithead!" She runs into the hallway, turning face to face with a stranger. She doesn't think she has seen this boy in her apartment building before, after all, she would recognize someone like him.

The guy turns to face her, flashing a smile out of his bright white teeth. He leans against the narrow cream hallways, cocking his head to the side. "How do you know my name?"

Percy grits her teeth together, trying to either prevent an angry outburst or a smile (she can't really tell which) from taking over her face. She looks from him to the door next to him. "Do you live there?"

"What's it to you?" He snaps back, moving in closer to her.

Percy rolls her eyes. "You're too loud. I'll call the superintendent on you if you don't quiet down."

The boy leans in closer to her, bringing his face up to her ear. Percy resists the urge to hit him, although it is tempting. She can't be late for work, she reminds herself, else she misses this months rent. She can't smack this boy; she has to go.

"Please do," the boy whispers in her ears. He pulls away from her and walks down the hallway.

Percy balls a fist at her side. Her phone buzzes in her pocket, so she pulls it out. Her grip is so tight that she worries that she might crack the screen.

Sure, I'll be over soon.

~~~

Hope continues her walk through the neighbourhood. The grocery bags she carries are much heavier than she thought they would be, but she is getting closer to the house. At least the cold air is preventing the food from spoiling.

Her phone rings from in her pockets. She stops, looking around her. It's deep in her pocket. Carefully, she lowers the groceries to the ground. Then, she pulls off her gloves and tucks her long, heavy scarf underneath her chin. With her ears and mouth now exposed to the wind, Hope brings her phone up to her ear.

"Hey Dad," she looks down at the ground, lifting one foot and pointing it. Sometimes, she wishes she could have been a ballerina.

"Hey Pumpkin, how are you?" The voice on the line replies in a cheery tone.

"I'm good, just getting back from the grocery store," she tells him, looking up at her house. The large brick building is only just a bit away, but she can't manage to hold both the phone and the groceries.

"The alarm hasn't gone off. Are you driving and on the phone?" Her Dad's voice raises.

"No, I felt like walking," she tells him. "Don't worry, I bundled up."

"Alright," he answers. She can hear him exhale on the line. "I just want you to be careful. You know, you could develop a compromised immune system just like that, you know?"

She nods but doesn't respond. When her Dad panics, Hope normally stays silent. Without anything to argue against, her Dad can calm down pretty quickly.

"I'm making turkey for dinner," she smiles. A brown leaf falls down, landing on her foot. She leans down to pick it up off the ground. "Did you want mashed potatoes with that or would you rather them baked?"

The silence answers for itself.

"I can put the leftovers in the fridge," she tells him. "That way you can have it tomorrow evening."

"Sorry, love," he tells her, shaking his head back and forth. "Opening statements are tomorrow morning, so the DA wants everyone to stay in town tonight. He's even paying for the hotel. I promise you I'll be home tomorrow night though."

"Alright," Hope tries to force a smile on her face, although she isn't sure why. If her Dad isn't here to see her, why is she still performing for him? "It's okay though because I wanted to get a head start on my readings anyway. College is way better than I thought it would be."

"I'm so happy you love it," he responds. "Listen, I've got to go. Give me a call when you lock up for the night, okay? I'll engage in the night alarm remotely."

Hope nods. "Alright. I love you, Dad."

"Bye sweetheart, I love you too."

Hope holds on to the line for a second, before finally hanging up. She doesn't bother fixing her fall gear, instead of grabbing the groceries and hurrying to her house. After punching the code in, Hope precariously opens the door. 

~~~~~~~~~~

I'm so excited for this! Please let me know what you think and correct me on your character's behaviour if I got something wrong. I'm happy to make any corrections.