Forever Changing

Calliope PV

The glow-in-the-dark stars scattered across my ceiling faded into the soft blue light of morning. My eyes drifted to the clock: 6:55. Five minutes before my alarm. But the tick-tock sound in my head refused to let me sink back into sleep. Pretentious people and an insufferable place waited for me, and I wasn’t in the mood to face any of it.

I yanked the cobalt duvet over my head and curled into a ball, willing the morning away. For a blissful second, it worked—until the alarm jolted me awake.

"Wake me up before you go-go," blared the chipper voice of George Michael. My groan drowned out the rest of the lyrics. Who in their right mind thought this was a good wake-up song?

Reluctantly, I threw the covers off and sat up in my queen-sized bed, wishing it were Saturday—or summer. Anywhere but here. As I shuffle to the bathroom, the cold laminate floor sends a chill up my legs, tempting me to crawl back under my duvet. But my body, on autopilot, trudges forward, knowing that skipping school isn’t an option—not today, at least. The mirror greets me with a half-asleep version of myself, my face crinkled in a yawn as I rub at my eyes. The effort barely shakes the lingering haze of sleep, but it’s a start.

Grabbing my Oral-B toothbrush and Crest toothpaste, I brush mechanically, staring into the mirror. My reflection does the same, and for a moment, it feels like she’s a separate person altogether. It’s like I’m watching a stranger. Sometimes I wonder who I’ll be by the time I graduate. Someone who has it all figured out, or... this? Once I finish, I peel off my oversize sleep shirt and underwear and step into the shower. The warm water runs down my back, chasing away the cold floor’s memory as I let my mind wander to the day ahead.

What do I even have to look forward to? Classes, stares, grades, two-faced people, the pressure to succeed—it’s a never-ending cycle. My stomach twists just thinking about it all. Why does everything feel like so much lately?

I grab the shampoo and lather it into my hair, scrubbing harder than necessary as if I can wash the frustration out of my head. No, not today. I can’t start spiraling before the day even begins. The water helps, soothing the tightness in my chest. I close my eyes, letting the warmth hold me together for a moment longer than I probably should. A deep breath steadies me as I step out of the shower and wrap myself in a towel, shivering in the sudden cool air. After a quick dry-off, I head back to my room, tossing the towel into the laundry basket with a practiced flick.

I rummage through my wardrobe, finally settling on floral hip-hugger retro-style panties with a matching bra. The purple lace is cute, though no one’s going to see it but me. Over it, I pull on my autumn-white shirt and a pleated slip dress. The soft fabric hugs my figure as I look at myself in the mirror. Acceptable. Grabbing my brush, I work through my long, wavy black hair until it gleams, then twist it into a half-up, half-down style. Simple, easy, done. I leave my room and head downstairs, the faint creak of the steps following me like an old companion. The kitchen is quiet except for the soft hum of the refrigerator. As I finish cooking the last sausage, the sound of footsteps and Echo’s nails clicking against the floor signal the arrival of my mom and our big German Hovawart.

"Morning, pumpkin," Mom says, her voice warm and slightly raspy from sleep. She yawns, ruffling Echo’s fur before opening the back door to let her outside. "How’d you sleep?"

"Fantastic," I say dryly, setting the table, "until I had to get out of bed."

Mom chuckles as she pours herself a mug of coffee, the rich aroma filling the kitchen. "Thanks for breakfast, and for the coffee," she says, giving me a quick peck on the cheek.

"Ugh, Mom, you really need to stop calling me ‘pumpkin.’ I can’t keep track of all the lies I make up when people ask why you insist on it."

She grins, taking a sip of her coffee. "Oh, come on. Let me have ‘pumpkin’ for a little while longer. When you graduate this year, you’ll start a whole new chapter in your life, and I’m scared of you leaving the nest."

"Mom, I’m going to college, not the moon. I’ll be back during breaks, literally all the time. I’m not sure what you mean by ‘leaving the nest.’"

I sit down, spearing a piece of sausage with my fork. "You can still hug me, give me kisses—fine. Just drop the nickname, please."

"You’ll always be my little chubby pumpkin," she says with mock seriousness, "even when you’re eighty years old. I don’t care if you don’t waddle anymore like you did when you were two."

"Oh my god, Mom. Later. Love you."

"Love you too, pumpkin. Oh, I forgot to tell you we ar—"

"BYE, MOM. BYE, ECHO!" I call over my shoulder, cutting her off as I head out the door before she can embarrass me further. Outside, the crisp morning air nips at my cheeks, a welcome contrast to the warmth of the kitchen. I slide on my Bose headphones, drowning the world in Sevdaliza’s “Alibi.” The heavy bass and haunting vocals match my mood as I walk, letting the rhythm steady my steps.

The streets are still quiet, the sun just barely cresting over the rooftops. I watch Echo bark at a squirrel through the fence as I pass by. My mom’s probably standing at the door, her coffee mug in hand, watching me leave like it’s the last time. She always does that.

The thought makes me smile a little. She’s not wrong about things changing. Graduation’s around the corner, and everything feels... fragile. Like any step I take now could crack something wide open.

I shake the thought off, focusing instead on the beat in my ears. It’s just another day. Another walk to school. Another chance to figure out how to survive the chaos waiting for me when I get there.As I approach the entrance of Legacy Orchard Academy, the usual chaos unfolds around me. The parking lot is filled with kids flaunting shiny new cars their parents bought them, the kind that still have that fresh-out-of-the-dealership smell. Then there are the kids with second-hand cars that chug along like overworked donkeys and the ones driving hand-me-downs that look like they’ve survived a tornado or two.

I weave past the bike racks, where a group of kids is debating the latest video game release, and dodge a runner sprinting to class, earbuds firmly in place. The chatter fills the air—homework complaints, party plans, arguments over who’s dating who, and whispers about breakups. Everyone seems to have their clique or purpose. Some kids are huddled in groups, sharing their morning rituals. Others are alone, heads buried in books or phones. And then there’s me, walking alone, just trying to make it to my locker before the bell rings for first period: AP Calculus with Mrs. Gretchen.

I keep my head down and pick up my pace, hoping to disappear into the crowd. But before I can make it halfway across the quad, someone jumps onto my back, nearly making me stumble.

"Hi, Lolly!" a familiar voice chirps as my headphones are unceremoniously yanked off my head.

I sigh, pausing my music and untangling the wires as I grumble, "Hi, Em. Woke up chipper as always?"

"You know it!" she says, hopping down and falling into step beside me. "And you? Woke up moody as always?"

"Naturally," I reply, shoving my headphones into my bag. "So what’s got you so chipper today?"

"Oh, if you must know," Em says, smirking, "it’s because I get to see your delightful moody self first thing in the morning. My day is made."

"And if you must know," I shoot back, "I’m moody because I have to step foot in this pretentious ‘Legacy Orchard Academy’ full of hormonal, presumptuous kids.”

We both burst out laughing, drawing a few curious glances from the kids around us.

"God, you’re such a pessimist," Em says, grinning as we reach the lockers.

"And you’re an incurable optimist," I counter, spinning my locker combination. "What a pair we make."

Em leans against the locker beside mine, still smiling. Her presence feels like a small buffer against the chaos of the school morning. The bell hasn’t rung yet, but it already feels like the longest day of my life.I grab the books I’ll need for the day and slam my locker shut. Emma, ever the fixture in my mornings, is leaning casually against the locker beside mine, her arms crossed and her grin wide enough to be irritating.

"So," she says, already sounding like she’s up to something. "Any plans to finally act your age today, Lolly?"

"My age?" I ask, arching an eyebrow as I sling my bag over my shoulder. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, you know," she teases. "No more brooding and staring into the middle distance like a tortured artist. Maybe a little fun for once?"

"I do fun," I argue, closing my locker with a little more force than necessary. "Just... not the same kind of fun as you."

*"Oh, you mean fun that doesn’t involve human interaction?" She nudges me with her shoulder, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Wow, Emma, your comedy career is really taking off," I say dryly, though I can’t stop the corner of my mouth from twitching into a half-smile.

"Seriously, though," she presses. "There’s gotta be something about school you don’t hate. A club? A crush? Maybe a handsome face in calculus who keeps you coming back for more?"

I roll my eyes, but her words stir something in me—a flash of memory. A summer long ago. Laughter in the kitchen. Someone ruffling my hair, calling me ‘pumpkin’ in that teasing way I hated but secretly loved. The thought makes my chest tighten, and I shove it aside.

"No handsome face," I say quickly, brushing her off. "And if there were, I’m sure they’d be insufferable like the rest of them."

"You’re hopeless," Emma says, throwing her hands up dramatically. "How am I supposed to drag you out of this perpetual 'I’m so grown up and serious' phase if you won’t even pretend to flirt with someone?"

"By leaving me alone and accepting that some of us have standards," I quip. "Besides, it’s not about being 'serious.' I just... I want to be taken seriously."

Emma’s teasing demeanor softens, just a little. "You know, Lolly, you’re already a lot more mature than most of the people here. But you don’t have to prove it every second of every day. Life’s more fun when you let yourself be a little messy sometimes."

The bell rings before I can reply. Emma smirks, victorious, as she starts walking toward her class.

"See you at lunch, Grandma!" she calls over her shoulder.

"Don’t trip on your way there, clown!" I yell back, shaking my head but smiling despite myself. As much as Emma drives me crazy, her presence makes the monotony of school feel... lighter. Maybe even bearable.

With a deep breath, I head toward calculus, bracing myself for whatever the day has in store.