Chapter One
1419 Words
The aroma of old, dusty books filled the students' nostrils. Echoes of teenagers and teachers laughing and talking, along with the metallic slam of lockers shutting, bounced down the halls. Everywhere you looked, it was the same: neon colors, ripped skinny jeans, band tees, hair dyed in every color of the rainbow—or its complete opposite. The preps wore name brands found in every mall across America: overpriced graphic tees, faded jeans, and hair meticulously styled—fried from straighteners, streaked with bleach, but neatly arranged.
Most kids clutched slide phones with keyboards or flip phones, while the rare few held onto clunky early touchscreens like precious relics.
The year was 2011, and the students roaming the halls had no idea they were living through what would someday be called a different era.
The bell rang, and the halls swelled with teens rushing to leave for the day. Sam rolled her deep blue eyes at the sound of a girl screeching nearby.
"I hate this place," she muttered to Mickey.
"Oh, stop," Mickey replied, clearly over Sam’s sour mood lately.
They pushed through the heavy metal doors, and the Utah heat smacked them in the face.
"Unbearable," Sam complained again, shielding her eyes. "I swear the heat’s worse for me than it is for you."
"Maybe if you didn’t wear black every day," Mickey started, launching into a familiar lecture.
It was true. Sam wore band tees, ripped skinny jeans, and studded belts heavy enough to be considered weapons. Mickey, on the other hand, pulled her light brown hair into a ponytail.
"Want a hair tie?" Mickey offered.
Sam wrinkled her nose. "And ruin my hair?"
Mickey rolled her eyes. "The bleach and straightener haven’t already?"
They started their walk home.
"Can’t wait for school to be over," Sam sighed, attempting small talk.
"Yeah, same. Think it’ll be hot this weekend? I wanna go hiking."
Sam gave her a withering look. "Of course it’ll be hot—we live in a desert."
Mickey tried not to let her irritation show. "Right... you’ve been in a mood lately."
"Whatever."
They traded gossip as they walked. Normally, Mickey had a ride, but today she chose to walk with Sam.
As they passed a gas station, Sam asked, "Want something to drink? I’ve got a couple bucks."
"Sure, Coke, please. I’ll wait out here."
Sam disappeared inside while Mickey pulled out her phone and checked for missed texts. She watched Sam through the window, noticing again how different she seemed lately—disconnected, distant.
Before long, Sam returned and handed her a cold Coke.
"Thanks! Hey, do you need to get home right away?"
"Not really."
"Let’s go to my house," Mickey suggested.
"Okay."
They crossed the elementary school parking lot, a shortcut to Mickey’s neighborhood. As they walked, Mickey noticed Sam pull another Coke from her bag.
"You stole that, didn’t you?"
"f**k the government," Sam said flatly.
"Sam, that’s not how—never mind."
"What? What's your problem?"
"You didn’t have to steal. We could’ve shared."
Sam stopped walking. Mickey turned and saw her push her long hair out of her face.
"Look, it’s not a big deal. I do it all the time. Why do you care?"
"Because it’s wrong. Come on, please." Mickey already knew it was a lost cause.
"Hey," Sam softened her tone. It was the first time Mickey had heard that voice in a while. "I’m sorry. I won’t anymore. I swear."
"Thank you," Mickey said, and they resumed walking.
Once inside Mickey’s house, they collapsed onto the couch. Mickey turned on the TV and headed into the kitchen.
"I’m so glad summer’s almost here. There’s so much I wanna do," Mickey said while making a sandwich.
"Mm-hmm," Sam muttered, eyes glued to her phone.
Mickey watched her, studying her face. Sam looked tired—exhausted, really.
"What?" Sam asked, catching her staring.
"Nothing. Sorry. What do you want to do tonight?"
Sam stood and swung her backpack over her shoulder. "Actually, I have plans. There’s a party I want to go to."
Mickey stiffened. "A... party? Sam..."
Sam waved her off. "Oh, stop. What have we talked about?"
"Just because I don’t like something—"
"—doesn’t mean I have to dislike it too. Exactly."
"I’ll see you at school tomorrow," Sam said, skipping down the porch steps.
"Do you want a ride?" Mickey called after her.
"Nah, I’m staying at Kaylie’s. See ya."
Mickey shut the door, groaning. She didn’t like Kaylie—she was a bad influence.
That evening, Mickey finished her chores and showered, but couldn’t relax. The hot water soothed her muscles, but her mind wouldn’t stop racing.
Something was wrong with Sam.
Sure, she was moody—it came with being a teenager—but this was different. Sam wasn’t laughing or doing anything reckless. She wasn’t her.
They’d known each other since kindergarten. Sam’s family didn’t care for her much, but Mickey knew the real Sam—someone wild-hearted and searching. Sam always wanted more than what Utah had to offer. She talked about leaving, about discovering what the world had waiting. Mickey always assumed they’d stay stuck here forever. Sam wanted more; Mickey settled for less.
After her shower, Mickey got into her pajamas and checked her phone.
No notifications.
She sighed and rolled over, trying to sleep. But her dreams were scattered and strange, and when the alarm finally went off, she groaned.
She dragged herself into the bathroom, looked at her reflection, and groaned again.
Dark circles sat heavy under her eyes. She barely wore makeup, but today it was necessary.
When she came upstairs, her mom was already in the kitchen.
"Ready for school?" her mom asked, turning around. "Oh... are you sick?"
"No... why?"
"You just look—never mind. If you’re ready, will you go start the car for me?"
"Sure."
Mickey stepped outside, started the car, and checked her phone again.
Still no text from Sam.
"Great. You’ve been kidn*pped or something," she muttered.
Her mom got in and buckled up. "Thanks."
"No problem," Mickey mumbled.
"Something wrong?"
"No, I guess not."
"Uh-huh. This about Sam?"
"How did you—"
"I’m your mom. I know things."
Mickey didn’t respond.
"That, and your sister called."
"Amy!" she hissed.
"Go on..." her mom prompted.
"She went to a party last night, and she’s been acting weird."
"But I don’t want to talk about it. Amy doesn’t like Sam, and I don’t want to give her more reasons not to."
"Maybe your sister has a point."
Mickey rolled her eyes.
"If you two are drifting apart, maybe don’t fight it. Sam can make her own choices. You don’t have to let them affect you."
Mickey sat in silence, mulling it over. Before long, they pulled up to the school.
She looked out the window and spotted Sam laughing at someone’s car, dressed in her favorite skinny jeans and hoodie. Relief washed over her.
"Thanks, Mom," she said, hopping out.
Mickey wanted to go up to her—but stopped. She was still mad. Instead, she joined her usual group of friends.
Her school day passed in a fog. Sam hadn’t texted her, and the distance felt heavier than it should.
By the time she got home, Mickey gave in and sent a text.
To: Sammie
wanna hang out tonight?
She tossed the phone on her bed, made a sandwich, and came back to check it.
From: Sammie
busy.
Mickey stared at the message. Her heart sank.
"She’s avoiding me," she said aloud. "Just ‘cause I told her not to steal?"
She started typing a reply, then deleted it. Instead, she texted her other friends and agreed to go see the new Scream movie.
Mickey had a blast that night. She laughed, ate popcorn, and forgot about Sam—for a little while.
"Nice to see you smile," said Brad, a slender boy with dirty blond hair. "You seemed upset today."
"Just in my head a lot. Feeling better now," Mickey said, trying not to let Sam ruin her mood.
"Let’s hang out tomorrow!" Trish beamed. "Wanna have a sleepover?"
"Sure! I’ll ask."
As they giggled and made plans, Mickey couldn’t help but notice the difference between her current friends and Sam’s crowd. Her friends were clean-cut, cheerful. They wore plain tees, not band shirts. They didn’t hang out at Hot Topic or sneak into parties.
Sam did.
"Maybe Mom’s right," Mickey thought. "Maybe I need a break from Sam."
- Writer
