Collision of two worlds

Chapter One — (Faye's POV) Safe to say, I’m as tired as hell from all this packing. Whoever said it was easy clearly never had to drag three suitcases, two duffel bags, and one very confused cat out of a house in a single day. My arms feel like overcooked noodles, my back’s screaming, and if anyone tells me to “relax,” I might throw a box at them. Yep, I’m Faye. Seventeen. Senior year. And if you’re wondering, yes—I was supposed to finish my last year in Portland, Oregon. Cramming for exams, surviving APs, living off coffee. But apparently, my parents thought it’d be fun to move me to Los Angeles. Because nothing says happy senior year like uprooting your entire life before exams. Cue fake enthusiasm. Honestly, I’d trade all of L.A.’s palm trees, sunshine, and picture-perfect people for one rainy day in Portland. One. The idea of starting over in a new city, new house, and new school while my brain’s still fried from AP prep? Yeah. That’s my definition of fun. Anyway—back to my personal nightmare: packing. You think you’re done, then—surprise!—fifty random things are still scattered around. Pens that don’t work, notebooks I swear I never bought, and that weird candle I shoved in a corner last Halloween. And the cat—oh, the cat—he’s glaring like I personally cursed him into this chaos. Mom keeps saying moving to L.A. is a fresh start. Fresh start my ass. Fresh start doesn’t come with bruised shoulders and endless boxes. I toss another hoodie into a bag and flop onto my half-empty bed. The room feels creepy now—bare walls, missing posters, just dust and that one photo of me and Haley. She came by yesterday “to help,” which mostly meant eating snacks and roasting me for being dramatic. “You’ll be fine, Faye,” she said, rolling her eyes. “It’s L.A.! You’ll probably be t****k famous in a week.” Yeah, right. I can barely record a voicemail without cringing. Still… I’ll miss her. Haley’s the only person who really gets me—the quiet, sarcastic girl who somehow ends up in chaos without trying. The one who doesn’t talk much, but when she does, people either laugh or get offended. Balance, right? The door creaks open. Mom pokes her head in. “Faye, honey, are you done packing?” “Almost.” (Translation: Don’t touch my stuff.) She smiles that classic mom-smile—half love, half threat. “The movers will be here in ten minutes,” she says, then disappears. Ten minutes. Fantastic. I glance around the room one last time. The fairy lights above my bed still glow faintly—the only comforting thing left. I wrap them up and toss them into my backpack. Maybe they’ll make my new room feel less like a stranger’s house. When the movers arrive, my parents bark orders like generals in a war room. I stand off to the side, arms crossed, silently judging. The house looks…empty now. Like it’s exhaled its last breath. My world shrinks into boxes, and I try not to choke on nostalgia. When the last one’s gone, I mutter, “Goodbye, Portland. Don’t miss me too much.” The car ride is pure torture—long, boring, and filled with my thoughts spiraling. I plug in my earbuds and scroll through mellow playlists, pretending they’ll calm me. Spoiler: they don’t. Halfway through, mountains fade into highways, palm trees, and blinding sunlight. I’ve got exams coming, yet here I am, playing Don’t Die on the Freeway. The cat curls up in his carrier, judging me like I’m the villain in his story. “Yeah, yeah,” I mutter. “You hate everything. I get it.” By the time we reach L.A., the sky’s pink and gold—like it’s mocking me. Cars honk nonstop. The air smells like asphalt and overpriced coffee. Welcome to Los Angeles. Our new house is… decent. Not huge, not tiny. Just new. Smells like fresh paint, which is better than last week’s scent of panic. I drag my suitcase upstairs and collapse on the already-made bed. Mom bursts in, excited. “Faye! You have your own room!” I blink at her. “What are you talking about? I’ve always had my own room.” She grins, ruffling my hair. “Yes, but this one’s bigger. More space for my little Moonlit Menace.” “Yeah, great,” I mumble. “Can I sit down now without someone jumping in?” She laughs and leaves me in peace. I pull my fairy lights from the bag and drape them above the bed. Maybe they’ll make this room feel like mine. Maybe. It’s quiet now—except for the faint hum of the street outside and my thoughts racing faster than the freeway. I walk to the window. The moon’s full—pink and glowing over the rooftops. Mom always called me her Moonlit Menace because I loved the moon… and because, well, even quiet girls can be trouble. I think she meant it affectionately. I think. The cat hops beside me, tail curling like punctuation. I scratch his ears. “Yeah, we’re in this together, pink moon and all.” Boxes stacked, clothes still packed, city buzzing outside—everything feels temporary. Maybe I am too. But not for long. I flop onto the bed, hood up, staring at the ceiling. Tomorrow, I’ll unpack. Explore. Survive. But tonight is for moonlight, memories, and plotting my comeback. I glance once more at the glowing sky and whisper, “I need to sleep", and I mean it, I'm beat.