M.I.A (Missing In Action )
1354 Words
I woke up before my alarm.
For a moment, I didn’t know why my chest felt tight — why there was that heavy ache behind my ribs — and then I remembered the shower. The crying. The way I’d pressed my forehead to the tiles and wished, just for a second, that I could trade places with a version of myself who still had a mum.
The house was quiet.
Too quiet.
Dad still wasn’t home. Or if he was, he’d left before I woke up. His bedroom door was open, bed made too neatly. No note on the bench this time. No twenty dollars. Just silence.
I lay there staring at the ceiling, listening for movement from the twins’ room. Nothing yet. For a few fragile seconds, I let myself stay still. No responsibilities. No pretending. Just me and the quiet.
Then one of the boys coughed down the hallway, and the spell broke.
I rolled out of bed and moved through the house automatically — kettle on, toast in, uniforms laid out across the couch. The routine was muscle memory now. Pack lunches. Find missing socks. Check bag for any forgotten lunch from the previous day.
“Amelia?” Leo called out sleepily.
“In the kitchen,” I replied.
They shuffled in, hair sticking up, still soft around the edges in that way that reminded me how young they really were. They climbed onto the stools without being asked. I slid plates in front of them.
“Do you think Mum would’ve been good at family trees?” Samuel asked quietly.
My throat tightened. “She would’ve made it the best one in the class,” I said, forcing a small smile. “Probably added glitter.”
They grinned at that.
As they ate, I found myself watching them too closely. The way they looked so similar. The way they didn’t remember her at all. The way they still expected me to know how to fix everything.
I wasn’t sure when that became my job.
By the time we were walking to school, the sky was pale and overcast, the kind of morning that felt unfinished. The twins walked on either side of me, close but not quite touching.
“Are you coming with us this weekend?” Leo asked suddenly.
“To what?”
“Dad said we might go away again soon. Like last time.”
I hesitated. “I don’t know. He hasn’t told me.”
They exchanged a look I couldn’t quite read.
“Why don’t you come with us?” Samuel asked. “It’s always just us.”
The question lingered in the air between us, heavier than it should have been.
I didn’t have an answer.
And for the first time, I wondered if I was supposed to.
The twins’ question followed her long after she’d dropped them at their classroom door.
Why don’t you come with us?
Amelia walked the rest of the way to her own school on autopilot, her bag slipping lower on her shoulder with every step. It had never really occurred to her to ask why she wasn’t invited. Or maybe it had — she’d just trained herself not to notice. The trips were “for the boys.” Celebrations. Bonding. Something about them needing it.
And what did she need?
The thought felt selfish the second it surfaced. She shoved it away. She didn’t have time to need things. She had lunches to pack. Forms to sign. Tears to dry that weren’t her own.
By the time the school buildings came into view, her stomach felt hollow in a way that had nothing to do with food. Students clustered in their usual groups near the gate — laughter, music leaking from someone’s speaker, the normal hum of morning chaos. It all sounded slightly muffled to her, like she was walking underwater.
She adjusted her grip on her bag and headed straight inside.
The bell rang just as she slipped into homeroom, breath a little too quick, heart still tangled up in her brothers’ voices. She slid into her seat, pulling her notebook out, trying to look like she’d been there the whole time.
It wasn’t until the second bell echoed through the corridor that it hit her.
The gate.
She hadn’t stopped at the front gate.
She hadn’t looked for Lola.
Amelia’s head snapped up slightly, eyes darting toward the classroom door as if Lola might suddenly appear there, grinning, dramatic, ready to scold her for being late.
But the door stayed closed.
A slow, uneasy feeling began to spread through her chest.
She’d just… forgotten.
For the first time in years, she had walked into school without checking that Lola was beside her. Without making sure they were in sync. Without waiting.
Her fingers tightened around her pen.
Was this what it looked like? Growing apart? Or was it just one distracted morning?
She told herself it was nothing.
Still, she reached for her phone under the desk, just to check.
No new messages.
By the end of second period, Amelia had counted the empty seats in every class without meaning to.
Bio — no Lola.
English — still no Lola.
Each time the bell rang, Amelia told herself she’d see her in the next room. Each time she didn’t, something inside her tightened a fraction more.
She texted her once during Bio.
Where are you?
Then again in English.
Are you sick?
By the time lunchtime rolled around, she’d sent four messages in total — each one progressively less casual.
Did something happen?
Lola, answer me.
No reply.
At lunch Amelia tried to eat her apple but couldn’t stomach it. The noise around felt too loud, too sharp. Her thoughts kept circling back to Friday night. The missing photos. The schedule change. The way things kept almost — almost — not lining up.
You’re overthinking, she told herself.
Still, her legs were already carrying her toward the administration block before she fully decided to go. If Lola was absent, the office would know. Maybe Lola had called in sick. Maybe—
She rounded the corner toward the front office and nearly collided with someone.
“Whoa—”
Amelia froze.
Lola stood there, adjusting the strap of her bag, hair slightly frizzed like she’d rushed it, expression mildly annoyed at the universe.
Relief hit so hard it almost made Amelia dizzy.
“Oh my God,” she breathed, hand flying to her chest. “I was worried. I’ve been texting you all morning. I thought something happened.”
Lola blinked at her. “Why would something have happened?”
“You weren’t in any classes. You didn’t reply.”
Lola rolled her eyes dramatically, though not unkindly. “My brother had a full-blown meltdown this morning. Like, Oscar-worthy. Threw his cereal bowl at me because I wouldn’t let him use my headphones .”
Amelia stared.
“With milk,” Lola added. “Everywhere. So I had to change my uniform. And by the time I was ready, I was already late, so Mum had to drive me. Then — because apparently the universe hates me — we blew a tyre halfway here.” She threw her hands up. “So now here I am. Fashionably late. Traumatised. Slightly smelling like dairy.”
For a second, Amelia just stood there, letting the explanation settle.
It sounded… normal.
Chaotic, dramatic, very Lola.
Her heartbeat slowly eased out of her throat.
“You could’ve texted,” Amelia said quietly.
Lola gave her a look. “Phone died. And I was too busy not committing fratricide.”
Amelia huffed a weak laugh, the last of the tension leaking out of her shoulders.
“See?” Lola bumped her lightly with her hip. “I disappear for one morning and you spiral.”
“I did not spiral.”
“You absolutely spiralled.”
Amelia wanted to deny it again, but the truth sat heavy in her stomach. She had spiralled. Straight to worst-case scenarios. Straight to losing her.
And the scariest part?
For a few hours, she’d almost believed it.
- Writer
