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Author's Note:I totally didn't forget that today was Wednesday AGAIN. Its just one of those days in the week that is all stealthy and sneaks up on ya. I apologize for the short chapters from this point on. I just found good places to end them. I appreciate any kind of feedback or comments that people might have :).
 

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6.

Stepping out of the house, the March morning clung to them like a stubborn ghost of winter—no snow, just a razor-thin chill that slipped under Taylor’s knee socks and made Kayla huff into her cupped hands. Hannah’s ride idled at the curb, its matte black paint absorbing the weak sunlight like a void. A Mercedes that probably cost more than a small apartment.

"Jesus," Kayla breathed, dragging a finger along the hood. "This thing got machine guns?"

Hannah pulled out her keys with a grin. "Just heated seats." The car unlocked with a sound like a vault disengaging.

Taylor hesitated at the passenger door—still adjusting to the instinctive way her body now moved in skirts, the way her thighs brushed together when she walked. She took a breath, trying to remember how to girls got into a car while wearing a skirt. She'd seen Kayla and even her mother so it a thousand times.

She felt the cold air bite her bare legs as she gripped the door handle. The leather seats looked frigid—black and unforgiving.

Kayla smirked, already sliding into the backseat with practiced ease. "Just tuck and pivot," she stage-whispered. "Ass first."

Taylor shot her a glare but followed the advice, twisting her torso in a way that felt alien yet somehow natural. Her pleated skirt settled around her as she sank into the front seat, the leather exhaling cold air against her thighs.

The engine purred to life with a vibration that traveled up Taylor’s spine. Hannah adjusted the rearview mirror—not to check traffic, Taylor realized, but to scan the street behind them. "Seatbelts," Hannah said lightly, though her knuckles were pale around the steering wheel.

The Mercedes' climate control blasted warmth across Taylor's knees as Hannah pulled away from the curb with unsettling smoothness—no lurch, no engine noise, just the faint hum of expensive machinery doing exactly what it was designed to do. Through the tinted window, Taylor caught a flash of movement near their neighbor's azalea bushes—a man in a UPS uniform pretending to adjust his earpiece.

"I'd like to talk a bit more about our plan" Hannah announced while driving.

Taylor shifted in her seat, the leather creaking softly as she turned toward Hannah. The Mercedes' dashboard glowed with muted blue light, casting sharp shadows across Hannah's cheekbones as she navigated the suburban streets with effortless precision.

"We're positioning you as the 'girl next door with grit,'" Hannah began, tapping the steering wheel in time with some internal rhythm. "Think vintage tennis skirts paired with cropped hoodies—wholesome enough for Parents Magazine but edgy enough that Teen Vogue will bite." She glanced at Taylor with a quick, assessing look. "Your Gamma physique gives us natural athletic credibility, but we're leaning hard into the prep school aesthetic to soften the... otherness."

Kayla snorted from the backseat. "So you're selling her as a rich bitch who can do pull-ups?"

Hannah's smile didn't waver as she merged onto the main road. "More like the valedictorian who accidentally became captain of the volleyball team." She reached across the console to tap Taylor's knee—a gesture that should have felt patronizing but somehow didn't. "We did focus groups. Teen boys respond to your strength if it's framed as 'elegant power.' Teen girls respond if we emphasize how approachable you are."

"Its only been a day" Taylor said, astonished there was already a solid plan in place. "You have focus groups from one video?"

Hannah's fingers tightened around the wheel. "We had preliminary profiles ready the moment Gamma-3's athletic enhancements were confirmed." The admission hung between them—another reminder of how long Taylor had been someone else's project. "Your rope climb just... accelerated things."

Kayla leaned forward between the seats, her ponytail brushing Taylor's shoulder. "So what's the angle? Because right now it sounds like you're packaging her as some Stepford athlete."

Hannah's manicured nails tapped a syncopated rhythm against the leather. "Think less robot, more... accidental icon." She glanced at Taylor with surprising intensity. "We're leaning into your duality—the gamer who became an athlete, the sister who outgrew her own shadow." The car slowed at a stoplight, revealing a billboard of a soccer star mid-kick. "That viral moment wasn't just strength—it was you biting your lip in concentration while your skirt fluttered. Raw and real."

"I wasn't wearing a skirt" Taylor corrected.

Hannah grinned. "Details." She accelerated smoothly, the Mercedes humming beneath them. "Point is, we're not erasing Tyler—we're letting Taylor eclipse him naturally." Her tone shifted, businesslike but not unkind.

The Mercedes turned into the school parking lot with predatory grace, rolling past clusters of students who paused mid-conversation to gawk. Taylor caught sight of Liz leaning against a bike rack—her neon orange hoodie clashing violently with the car’s matte black finish. Liz’s eyebrows climbed into her hairline as she mouthed *what the fuck* through the window.

"No reporters?" asked Kayla, almost disappointed.

"They wouldn't dare" Hannah said with a triumphant smirk. "We have a media blackout for another 48 hours and your friend Agent Cross threatened them pretty nicely if they didn't honor it."

Taylor was glad for the privacy because she had a pretty good idea what was coming as soon as she walked into the school. The whole ride in fact she'd been ignoring the numerous amount of texts she'd been getting.

There was a rap of knuckles on the car window, Liz announcing herself.

Taylor barely had time to pop the door handle before Liz was yanking it open, her orange hoodie flooding the Mercedes with daylight like a safety flare. "Holy shit, you rolled up in *this*?" Liz's gaze swept from the matte-black dashboard to Hannah's designer sunglasses. "Who dies in your backstory to afford this?"

Liz's fingers drummed an impatient rhythm against the car door as Taylor unfolded herself from the seat, her pleated skirt catching briefly on the leather before settling. "You look like a goddamn spy movie," Liz muttered, eyeing Hannah with undisguised suspicion. "Who’s the fed?"

"Not a fed" Taylor clarified. "Hannah, this is Liz. Hannah is my new PR person."

"Liz's eyes widened. "You have people now?"

Taylor shrugged. "Apparently"

The Mercedes door clicked shut behind Taylor with a sound like a vault sealing, cutting off the scent of Hannah's vanilla perfume. Liz grabbed her elbow with urgent fingers, dragging her toward the school steps before spinning to face her. "Okay, spill," she hissed, eyes darting to where Kayla and Hannah were still extracting Kayla's backpack from the trunk. "Why do you look like you just survived a government abduction?"

"I had a meeting this morning" Taylor explained as they walked.

"A meeting?" Asked Liz with a raised eyebrow.

Taylor sighed. "Punishment for not keeping my low profile".

"And the outfit?" asked Liz, giving her  a once over.

"Kayla is cruel" Taylor deadpanned.

The school doors swung open like floodgates bursting, and Taylor immediately felt the tidal wave of attention hit her—not the scattered glances from yesterday, but a coordinated surge of phones lifting in unison, screens glowing like fireflies in the dim hallway. Someone actually gasped. Liz stiffened beside her, muttering, "Oh, this is fucking surreal," as whispers coiled around them like smoke: *That's her—no way—did you see the video?*

Taylor's Mary Janes clicked against the linoleum, the sound absurdly loud in the sudden hush. A sophomore she'd never spoken to leaned too close, phone angled for a selfie-with-Taylor before Liz shouldered between them with a sharp *back the hell up.* Kayla materialized at Taylor's other side, her grip on Taylor's elbow equal parts protective and proprietary.

"Callie said she texted" Kayla said, looping her arm protectively through her sister's.

Taylor felt bad, not meaning to ignore her girlfriend.

Callie was leaning against Taylor's locker when they rounded the corner, her Doc Martens tapping an anxious rhythm against the tiles. The moment she spotted Taylor, her whole posture relaxed—shoulders dropping, lips quirking into that lopsided smile that always made Taylor's stomach do something complicated. "There you are," Callie breathed, pushing off the locker.

Callie's eyes swept over Taylor's outfit—the pleated skirt, the crisp green blouse tucked neatly at the waist, the knee socks hugging calves that still felt foreign yet somehow right. "Damn," she breathed, reaching out to straighten Taylor's already-perfect collar with playful fingers. "Who knew uniform chic could look this *cute*?" Her thumb brushed the hollow of Taylor's throat, sending an electric shiver down her spine.

Taylor’s cheeks burned under Callie’s touch, acutely aware of the hallway’s lingering stares. "Don’t encourage Kayla," she muttered, though the warmth in Callie’s fingers made her lean in despite herself.

Callie's fingers lingered at Taylor's collar, her thumb tracing the edge of the blouse's fabric in a way that made Taylor's breath catch. The hallway's murmurs crescendoed around them—whispers of *did you see her arms in that video?* and *no way that's natural*—but Callie's gaze remained locked on Taylor's, steady as a lighthouse beam.

"You miss my text?" Callie asked as Taylor opened her locker.

"Hectic morning. I'm sorry".

Taylor started putting away books and folders and grabbing the ones she needed.

The ringing of the bell disrupted any further attempt at a conversation with Callie. She gave her girlfriend's hand a squeeze before she and Liz went to their first period class together.

"So what's this meeting you had?" Liz asked as they walked, pushing their way through the crowd.

The fluorescent lights flickered overhead as Liz steered Taylor through the crowded hallway, her grip tightening whenever someone got too close. "Government people showed up at my house," Taylor muttered, ducking her head as a group of freshmen openly gawked. "They've got my whole neighborhood under surveillance now."

"No shit" Liz grumbled "I told you, fucking X-Files!"

Taylor grunted. "They want to do the same to our house but its kind of you know".

Liz’s fingers dug into Taylor’s sleeve as they rounded the corner toward their classroom. "So what, you’re just cool with being their science experiment now?" she hissed, glancing over her shoulder at the lingering stares.

"Not really" she said, annoyed and numb at the same time.

"Then say No to the Truman Show" Liz said, giving her a shoulder bump. 

Classes went by like a breeze up until lunch—not because the work was easy, but because Taylor existed in a bubble of hushed murmurs and sidelong glances that made each fifty-minute block feel suspended in amber. Her pen moved mechanically through notes, her handwriting now an unconscious hybrid of Tyler’s angular scrawl and the looping cursive Kayla had bullied into her during middle school. Even the brutal pop quiz in Algebra II barely registered—just numbers sliding into place with eerie precision.

The cafeteria smelled like overcooked green beans and industrial-strength disinfectant—same as always—but the moment Taylor stepped through the double doors with her tray, the ambient chatter dipped into a hush that made her skin prickle. Liz was already waving her over with exaggerated arm motions, her orange hoodie glowing like a beacon against the sea of navy uniforms. Their usual table had expanded—Callie sandwiched between Kayla and Jess, with Benny hovering awkwardly at the end while Tasha sprawled across two chairs like she owned them.

Taylor's tray clattered onto the table louder than intended. "So you made it!" she said happily, looking at Benny.

Liz raised an eyebrow. "This cute little butterball with you?"

Benny looked uncomfortable, his ears blushing red.

"The VolleyBros are multiplying like rabbits too," Kayla huffed, looking at Tasha.

"What's up, doc?" Tasha deadpanned.

Liz snorted, Kayla rolled her eyes.

Taylor was sad that Henry didn't want to join. She asked him earlier when they passed in the hall but all he did was grunt and say, "Not my thing".

The conversation around the table was nonsensical. Taylor was happy to see that the others were easily letting Benny slide into the conversation when he wanted. She could see it was kind of awkward for him, what with his aversion to girls and all. Liz was a real champ with it though, constantly pulling him into it even if it wasn't something he was interested in.

When lunch ended, Taylor was proud that her new friends had easily accepted her oldest one.

She gave him a gentle hip bump as they were leaving. "And that is lunch with the girls."

"I think I miss sitting with Henry" he joked, giving her a hip bump too.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of hushed conversations and stolen glances, but PE was where things got interesting. Coach Poole—her buzz cut glinting under the gym lights like a warning beacon—cornered Taylor the moment she stepped into the locker room. "New rules," she muttered, her breath smelling faintly of peppermint and disapproval. She shoved a clipboard into Taylor's hands with enough force to make the metal clip rattle. "Modified workouts. No rope climbs, no timed sprints, no anything that'll land you on YouTube again." Her eyes flicked to the security camera in the corner, its red light blinking like a silent alarm. "We clear?"

Taylor rolled her shoulders as Coach Poole's whistle shrieked across the gymnasium—not the usual piercing blast signaling laps, but a staccato warning shot aimed squarely at her. The volleyball nets sagged between their poles like defeated flags, their white tape frayed from years of half-hearted games. Across the court, Liz caught Taylor's eye and mimed strangling herself with an imaginary rope, earning a snort from Tasha that made Poole's neck tendons bulge.

Other than that, everything went pretty smooth.

When the final bell of the day rang, Hannah was waiting outside for them again.

"What's she doing here?" asked Kayla, eying the Mercedes.

Hannah leaned against the matte-black Mercedes, tapping her tablet against her thigh. "Thought we'd grab smoothies before heading home," she said, as if this were a normal after-school ritual and not the third act of a spy thriller. Her sunglasses caught the sunlight, reflecting twin miniature versions of Taylor’s bewildered face.

The twin sisters got into the car without questioning it. The ride to the smoothie place was quiet. Taylor wasn't sure what to say. She wasn't expecting Hannah to pick them up from school too.

The smoothie shop smelled like synthetic fruit and crushed ice—too sweet, too cold. Taylor watched Hannah slide a twenty-dollar bill across the counter without looking at the menu, her coral-tipped fingers tapping impatiently. "Banana-strawberry for our athlete," she announced, like it was preordained.

The smoothie shop's booth cushions sighed under them like deflating lungs as Hannah slid in first, her tablet clicking onto the table with military precision. Taylor watched a droplet of condensation slide down her straw—banana-strawberry, exactly as ordered—before Hannah cleared her throat. "Your mom and I had a *chat*," she began, tapping the tablet awake to reveal a scanned handwritten list titled *RULES* in their mother's looping script.

Kayla snorted, stabbing her straw through the lid of her mango smoothie. "Let me guess—no more secret government meetings before breakfast?"

"Pretty much" Hannah chuckled. "She also apparently went to town on the government too. All that mumbo jumbo, its gone"

Taylor blinked. "Gone?"

Hannah tilted her tablet toward them—the screen displayed a scanned copy of their mother's handwritten ultimatum, the furious pen strokes nearly tearing through the paper. *"No more surveillance inside our home. No more unannounced visits. No more treating my daughters like lab rats."* Taylor traced the looping signature at the bottom—their mother's name signed with the same flourish she used on permission slips and birthday cards.

Way to go Mom, she thought, fist pumping under the table.

"Where does this leave all the PR image stuff?" she asked, wondering if she was still going to some kind of model still or what.

"We agreed that that is up to you" Hannah said, then slurped her strawberry smoothie.

Taylor frowned. "You're not going to push me into it?"

"Nope" Hannah shrugged. "Your mom made it very clear that anything related to your image was your choice. No pressure, no strings."

Hannah tapped her tablet again, swiping through glossy mockups that made Taylor's stomach twist. The first image froze her mid-sip—her own face Photoshopped onto a lithe gymnast's body mid-backflip, draped in some designer's idea of "athleisure" that involved more sequins than sportswear. The tagline screamed *ELEGANT POWER* in cursive gold letters.

Taylor crinkled her nose.

"Ok, not a fan of that one" Hannah laughed, swiping to another one.

The next ad showed a digitally-enhanced version of Taylor—her Gamma-toned legs stretched in a split between two chairs, biting a protein bar wrapper with exaggerated coyness. Kayla nearly spat out her smoothie. "Oh my god, they made you *thirsty!*"

"They do know I'm 15, right?" Taylor asked, feeling embarrassed looking at the image.

Hannah shrugged. "They're banking on you aging into it." She swiped again—Taylor's face superimposed on a volleyball player mid-spike, muscles flexing under a cropped jersey. "This one's from Nike. Seven figures if you say yes."

"I don't want to lie to people" Taylor said, looking at her as a volleyball player. "You said sports were off the table, that's a little misleading".

Hannah sighed but nodded.

She swiped again—Taylor in a sundress, laughing with exaggerated spontaneity while holding a yogurt cup. The tagline read *NATURALLY YOU*. "Dannon wants you for their probiotic line. No athletics, just... girl-next-door vibes."

"That's actually cute" Kayla gushed.

"I'm not sure I want to be anyone's spokesperson" Taylor admitted.

She was still getting used to be the center of attention at school. She didn't like it one bit actually. The idea of posing for pictures, showing up in magazines and commercials, it sent shivers down her spine. It didn't matter how much money they were offering her.

"I'm just not really interested in any of it" she said honestly.

Hannah looked crestfallen, Kayla squeezed her hand under the table.

Hannah tapped her fingers against the tablet screen, the glow casting sharp shadows across her face. "Okay," she said slowly, like she was tasting the word. "No endorsements, no modeling—got it." She swiped the mockups away with a decisive flick. "But what *do* you want?"

Taylor shrugged. "I just want to be normal".

The smoothie shop's hum of blenders faded into an uncomfortable silence as Hannah studied Taylor. "Normal," she repeated, tapping her acrylic nails against the tablet case. She scoffed. "Honey, there's nothing normal about you. Not anymore."

They left the shop after that. The ride home was quiet. Hannah didn't even say goodbye when she dropped them off.

Their mother was in the kitchen when they walked through the door. "Was today any better?" she asked.

Taylor huffed, shrugged and went up to her room.

Her mother didn't say anything.

Kayla's knock came fifteen minutes later—three sharp raps that sounded more like a challenge than a request for entry. She didn't wait for an answer before barging in, her arms loaded with two steaming mugs and a sleeve of Oreos clamped between her elbow and ribcage. "Fuck Hannah," she announced, kicking the door shut with her heel.

"I'm not sure she swings that way" Taylor mumbled.

Kayla scoffed. "To get the cut they probably offered her, I bet she'd fuck sheep".

Taylor laughed. "I'm not going to be able to unsee that now."

Kayla put a whole Oreo in her mouth. "Look I get it" She said and she chewed. "You don't want that kind of crap. Its not you. Me, I'd be all over it."

Taylor sighed. "Do you think I'm stupid for turning it down?"

Kayla snorted, crumbs spraying from her lips as she flopped onto Taylor's bed with the grace of a drunk flamingo. "Stupid? Please. You're just allergic to being happy." She lobbed an Oreo at Taylor's head and she caught without thinking. "See? That right there? Normal people don't catch flying cookies like Jackie Chan."

Kayla scooted closer, pressing her knee against Taylor's like they used to when they'd build pillow forts as kids. "Remember that time you tried out for the soccer team?" she asked, nudging Taylor's shoulder with hers. "And tripped over your own feet during tryouts?"

"Don't remind me" she groaned.

It was the first and last time she tried out for sports.

"What did you learn from it though?" asked Kayla.

Taylor scoffed. "I suck at soccer".

The Oreo crumbled between Taylor's fingers, chocolate dust settling on her skirt like dark snowflakes. "No, genius," Kayla said, rolling her eyes hard enough to strain a muscle. "You learned that forcing yourself into shit you hate just to fit in is—and I quote—'a fucking waste of  time.'" She mimed air quotes with sticky fingers. "Sound familiar?"

Taylor stared at the Oreo crumbs on her lap, Kayla's words sinking in like stones in water. Outside, the late afternoon sun painted golden rectangles across her bedroom floor—same as it had when this room belonged to Tyler. Same bedframe, same window, completely different life.

"So what do I do then?" she asked, hoping for sage sisterly advice.

Kayla nudged her shoulder. "Whatever the fuck you want!"

Kayla left, taking the rest of the Oreos with her.

Taylor stared at the Oreo crumbs scattered across her lap like constellations of a life she couldn't recognize anymore. The evening light painted stripes across her bedroom floor—same hardwood, same cracks between the boards, but everything else felt like it belonged to someone else. She flopped backward onto her bed, the mattress sighing under her weight. What *did* she want? The question coiled around her ribs like a sleeping snake.

She laid there for a long time, maybe an hour or more. She stared at the ceiling, thinking and wondering.

Then her phone buzzed.

Her phone screen lit up briefly as she flipped it over, illuminating a text from Callie: *You alive in there?* followed by a pixelated gif of a hamster eating its own foot. The corners of her mouth twitched despite herself. That was the thing about Callie—she never let Taylor spiral for too long without throwing some absurd lifeline.

She typed back: *Think I'm gonna turn down those endorsement deals. You think its dumb?*

The reply came instantly: *Dumb?*

Her phone rang a second later, Callie of course.

She answered.

"Are you kidding?" Callie's voice crackled through the phone with enough energy to power a small city. "Taylor, I would've noped out so fast they'd see my dust trail from orbit." She paused, and Taylor could practically hear her girlfriend's dramatic eye-roll through the receiver. "Remember when Mrs. Henderson tried to recruit me for yearbook committee because I 'take nice Instagram pics'? I fake-coughed so hard I threw my back out."

Taylor's laughter bounced off her bedroom walls, sudden and bright like a firework. She rolled onto her stomach, kicking her feet idly against the mattress. "Yeah, but this is like... actual money. Nike money."

"Cool," Callie shot back without hesitation. "And when has Nike ever been right about anything? Their shoes give people blisters and their sweatshops give people existential crises." There was a rustling noise—probably Callie flopping onto her own bed in that boneless way she had. "Look, if you wanna do it, do it. But if you're only considering it because you think you *should*... then screw that. And screw Hannah's weird corporate makeover fantasies."

She had told Callie and the others everything over lunch today. She didn't care if she wasn't supposed too, her friends were a sounding board no one else could give her. They were the ones that had actually helped her have the courage to say what she did to Hannah earlier at the smoothie place.

Taylor traced the stitching on her quilt with a fingernail. "What if I regret it later? Like... what if this was my one shot at something big?"

"Then you'll invent something better," Callie said simply. "Or you'll become a firefighter. Or a professional cookie taster. Taylor, you're literally *built different* now—you think Nike's the ceiling for you?" She snorted. "Please. You could probably *leap* past ceilings."

Callie's confidence was contagious, but it didn't erase the nagging what-ifs scratching at the back of her skull.

"Okay but—"

"Nuh-uh," Callie interrupted. "You're doing that thing where you spin in circles until you puke. Stop. Breathe." There was a muffled sound like she was rolling over, her voice softening. "Do you *want* to be on billboards?"

Taylor pressed her forehead into the quilt. The thought made her stomach clench—not stage fright exactly, but the visceral wrongness of becoming someone's marketing daydream. "Not even a little."

"Then *why* are we still talking about Nike?" Callie's laugh fizzed through the phone. "Look, if you wake up tomorrow dying to sell overpriced yoga pants, cool. But right now? You sound like you're trying to convince yourself to eat broccoli because it's 'good for you.'"

There it was, her answer.

Taylor exhaled, the tension bleeding from her shoulders. "You're right. I'd hate every second of it." The admission lifted something heavy off her chest. "I just... don’t know what I *do* want yet."

Callie laughed. "We're 15. We're not supposed too"

That was fair, Taylor thought.

They talked about random things after that.

"There is one thing about your future I do know though" Callie said slyly.

"Oh and what's that?" Taylor asked, playing along.

"You're going on a date Friday night. There's this really hot girl who wants to take you to dinner then the movies."

Taylor's fingers froze around her phone, the Oreo crumbs on her skirt suddenly forgotten. "Wait—you mean you're asking me out? Officially?" Her voice cracked on the last word, betraying the flutter in her chest.

The phone went silent for three heartbeats—long enough for Taylor to wonder if Callie had hung up—before her girlfriend's laughter bubbled through the receiver. "Duh," Callie said, her voice warm with amusement.

Taylor's grip on the phone tightened as warmth flooded her cheeks. "You couldn't have led with that?" she managed, kicking her legs against the mattress like an overexcited kid.

"I needed to build up to it, I've never actually asked anyone out before, missy" Callie mused.

Taylor's heartbeat thrummed against her ribs like a bird trapped in a cardboard box. She pressed the phone closer to her ear, as if Callie's words might escape otherwise. "So... what time Friday?" she asked, trying—and failing—to sound casual. The quilt under her fingertips suddenly felt impossibly textured, every thread hyper-real.

"I'm thinking 6 for dinner then a 7 o'clock movie" Callie said it was like the most normal thing in the world. "I'm paying too."

"What, why?" Taylor asked, feeling like she should be the one to do so.

"I asked, I pay" Callie said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

They ended the call after that.

There were butterflies in her stomach as she sat up, setting the phone beside her. She turned to the closet and knew it.

A date and I know exactly what to wear.

Author’s note: As I’m sure all of you know, comments are life blood to an author. I’m not begging or demanding, but I certainly would appreciate anything you have to say (or ask). It doesn’t have to be long and involved, just give me your reaction to the story. Thanks in advance...EOF