Keeping It Fluid -70

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"...and pencils," Mom said. "Go find all those items."

I blinked down at the crumpled paper in my hand. Glue sticks, spiral notebooks, colored folders, index cards, and pencils. Somehow school shopping always felt like a scavenger hunt designed by mildly evil teachers.

"I want the glitter pens," Lily announced, already ten feet ahead of us and loudly ignoring the list Mom gave her.

"We're not here for glitter pens," I called after her.

"Well, I need them to express myself academically," she shot back, hands on hips.

Samantha stifled a laugh beside me. "She's not wrong."

Mom sighed, already regretting bringing us all. "Five minutes. Then meet back by the backpacks."

Samantha and I nodded, splitting off toward the school supplies aisle while Lily darted off like she was on a mission from the gods of glitter.

"Remember when back-to-school shopping was fun?" I muttered.

Samantha tilted her head. "Was it ever?"

"Good point."

We pushed the cart slowly, weaving through families and half-empty bins of notebooks. It smelled like plastic packaging and faint desperation.

"I still don't get why we need three different colored folders for the same class," I said. "Red for math, blue for science, yellow for... something else. Is it supposed to unlock secret knowledge?"

Samantha shrugged. "Maybe it's a test. Like, if you pick the wrong color, you fail middle school."

I looked over at her, amused. "You seem surprisingly calm about this whole thing."

She shrugged again. "I'm not. I'm just pretending."

****

We made it to the school supply aisle with the big sign that said "Back To School."
I stuck my tongue out at it.

Samantha giggled. "You're very mature."

"I contain multitudes," I muttered, scanning the shelves.

As I dug through a bin of overpriced notebooks, something caught my eye—a binder thing covered with fabric colored with many colors and a snap flap.

"What's a Trapper Keeper?" I asked, holding it up like I'd just discovered an alien artifact.

Samantha leaned in, squinting. "Is it... a binder?"

Lily popped her head around the shelf. "It's not just a binder. It's like... the boss of all binders."

I flipped it open. "Okay but why does it feel like a lunchbox and a secret diary had a baby?"

This one was fabric — the soft kind, like old backpacks — with a zipper around the edge and velcro so strong it could probably hold a car to a wall. Inside, it had little pockets, a folder sleeve, a place for pens... everything.

"It's like an entire office in one flap," I said.

"Back in the day, these were a big deal," Mom chimed in from behind us. "If you had a Trapper Keeper in elementary school, you were basically royalty."

Samantha raised an eyebrow. "This thing?"

"Oh yeah," I said, running my hand across the weird neon fabric. "You could fit notebooks, doodles, a calculator, seven friendship bracelets, and still have room for gum."

"And secrets," Lily added solemnly.

"Obviously."

I snapped it shut and tossed it into the cart. "This one's coming with me. I feel spiritually connected to its chaos."

"I want one too," Samantha said, reaching into the bin. She pulled out a Trapper Keeper that was mostly soft pink with deep purple edges and a silver shimmer running across the flap. It had a simple heart design on the corner and a little velcro pocket inside for pencils or notes.

"This one's perfect," she said, smiling as she turned it over in her hands. "It feels... right."

Lily glanced over and immediately went full dramatic. "Wait—no fair! I want one like that!"

"You just said you didn't even know what it was," I reminded her.

"I still don't," Lily huffed, "but now I know I want it."

Mom strolled up right then, glancing into the cart. "Let me guess. Trapper Keeper turf war?"

"Pretty much," I said.

Lily dug into the bin and pulled out a bright teal one with neon swirls. "This one's fine, I guess. I'll just decorate it with stickers and righteous indignation."

Samantha hugged hers to her chest, smiling down at it like it was a badge of honor.

"It's cute," I said.

She nodded. "It's pink and purple without being, like, glitter-explosion. It feels like me."

And somehow, that little binder felt like more than a school supply.

It felt like a small step forward.

Samantha hugged her Trapper Keeper like it was a treasure map. "It's pink and purple without being, like, glitter-explosion. It feels like me."

Lily was still fussing with hers, already talking about how she was going to cover it in stickers and draw flames on the front "for drama."

I looked down at our cart — three Trapper Keepers, five types of folders, at least two items none of us actually needed, and a growing line of shoppers behind us.

"We might've started a new trend," I said, nudging Samantha.

She smiled. "Trapper Keeper girls unite?"

"Better than those boring binders everyone else gets."

Mom raised an eyebrow as we made our way to the checkout. "I don't know what trend you think you're starting, but it's going to stay under budget."

"Trends can be thrifty," Lily said, proudly adding a pack of highlighters shaped like ice cream cones.

Mom didn't even fight it. She just sighed and grabbed another reusable bag from her purse.

****

"That'll be $250," the cashier said after scanning the last pack of glitter pens.

Mom blinked. "Two hundred and—what?"

Samantha and I slowly backed away from the cart like we didn't know it.

Lily coughed into her elbow. "Trends are expensive."

Mom gave us a look that could wither plants. "Which one of you put scented markers and a 24-pack of gel pens in here?"

Lily raised her hand. "Technically, I didn't hide them. I just... didn't draw attention to them."

Samantha tried not to laugh. I stared very hard at a display of keychains.

"You know what?" Mom said, reaching for her wallet. "I'm too tired to fight it. But next year we're going full minimalist."

"Minimalism is a scam invented by adults," I whispered.

The cashier smirked. "Back-to-school brings out the best in families."

We gathered our bags and left with a cart full of school supplies, slightly less dignity, and the knowledge that we'd absolutely overdone it.

But walking out of that store with our Trapper Keepers, gel pens, and chaos energy?

Totally worth it.

As we made it to the car, arms full of bags and brains full of school supply overload, Mom hit the unlock button.

Click.

The lights flashed.

We opened the doors—

—and froze.

Right there on the driver's seat, curled up like he owned the place, was a squirrel.

An actual squirrel.

Asleep.

Like, snoring.

"Um..." I said.

"Is that—?" Samantha started.

"A squirrel is in our car," Mom finished, staring at it like it might disappear if she blinked enough times.

Lily screamed, dropped her Trapper Keeper, and dove behind the cart. "WE'RE GONNA GET RABIES!"

The squirrel blinked awake, yawned, and looked at us like we were the intruders.

"Oh my god," I whispered. "He has no regrets."

Mom just stood there. "I... left the window cracked, didn't I?"

"Apparently that's an invitation now," I said.

Samantha giggled. "Maybe he just wanted to do some school shopping too."

The squirrel stretched, gave a little chirp, and casually hopped across the seat to the passenger side—then out the window like this was part of his daily errands.

Lily peeked up. "Is it gone?"

"Yeah," I said. "But he'll probably leave a Yelp review."

Mom opened all the doors to air it out. "If it peed on anything, I'm setting this car on fire."

It was so chaotic when we got home.

Lily dropped her bags in the doorway and immediately tripped over her own backpack, sending folders, markers, and her "emergency glitter" flying across the floor.

"Code sparkle!" she yelled.

Samantha was trying to carry all her stuff at once like a school supply tower, but one wrong step and everything toppled onto the welcome mat—including her brand new pink-and-purple Trapper Keeper, which skidded halfway under the couch.

"My binder!" she cried, diving after it like it was a baby animal.

Mom walked in last, clutching her purse and whispering something under her breath that may or may not have included the phrase "wild squirrel energy."

I made it to the kitchen and flopped into a chair. "I don't want to see another notebook for the rest of my life."

From somewhere behind a pile of reusable bags, Dad's voice called out: "Did you get the pencils?"

"I got trauma," I replied.

Lily ran past with a granola bar in her mouth and tape stuck in her hair. "I love back-to-school season!"

Samantha crawled out from under the couch with dust bunnies in her hair and a victorious smile. "Binder recovered. Morale: high."

Mom just stood in the middle of the living room and nodded to herself. "Next year? Online shopping."

"Why don't you all start putting your new stuff into your backpacks?" Mom said, stepping over a roll of washi tape on the floor like it was totally normal.

Samantha looked over, still brushing dust off her shirt. "Good idea. Mine's still empty."

She grabbed her backpack from the corner and unzipped it. It was brand new—soft fabric, mostly pink with purple zippers and a silver lining on the inside. The colors matched her Trapper Keeper almost perfectly.

"They match," I said with a grin.

Samantha smiled down at it. "I know. I picked it on purpose."

Lily was already sitting cross-legged on the floor, sorting pens into color-coded piles like she was preparing for battle. "Do we have to put it all in now? What if I change my mind about the highlighter order?"

"You'll survive," Mom said, setting a bag of snacks on the counter. "Probably."

I sat next to Samantha and started pulling things out of my own bag. Notebooks, folders, my chaos binder of doom.

For a minute or two, it was actually... peaceful.

Just the sound of zippers, the crinkle of packaging, and Lily narrating her process like she was hosting a live-streamed organizing show.

Samantha quietly placed her folders into her backpack, then slid the Trapper Keeper in last. She zipped it closed with a satisfied little sigh.

"All packed," she said, and her smile was the kind that said she felt ready.

Maybe not for everything.

But for this?

Yeah.

"Mom," Samantha asked, looking up from her backpack. "Can I make dinner tonight?"

Mom blinked. "You never make dinner."

"I know," Samantha said, a little shy. "But I feel like... for being a girl, I should help around the kitchen more."

I looked up from organizing my notebooks. "You don't have to be a girl to make things in the kitchen."

"Emily's right," Mom added, turning toward her. "Cooking's not about gender—it's about feeding the people you care about. And also keeping the kitchen from burning down."

Lily chimed in from the floor. "One time Dad made spaghetti and we had to eat cereal instead."

Dad's voice rang out from the hallway. "That was one time!"

Samantha smiled, but it was a bit uncertain. "I guess I just want to... try. Be helpful."

"You already are helpful," I said. "But if you want to make dinner, go for it. I'll even be your assistant chef."

"Really?" she asked.

"Sure. I've got decent knife skills and no fear of boxed mac and cheese."

Mom gave us a soft look, then nodded. "Alright, Chef Samantha. The kitchen's yours."

Samantha stood a little taller, brushing imaginary dust off her shirt like she was preparing for battle.

"Time to make something edible," she declared. She already had her sleeves rolled up when I walked into the kitchen.

She was in full concentration mode—hair pulled back, apron on, breadcrumbs coating the counter like floury confetti.

I peeked over her shoulder. "Chicken parmesan?"

She nodded without looking up. "I watched Mom do it a dozen times. I think I remember how everything goes."

And she did.

She dipped each piece of chicken into the flour, then the egg, then the breadcrumb mix with parmesan and Italian seasoning. She moved carefully but with surprising confidence, pressing the crumbs in just enough so they'd stick when fried.

A pan of oil sizzled quietly on the stove. Samantha tested the heat like a pro before placing in the first cutlet, letting it cook to a perfect golden brown. No burning. No panic. Just focus.

Meanwhile, she had a pot of spaghetti boiling and was stirring a sauce she'd built from scratch—garlic sautéed in olive oil, crushed tomatoes, basil, a pinch of sugar. She tasted it with a spoon, nodded, then added just a little more salt.

"Smells amazing," I said, honestly impressed.

She gave a small smile. "I wanted to try. I've been watching Mom for years. Figured it was time to give it a shot." She looked down at her plate, then back up. "and also it makes me feel like the girl I'm supposed to be."

By the time the chicken went into the oven—layered with sauce and mozzarella—Dad had wandered into the kitchen sniffing the air like a bloodhound.

"Is that dinner or my imagination?"

"It's real," Samantha said, sliding the pan into the oven. "And don't worry—it's not spaghetti. No risk of cement noodles this time."

Dad groaned. "One time. One time I overcooked the pasta."

"You boiled it until it turned into a single noodle blob," I said, laughing.

Mom walked in and raised an eyebrow. "We had to chisel it out of the pot."

Lily nodded. "We used it as a doorstop for two weeks."

Samantha tried to keep a straight face, but she was already giggling.

When we finally sat down to eat, the food was amazing. The chicken was perfectly crispy on the outside, tender inside, the sauce full of flavor, the cheese melted just right.

"This is incredible," Mom said after the first bite.

"I feel personally attacked by how good this is," Dad added. "You're showing me up."

Samantha beamed. "You could always try again."

He held up a hand. "Nope. I'm retiring. The kitchen belongs to you now."

I leaned over and whispered, "Spaghetti who?"

And Samantha laughed so hard she nearly dropped her fork.

She didn't just cook dinner.

She owned it.