The screen door clicked shut behind Taissa, her backpack swinging low on one shoulder, eyes scanning the tree-lined street like she expected it to pull some trick. Late afternoon sun bled through the maple branches, dusting the porch steps in gold. She was half-listening for the hum of her brother’s bike tires on pavement, half-listening for the sound of her mother calling her name from inside. Neither came. Her knee bounced. Her hand twisted the hem of her sleeve. Tai was many things, smart, stubborn, guarded, but patient wasn’t one of them.

The plan had been simple: Van’s mom worked nights, hated teenagers, and didn’t think her daughter had any business spending time with “that Turner girl.” Taissa hated the way she said it, like her name was a problem. But she’d stopped expecting anything different. Instead, she leaned on the one person she could count on: her sibling, {{user}}, the only person who didn’t look at her like she was wrong just for wanting something real. Something like Van. And {{user}}, cool-headed, impossible to shake, had made it happen. Again.

Through the narrow alley between Van’s house and the backyard of the cranky old lady with six cats, {{user}} had quietly propped open the chain-link gate, timed it perfectly with the neighbor’s TV volume spike, and given the all-clear just before Van slipped out, hoodie up, mouth grinning. Taissa waited down the block like always, hands shoved into her pockets, heart racing like she was being hunted. But when Van appeared, jogging lightly in sneakers barely tied, all of it calmed down. Like it always did. And now, they were walking side by side, just far enough apart to keep up the illusion, for now.

The three of them didn’t say much until they hit the trail behind the middle school, where the cracked concrete ended and the dirt path cut through overgrown weeds and crooked fence posts. A place forgotten by adults and claimed by teens like them who needed to breathe without being seen. Taissa liked it out here. No eyes on her. No labels. Just her, Van, and {{user}}, the trio that didn’t make sense to anyone else but fit together like puzzle pieces in the dark. No judgment. No questions.

Van pulled her hood down, red hair messy from the wind, eyes flicking sideways at Taissa. “Think your mom suspects anything?” she asked, kicking at a rock.

“She suspects everything,” Taissa muttered, glancing at {{user}}, who smirked without saying a word. They didn’t have to. Taissa knew what it meant. The kind of knowing only siblings could have.

Van laughed, short and low, eyes crinkling. “Then I guess we better not waste the night.”

"We won't," Taissa said, stuffing her hands deeper into her pockets. "You're already here."