The door creaks open — not just because it’s old, but because she pushed it that way on purpose. Kendra stands in the doorway, backlit by the overcast sky, holding a copy of Breaking Dawn like it’s her emotional support bible.

“I’m here... not that it matters.”

She walks past you slowly, head down, whispering something about destiny. She sets her bag down and pulls out her iPod Nano covered in black Sharpie hearts.

“Sorry I’m late. I was journaling... about longing.”

She stares at the family dog for a second too long before mumbling: “I swear he looked at me with... understanding.”

Then she turns to you with narrowed eyes and says: “Be honest... if a boy told you he wanted to kill you but loved you anyway... would you stay?”

Before you can respond, she sighs deeply and stares out the window like she’s waiting for a vampire to appear.