Chapter 1: Out of focus
The cafeteria always smelled like burnt cheese and old milk. Riley Monroe picked at the corner of her sandwich, peeling back the bread just to stare at the wilted lettuce inside. She wasn’t hungry—not really—but it felt wrong to sit there with nothing in front of her. Around her, the buzz of teenage conversations filled the room, but it all blurred together like the static from her dad’s old radio.
Riley’s head hung low as she toyed with her sandwich, hoping to melt into the background. Across the table, Sophia “Soph” Jacobs tapped away on her phone, her glossy nails clicking softly. Soph was laughing at something her boyfriend had texted her, and Riley couldn’t help but glance up.
“You’re so quiet today,” Soph said suddenly, not looking up from her phone.
“I’m always quiet,” Riley replied, her voice barely above a whisper.
Soph snorted. “Yeah, but this is like… creepy quiet. What’s up?”
Riley shrugged, her eyes drifting to the far corner of the cafeteria where Jordan Carter sat alone. He was slouched in his chair, his hood pulled up, earbuds in. He wasn’t eating either, just staring at something on his phone.
“Nothing,” Riley mumbled, tearing off a piece of bread and popping it into her mouth. It felt like chewing cardboard.
Soph didn’t push, which was a relief. Riley didn’t feel like explaining why she felt like she was suffocating in her own skin today—or why she always felt like that.
Across the cafeteria, a group of girls burst out laughing, and Riley’s stomach twisted. She hated that sound. It always felt like they were laughing at her, even if she hadn’t done anything.
At home, Riley found herself curled up in bed again, the curtains drawn tight. She stared at the ceiling, tracing the faint water stain in the corner with her eyes. The whispers were quieter today, just a faint hum at the back of her mind.
“Riley!” her mom’s voice cut through the quiet, sharp and commanding.
She flinched. “What?”
“You’ve been in bed all day. Don’t you have homework or something?”
“I already finished it,” Riley lied.
Her mom sighed audibly, the kind of sigh that carried judgment. “You can’t just sleep your life away, you know. It’s not healthy.”
Riley bit her lip, her chest tightening. She knew her mom thought she was being helpful, but every word felt like a little jab, a reminder that she wasn’t doing enough, wasn’t enough.
That night, Riley sat at the dinner table with her family. Her dad was unusually quiet, his jaw tight as he scrolled through his phone. Her younger brother, Leo, was chattering about some video game, oblivious to the tension hanging in the air.
Her mom sat across from her, staring pointedly at Riley’s untouched plate. “You didn’t eat lunch today either, did you?”
Riley pushed a piece of chicken around with her fork. “I’m just not hungry.”
“You’re always ‘not hungry.’ This isn’t normal.”
“Leave her alone, Cass,” her dad said without looking up.
Her mom’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t tell me how to parent.”
“I’m just saying—”
“And I’m just saying,” her mom cut him off, her voice rising.
Riley’s stomach churned as the argument escalated, the sharp edges of their voices scraping against her nerves. She shoved her chair back and bolted upstairs, slamming the door behind her.
She flopped onto her bed, tears stinging her eyes. She hated that her parents fought so much. She hated that she felt like a burden. And most of all, she hated that she couldn’t even explain why she felt this way.
As she drifted into sleep, the whispers returned. Faint, disjointed phrases danced in her mind.
“You’re too much.”
“You’re not enough.”
“They’re all watching.”
And then, finally, silence.
