Beyond the Thorne

Skye

I looked in the mirror and did my best to erase myself.

It’s a talent, really. Most girls in this town spend hours trying to stand out, but I’ve spent years perfecting the art of the blur. I pulled my hair—thick, blonde, and wavy enough to be a nuisance—into a tight, punishing bun at the nape of my neck. I didn't even look at my eyes. I knew they were blue; I knew they were "ocean-like," as my mom always said. But in this house, "beautiful" was just another word for "target."

I pulled on a charcoal-gray hoodie that was three sizes too big, the sleeves hanging past my fingertips. I checked my reflection one last time. Just a shadow. Just Skye. Perfect.

"SKYE! LILLY ATE THE LAST OF THE CEREAL AND NOW SHE’S CRYING BECAUSE IT WAS THE WRONG KIND!"

My sister’s voice—or rather, my mom’s voice yelling about my sister—thundered up the stairs. I sighed, grabbing my backpack.

"I didn't eat it!" Lilly’s eight-year-old shriek followed. "I was just checking if there was a toy!"

I ran downstairs to find the kitchen in its usual state of controlled chaos. My mom was frantically looking for her car keys, and Lilly was standing on a chair, her dark pigtails bouncing as she protested her innocence. Lilly is the opposite of me: loud, bright, and impossible to ignore. Sometimes I wonder if she took all the "vibrant" genes for herself.

"I’ve got it, Mom," I said, reaching into the fruit bowl and pulling out the keys from under a stray banana. "And Lilly, I’ll buy you the 'right' cereal on the way home if you promise not to scream for at least twenty minutes."

"Deal!" Lilly chirped, immediately jumping off the chair.

"You’re a lifesaver, Skye," Mom sighed, kissing my forehead. "I don’t know what I’d do without you. Are you still heading to the library after school?"

I hesitated. "Actually, I have that... project. The one for the school."

I didn't call it community service. I didn't tell her it was for the mural I’d sketched on the back of my desk during the Calculus final when my heart felt like it was vibrating out of my chest. To her, it was just an "extracurricular."

The walk to school was the same as always. I kept my head down, my earbuds in, playing a playlist Jack had made for me last month. It was mostly low-fi beats and indie tracks—music that felt like a shield.

As I approached the gates of McKinley High, I saw the usual hierarchy in full swing. A black Jeep Cherokee pulled into the premium spot, the bass rattling the windows. I didn't need to look up to know who it was. The "Royalty." Mason, Callum, and the rest of the varsity crew.

I felt a twinge of something—not jealousy, but a strange sort of heaviness. Mason was the kind of guy who took up all the oxygen in a room. Even from behind my oversized hood, I could see him climb out of the driver’s seat, his movements easy and confident. Chelsea, the head cheerleader, was already there, practically draped over his arm like a trophy.

I ducked my head further, adjusting my glasses even though I didn't really need them to see. To Mason and his friends, I was just part of the scenery. I was the girl who sat in the back of the class, the one whose name they probably couldn't remember if their lives depended on it.

And that was exactly how I wanted it.

I had no idea that by this time tomorrow, my "quiet" life was going to be shattered by a pair of garden shears and the last person I ever wanted to talk to.

The hallway was a gauntlet of flying lockers and loud laughter. I navigated it like a ghost, slipping through the gaps in the crowd until I reached Room 214. English Literature. It was the one place I felt somewhat safe, mostly because Mr. Henderson let us get lost in the books.

I took my usual seat in the very back corner, the one where the radiator hissed and the shadows were deepest. I pulled my notebook from my bag—not for notes, but for the sketches I wasn't supposed to be making.

"Hey, Skye."

I looked up. Hayley was sliding into the desk next to mine. She was wearing a perfectly fitted school sweater and had the same dark, messy hair as her brother, but her eyes were kinder. We weren't exactly friends, but we’d been lab partners in biology last semester. She was one of the few people who actually looked at me when she spoke.

"Hey, Hayley," I murmured, pulling my sleeves down over my knuckles.

"Did you hear about the party at Callum’s this weekend?" she asked, leaning in. "You should come. I could give you a ride."

I gave her a small, tight smile. "Thanks, but I’ve got to watch my sister. Lilly’s in a 'theatrical' phase. If I’m not there to watch her perform The Lion King in the living room, she’ll melt down."

Hayley laughed. "I get it. My brother is basically a permanent theatrical phase. Speaking of..."

The door swung open, and the energy in the room shifted instantly. Mason walked in, flanked by Callum. They were mid-conversation, laughing about some play from Friday’s game. Mason looked effortlessly put-together—clean sneakers, a sharp jawline, and that "king of the world" posture that made me want to shrink even further into my hoodie.

He walked right past our row. He didn't even glance at us. Why would he? To him, this row was just where the "quiet kids" sat.

"Mason! Over here!" Chelsea called out from the front row. She had a seat saved for him, her manicured hand resting on the desk as if she were claiming territory.

Mason slid into the seat, dropping his heavy gym bag on the floor with a thud. "Saved my life, Chels," I heard him say, his voice deep and smooth. He leaned back, stretching his arms, and for a split second, his gaze drifted toward the back of the room.

My heart did a weird, uncomfortable hop. I looked down at my desk immediately, staring at a scratch in the wood like it was the most interesting thing in the world. I could feel his eyes roaming the back row for a moment—maybe looking for Hayley, maybe just scanning the room—before Chelsea said something that pulled his attention back to her.

"God, they’re exhausting," Hayley whispered, rolling her eyes at her brother’s back. "He’s been in a mood all morning because he got assigned that 'special project' by the Principal. He thinks he’s too good for manual labor."

I stiffened. Manual labor. The garden.

"Do you know who else is doing it?" I asked, my voice barely a breath.

Hayley shrugged. "Some girl who got caught 'vandalizing' a desk or something. Mason’s been complaining that he’s going to have to do all the work while some 'delinquent' smokes behind the bushes."

I felt a flush of heat creep up my neck. A delinquent. Is that what they thought of me? I looked at my hands, stained slightly with the charcoal I’d used this morning. I wasn't a delinquent. I was just... overwhelmed.

"Anyway," Hayley continued, oblivious. "If you change your mind about the party, let me know. You’re too pretty to spend every Friday night with an eight-year-old and a box of Cheerios, Skye."

She said it casually, like it was a fact. But it made me pull my hood up a little higher. If people like Hayley started noticing I was "pretty," then people like Chelsea would start noticing me, too. And in this school, being noticed by Chelsea was like being spotted by a shark in open water.

I opened my notebook to a fresh page and started drawing the gnarled roots of an old tree, my pencil flying across the paper. I just had to get through the day. One more day of being invisible.

Then, the bell rang, sharp and final.