I never used to walk to school. Mom said it was too dangerous. She didn’t say how, just dangerous, like it was a place instead of a thing. Her voice always changed when she said it—super serious—and she’d make me look her right in the eyes, like I couldn’t hear. Her face went all tight and wrinkly around the edges. She made me promise so many times but I didn’t really think about it, you know? It was just a thing moms said, like eat your carrots or don't stay up late.

  But that morning felt different. Not big different. Just a small push inside me, like when you almost trip but don’t. Mom was humming in her bedroom, the sound drifting down the hall, and I was already moving before I decided to. My hand closed around the door handle. It was cold. I smiled even though no one could see me, and for a second the house felt like it was holding its breath.

  Then I was outside. I wasn't supposed to be, but I was. She was still humming in her room, getting dressed, and I had this stupid smile on my face the whole way to school. It wasn’t like me at all.

  Michael from next door always walked. Every single day. He was a year older than me but still in my class, and I usually ended up doing whatever he was doing. It wasn’t far—three blocks, maybe. Easy. Lots of other kids walked too, bunches of them laughing and talking like it was nothing. She always made such a big deal out of it, like the paving was made of broken glass or something.

  Mom always dropped me off on her way to work, pulling up to the curb in her big gray car and spitting me out at the gate. I hated it. Walking felt different. Bigger. Like my legs knew something my head didn’t yet.

  That walk was different. It felt good to move my legs instead of just sitting in the back of the car watching the world slide past the window. The loud thump-thump of my school shoes on the pavement was like a second heartbeat. The feeling of wind whipping my hair was the best thing in the world, as I did something Mom would hate. I kept looking over my shoulder, half-expecting to see the gray car racing after me, but it never did.

  I caught up to Michael by the big oak tree. I could always spot him a mile away. He was so tall and looked like an alien coz he wore his backpack so low, it looked like a big bottom. He didn't even look surprised; he just started talking about his new space game. He held his phone out so I could see the ships—they had silver wings and big blue engines that made a hmmmm sound even with the volume turned down. He showed me how to fly around, and the way the planets looked when they blew up into a million tiny bits. It was awesome.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  His eyes always got really wide when he talked about stuff he liked, as if there were two of him taking turns in the same body. He didn't stop once, all the way to the bike racks. Before the bell rang, he let me hold his phone for a second to shoot some bad guys. It felt heavy and hot in my hand like it was going to melt from all the lasers and stuff. I was so jealous, I wanted a phone so bad but I knew Mom would never let me have a game like that. She’d say it was just “pointless violence,” but what did she know? She wasn't there.

  The first bell rang. It was loud and sharp, the kind of sound that gets stuck inside your ears and doesn’t go away forever. We had to go. We got in our lines and the day turned into the same old boring stuff. Same papers, same teachers talking like they were reading from a grocery list, same clock on the wall that took a whole hour just to move five minutes. Bleh. I spent most of the day tracing the wood grain on my desk, pretending I was flying one of Michael's spaceships.

  By lunch time, there was a sick, tight feeling in my stomach like I’d swallowed a rock. I couldn’t even finish my lunch. Every time I blinked, I kept seeing Mom’s face in my head—the way her eyebrows would scrunch together and her lips would go into a thin, white line. I could already hear her voice, sharp and quiet, like she was standing right behind my chair.

  She was really, really mad.

  When she said I was grounded it was like she was speaking some weird new language. I’d never been grounded before—it sounded bad, like jail or broccoli... Even Dad didn’t try to save me from her evil clutches. Dad never got angry but he was angry this time. Grounded. Forever. It sucked. It was worse than jail. My room became the only world I was allowed to see, it was so boring I nearly died.

  But that little bit of freedom was like a secret whisper—sweet and wrong at the same time, and impossible to forget once I’d tasted it. I kept doing it even though I was grounded. I didn’t care, and I didn’t see daylight for months. I hated her. But I’d give anything to go back and see her angry face again.

  She did let me out of prison for my birthday, though. She smiled so much that day—I mean, she always smiled but I could see she was really happy. There were those weird wrinkles at the corners of her eyes that only happen when you mean it. She gave me a brand new tablet and Dad gave me a phone just like his.

  “Now you can always call us,” she said. Her hand was warm as sunshine on my face. She made it sound like a promise that could never be broken. A big, safe blanket made just for me. I was so sure that Michael would be jealous like me but he wasn’t—it made his old thing look like a fax machine, whatever that is—but he didn’t care. He just put all his games on it so we could play together. It was our secret.

  Thank you for following Elara's story.

  If you would like to support my process, please consider following or leaving a rating.

  If you wish to contribute:

  Elara's not going down without a fight—and they may get hungry while they wait.

  Next Update: Tuesday at 3:00 PM SAST