Ivey's Pov
Weeks have passed since camp, and to my own surprise, I actually have managed to feel at peace again.The panic attacks have slowed, the nightmares have dulled, and something inside me has begun to feel stronger — not fixed, exactly, but healing.
I still avoid the back corridor near the gym — the one Josh used to hang around — but I no longer feel like I need someone glued to my side every second.
Lucas has been teaching me self-defense. At first, it was awkward and clumsy, full of flinches and apologies. But over time, I found my footing. He taught me how to shift my weight, how to get out of a grab, how to fight back. I still don't love walking alone, but I can now. And that's something.
Now that May is creeping closer, there are two major things on everyone's mind.
First: Spring break. Two full weeks of no school, no exams, no weird looks in the hallway. Just sun, sleep, and escape. Kayla and I have already booked a trip to France — a girls-only getaway that I'm pretending isn't the only thing keeping me sane right now.
Second: Prom.
I wish I could say I was excited, but honestly, I'm dreading it. My parents have probably already lined up a date for me — someone appropriately rich, properly raised, and completely uninteresting. That's just how things work in my world.
And even though nothing's official, I keep wishing I could go with Lucas. Just the idea of him in a suit, his hand in mine, his soft smile as we slow-dance under fairy lights —
"Earth to Ivey," Kayla snaps, nudging me and pulling me back to reality. "You spaced out hard. Are you thinking about prom or our Paris trip?"
"Maybe both."
She grins. "Well, I was asking if you're excited. France, Ivey. Croissants, museums, hot French guys. What's not to love?"
I laugh and it feels good. Like maybe, for the first time in a while, I can start looking forward to things again.
Later at home
Kayla jumps onto my bed, her legs stretched out like she owns the place — which, let's be real, she practically does.
"Okay," she says, pulling out her phone. "Packing checklist. Let's go. Are you bringing the red dress or the black one?"
"Red," I say, rifling through my closet. "France feels like a red dress kind of place."
Kayla hums approvingly. "Bold. I like it. Shoes?"
"Boots and flats. No heels."
"You're no fun."
"I'm practical," I shoot back, tossing a pair of sunglasses onto the growing pile on my bed.
She snorts. "You're also going to thank me when I make you wear the heels at least once for pictures."
I roll my eyes but don't argue. She's probably right.
We fall into an easy rhythm — tossing clothes into suitcases, debating how many jackets are too many, and Googling Paris weather for the hundredth time.
Somewhere between arguing about adapters and laughing over an old photo from last summer, I realize how good this feels. Not just the trip, but this moment.
Normal.
Light.
Hopeful.
Not everyday is like this, but maybe they're starting to come more often.
Next day at Kayla's house
Kayla opened the door before I could even knock, grinning wide as I struggled to haul my suitcase up her front steps.
"Geez, Ivey, are you moving in or going to France?"
"Both," I said, dragging my second bag behind me. "This one's just shoes."
She laughed and stepped aside. "Well, come in, the guest room's already set up, and we've got face masks, popcorn, and way too many chocolate bars."
"Perfect," I smiled, stepping inside.
Her house was already filled with that soft nighttime hum, and the warm lights.
After dumping my bags, we settled into our usual chaos. Kayla cranked up a playlist while we layered on our skincare and painted our nails. We flipped through prom dress ideas, gossiped about who might be going with who, and made fun of the guys who clearly thought they were God's gift to the dance floor.
It wasn't a loud night — not like our usual ones — but it was soft, cozy, and exactly what I needed.
By ten, we were both yawning.
Kayla stretched and tossed a pillow at me. "If we miss our flight, I'm blaming you."
"You're the one who takes forty-five minutes to pick an outfit."
"Exactly. I need sleep to be hot."
I laughed as she disappeared into her room. I headed to mine, pulling out my phone once I curled under the covers.
To Lucas:
Bags packed. snacks secured. nail polish slightly smudged. ready for france
Lucas replied faster than I expected.
From Lucas:
and ready to make the whole country fall in love with you? 😉
To Lucas:
stop lol
From Lucas:
not kidding. you're gonna have the best time
To Lucas:
i wish you were coming
From Lucas:
i wish that too
From Lucas:
i'm flying out in the morning too
To Lucas:
where to?
From Lucas:
back to ireland. just for the break.
To Lucas:
wow. Sounds fun.
From Lucas:
only if we text every day. deal?
To Lucas:
deal.
From Lucas:
then it'll be perfect
I stared at the screen a moment longer, my smile lingering even after I locked my phone and set it aside.
Even with an ocean between us, he still made me feel close.
I turned off the light, letting myself sink into the quiet.
Tomorrow, France.
Tonight, peace.
Morning
It was barely sunrise, and I was already wide awake, dressed, and standing by the front door with my suitcase. Kayla, on the other hand, was still upstairs—doing what, I had no idea.
I checked the time for the fifth time and called up the stairs, "Kayla! We're going to miss our flight!"
Her voice echoed back. "I just need five more minutes!"
"You said that fifteen minutes ago!"
There was a shuffle, a thump, and then an indignant, "I can't find my matching socks!"
I groaned and leaned against the wall. "Just wear mismatched ones. No one in France is going to care."
"I care!" she shouted.
Typical Kayla.
Ten more minutes later, she finally came down the stairs, hair perfectly brushed, makeup barely there but somehow flawless, and dressed like she was about to walk into a Paris fashion show instead of a stuffy airplane.
"Finally," I said, grabbing my bag. "Do you want me to carry you too, or are you capable of walking?"
She rolled her eyes. "You're lucky I'm letting you sit next to me for eight hours."
The car ride was quiet, both of us too tired to talk much, and half-asleep by the time we got to the airport. But once we were through security, everything hit—this was really happening. We were going to France!
The flight itself felt like a weird time warp. Between naps, snacks, and flipping through movies, the hours blurred. And then, suddenly, we were descending.
When we stepped out of the airport in Paris, the air felt different. Crisper. New. Even the sky seemed wider somehow.
Kayla grabbed my hand and squeezed. "We're here," she whispered, her face lit up like a kid on Christmas.
I grinned back. "Yeah. We really are."
We had two weeks ahead of us. Two weeks of exploring, escaping, and being completely ourselves.