Chapter 5: Don't Ask Me Shit
The ride home was quiet in the worst way.
Not peaceful. Not calm. Just… tense. Like the car itself knew better than to make noise. The radio was off. Dad's jaw was clenched. Mom kept glancing at us through the rearview mirror like she was trying to read minds and failing.
Sylvia was glued to her phone, thumbs moving fast, earbuds in like armor.
I stared out the window.
Everything outside looked too normal. Kids laughing on sidewalks. Dogs being walked. Houses lined up neatly like nothing ever went wrong inside them. It pissed me off. Like the world had the audacity to keep functioning after I'd been publicly humiliated.
My chest felt tight again.
I didn't cry this time. I was past that. Now it was just this hot, buzzing anger sitting under my skin, waiting for a target.
"Okay," Mom finally said, forcing cheer into her voice. "First day's done. That's something, right?"
No one answered.
She cleared her throat. "So… how did it go?"
I felt it then—the switch flipping.
"I don't want to talk about it," I said immediately.
Mom sighed. Not loud. Controlled. Like she was already tired of us. "I'm just asking."
"And I'm just saying I don't want to fucking talk," I snapped.
Dad glanced at me, warning in his eyes. "Evelyn."
I ignored him.
Mom's grip tightened on her bag. "I'm trying to connect with you."
"Well, try later," I said, my voice sharp enough to cut. "Today was shit."
Silence fell again. Thicker this time.
The rest of the drive passed like that—me stewing, Mom pretending not to be hurt, Dad pretending not to notice, Sylvia pretending none of us existed.
When we pulled into the driveway, I was out of the car before the engine even stopped.
"Evelyn," Mom called. "Wait."
I didn't.
Inside the house, the air felt heavy, like it always did now. Boxes still stacked in corners. Unfamiliar furniture. That fake lemon cleaner smell Mom used when she was stressed and trying to regain control.
She followed me in. "Just give me five minutes."
"I said no," I shot back, heading for the stairs.
She grabbed my arm—not hard, but enough.
I snapped.
"Let go of me!"
She froze, clearly shocked.
"I just want to know how your day went," she said softly. "You can talk to me."
That did it.
"Why?" I yelled. "So you can tell me it'll get better and that I should just 'ignore them' like that actually fucking works?"
Her face fell. "Evelyn—"
"I tripped in front of everyone," I continued, words spilling now, ugly and uncontrolled. "They laughed. People stared. I hid in a bathroom like a goddamn loser. So yeah—great first day."
Sylvia peeked around the corner, eyes wide.
Mom's voice dropped. "Why didn't you tell me earlier?"
"Because you wouldn't understand!" I shouted. "You never do."
"That's not fair."
"Neither is moving us here and expecting everything to be fine!"
The words hung in the air.
Dad stepped in. "That's enough."
I turned on him too. "Oh, now you care?"
"Evelyn," Mom said sharply, hurt finally breaking through, "I am trying."
"Well stop," I snapped. "Because you're doing a terrible fucking job."
Her eyes glossed over. That should've made me stop.
It didn't.
I pulled away and ran upstairs, my heart pounding like I'd just committed a crime.
I slammed my door and locked it.
Click.
The sound felt final.
I slid down against it, knees to my chest, breathing hard. My room felt too small. The walls too close. My thoughts too loud.
From downstairs, I heard Mom's voice crack. "I don't know how to help her."
Dad murmured something I couldn't make out.
Guilt crept in, slow and unwanted.
I grabbed a pillow and screamed into it, muffling the sound until my throat burned.
Why did everything feel like an attack?
Why did the people who loved me feel like enemies?
I wiped my face angrily. "Get your shit together," I whispered to myself.
My phone buzzed.
A text.
Unknown Number:
Hey. It's Sadie. Just checking in. You made it through today. That counts.
I stared at the screen.
My chest tightened again—but this time, it wasn't just anger.
I didn't reply.
I locked my phone, tossed it aside, and lay back on my bed, staring at the ceiling like it might cave in.
I knew I'd hurt Mom.
I knew I'd gone too far.
But right then, all I could think was this—
If the first day broke me this badly,
what the hell was the rest of the year going to do?