Chapter 7Selene
Chapter
Seven
SELENE
High School
The cafeteria is always too loud. It feels like the walls themselves vibrate with the endless chatter of voices, the scraping of chairs, and the clatter of trays. I sit at the far end of the room, near the window, where the noise is slightly muffled. My book is open in front of me, the words on the page offering a temporary escape from the chaos around me.
I push my glasses up my nose and turn the page, trying to lose myself in the story. It’s a fantasy novel, the kind where the heroine wields power no one expects and wins against impossible odds. I imagine what it would feel like to be her—beautiful, confident, unstoppable. Not someone like me.
I glance down at my lunch tray. The sandwich sits untouched, and I quietly fold the wrapper back over it. I’m not hungry. The lump in my throat makes it hard to swallow anyway. Around me, groups of girls are laughing, their perfect ponytails bouncing as they lean in to share secrets. They make it look so easy, like the whole world is theirs for the taking.
“Hey, Selene,” a sugary voice cuts through my focus, and my stomach drops. I don’t even need to look up to know who it is.
Jessica.
She’s standing there with her little posse, the queens of the school in their designer jeans and crop tops. Her perfect, icy smile makes me feel instantly small.
“What are you reading today?” she asks, her voice dripping with faux sweetness. “Another one of your nerdy fantasy books? Let me guess—princesses and castles and all that?”
I try to ignore her, keeping my eyes on the page, but my hands tremble slightly. She’s not going to stop. She never does.
“Oh, come on,” she coos, leaning over my table. “Don’t be shy, Selene. We’re just curious. What’s the book about? Does the ugly girl get the prince in the end?”
Laughter bubbles up from her friends, sharp and cruel. My face burns, and I clench my fists under the table.
“Leave me alone, Jessica,” I say quietly, barely audible over the noise of the cafeteria.
“What’s that?” she says, cupping her hand to her ear in mock confusion. “I couldn’t hear you. Speak up, Selene.”
One of her friends, Lisa, smirks and adds, “Maybe she can’t hear you over the sound of her stomach growling.”
Jessica gasps dramatically, feigning shock. “Oh, Lisa, don’t be mean! I’m sure Selene has plenty of snacks hidden in that bag of hers. Right, Selene? Gotta keep those curves, huh?”
The laughter gets louder, and my hands tighten around the edges of my book. My cheeks burn, and my throat feels like it’s closing up.
Lisa reaches for my tray and picks up the carton of chocolate milk. “Oops!” she says, feigning clumsiness as the carton tips over. Milk spills across the table, soaking the edges of my book.
“No!” I gasp, grabbing the book and shaking off the liquid. The pages are already ruined, the ink smearing in ugly streaks. My chest tightens, and tears prick at the corners of my eyes, but I refuse to cry. Not here. Not in front of them.
Jessica laughs, flipping her perfect hair over her shoulder. “Sorry about that. Maybe you should stick to coloring books, huh? Easier to replace.”
“Or just give up reading altogether,” Lisa chimes in. “Not like you’re gonna be anything special anyway.”
Their laughter fades as they walk away, leaving me sitting there with my ruined book and my pounding heart. My throat tightens as I press the book to my chest, willing the tears not to fall. My hands shake as I cradle the book, the one place where I could pretend I wasn’t… this.
Not fat. Not awkward. Not invisible. Just me.
The walk home is long, and the rain only makes it worse. My shoes squelch with every step, and my damp hoodie clings to my skin. My backpack, soaked through, feels like it’s dragging me down. Each drop of rain stings, as if the world itself is punishing me. By the time I reach the front door, my hands are trembling from the cold, and my fingers are too numb to work the key properly.
I finally push the door open, and the warmth of the house envelops me. But it doesn’t feel comforting. It feels oppressive.
“Selene!” my father’s sharp voice cuts through the air before I can even set my backpack down. “How many times have I told you not to leave your shoes in the hallway?”
I look down and see the trail of water my shoes have left behind on the polished wood floor. My heart sinks. “Sorry,” I mumble, bending to pick them up.
“Sorry doesn’t fix the mess,” he snaps, his tone heavy with disappointment. He steps closer, his gaze narrowing as if the wet footprints are a personal insult. “You need to pay attention to the little things, Selene. You’re too careless. Honestly, no wonder you?—”
He cuts himself off, but the weight of what he almost said hangs in the air.
No wonder I what? Fail? Fall short? Disappoint him? The rest of the sentence doesn’t matter. I already know what he’s thinking. I’ve heard it in his voice before, seen it in the way his eyes skim over me without really seeing me. I’m not Matthew. I’m not the golden child who can do no wrong.
My father turns away with a sigh, muttering under his breath about how I’m always making things harder. I can feel the lump in my throat growing, but I bite it back. I won’t cry. Not in front of him.
Shoes in hand, I head toward the back porch, ignoring the ache in my chest. The porch has always been my escape, my one place to breathe when the walls of this house feel like they’re closing in. But when I open the door, I stop short. Matthew is already there.
He’s lounging on the porch swing, scrolling through his phone with a self-assured smirk that he probably doesn’t even realize he’s wearing. He doesn’t look up at first, but when he does, his expression shifts into something I’ve come to dread—teasing, smug, superior.
“Hey, look who finally showed up,” he says, his tone light but laced with condescension. “What happened? Get caught in a storm? Or did you just decide to take a shower with your clothes on?”
I don’t respond. I step onto the porch and set my shoes down by the wall, carefully avoiding his gaze.
“Seriously, Selene,” he continues, leaning back and stretching out his long legs. “You look like a drowned rat. Did it ever occur to you to carry an umbrella? Or are you too busy living in fantasy land to notice it’s raining?”
“Not now, Matthew,” I mutter, my voice barely audible.
“Not now?” he echoes, his tone mockingly high-pitched. “Aw, poor Selene. Did someone ruin your day at school? Let me guess—those girls you’re always talking about finally decided to show you some attention?”
I stiffen, my hands balling into fists at my sides. “I don’t talk about them,” I say, my voice shaking.
“Oh, right. You don’t talk about much of anything, do you?” he says, laughing. “You just sit in your room, reading those weird books and pretending you’re some kind of... what? Warrior princess? Is that what you’re going for?”
His words cut deeper than they should. I know he’s just being his usual self—teasing, poking fun. But today, after everything, it feels like too much.
“Just leave me alone,” I snap, my voice breaking slightly. I hate how weak I sound.
Matthew raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Touchy, touchy. Fine, go brood in your room like you always do. Don’t let me stop you from saving your imaginary kingdom or whatever.”
I don’t say anything else. I grab my shoes and storm back into the house, my cheeks burning. Upstairs, I close my bedroom door and lean against it, finally letting the tears spill over.
I collapse onto my bed, my face buried in my arms. The day replays in my mind in cruel detail—the laughter in the cafeteria, my father’s disapproval, Matthew’s mocking grin. I feel like I’m shrinking, folding into myself, becoming smaller and smaller until there’s nothing left.
After a few minutes, I sit up and reach for the old, battered book on my nightstand. It’s the one my aunt Vivienne gave me years ago. The leather cover is soft from wear, and the pages are filled with sketches of plants, constellations, and strange symbols that I used to trace with my fingers as a kid. Vivienne always had a way of making things feel magical.
I run my hand over the cover, remembering the warmth in her voice. “Don’t let them dim your light, Selene,” she’d said once, her hands resting on my shoulders. “The world will try to mold you into something small, but your power is in being different. Let them underestimate you.”
Vivienne saw me. She saw the parts of me no one else cared to notice, and for a while, I believed her. When she’d visit, she’d bring little gifts—pressed flowers she’d laminated into bookmarks, small crystals she claimed had special properties, and stories. Oh, her stories. She’d tell me about faraway places, about the stars, and about strength hidden in unexpected places.
I’d hang on her every word, soaking up her presence like sunlight. She’d tell me I had a gift for understanding things most people overlooked. “You’re special, Selene,” she’d say with a conspiratorial smile. “Don’t let anyone convince you otherwise.”
But then she stopped coming.
At first, I thought maybe she was just busy. Adults were always busy. I’d ask my mom when Aunt Vivienne was coming back, and she’d wave me off with vague promises about “soon.” Weeks turned into months, and the absence grew heavier. The gifts stopped. The stories stopped. The magic stopped.
When I finally worked up the courage to ask my mom again, her response was... colder. Dismissive.
“I don’t know, Selene,” she’d said, not even looking up from her laptop. “She probably got herself killed.”
The words hit me like a slap. “What? Killed?” I stammered, horrified.
My mom sighed, rubbing her temples as if I were the one giving her a headache. “Vivienne was always getting into weird stuff—digging around where she didn’t belong, poking her nose into dangerous things. It’s no surprise she’s disappeared. Honestly, it’s her own fault.”
Her words felt like poison, seeping into the cracks of my heart. “How can you say that?” I demanded, tears welling in my eyes. “She’s your sister!”
“She was my sister,” my mom corrected sharply, her voice hardening. “But she lived in her own world, Selene. Always chasing things that weren’t real. Sometimes people like that... they don’t come back.”
I couldn’t believe her. The indifference in her tone, the finality of it—it was like she’d already written Vivienne off as dead and gone. I’d stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind me, her words ringing in my ears.
I clutch the book to my chest now, as though holding it close might bring Vivienne back. The world will try to mold you into something small. My father, Matthew, Jessica—they’ve all tried, in their own ways. And maybe Vivienne, with all her strangeness, was right. Maybe being different was my power.
But if she’s gone—if she really is gone—then what does that mean for me?
I can still hear her voice sometimes, feel the warmth of her presence, even though it’s been years. “You’re stronger than you know,” she’d say, her smile soft but sure. “Even when the world doesn’t see it, you are.”
I wipe my tears away and take a deep breath. Maybe she was right. Maybe I am more than they can see. For now, though, I just feel small.
I place the book back on the nightstand and lie down, staring at the ceiling. Tomorrow will come, and it’ll be just like today. But for tonight, I let myself hope—just a little—that someday, I’ll be strong enough to prove them all wrong. Strong enough to live up to the light Vivienne saw in me. Strong enough to find my own magic, even if it’s buried deep inside.