𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓 │ 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐧

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘 𝐎𝐍𝐄

EMBERLY STOOD AT HER LOCKER at Beverly High, her fingers lingering on the metal as she exhaled slowly. The hallway was quiet, the after-school rush long gone, leaving only a few lingering students and the occasional teacher passing by.

It had been a month since the shooting at cotillion. A month since someone had aimed a gun at her and Spencer, since her life had nearly ended in a moment of chaos. Everyone kept saying that time would help, that things would get better. But how was she supposed to just move on? To forget that split second of terror when she thought it was all over? While some people seemed to brush it off as just another tragic event in their world of privilege, she couldn't. The memory clung to her like an invisible weight, following her wherever she went.

She had just come from a counseling session with Ms. Bailey, something she had been doing a couple of times a week since the incident. Ms. Bailey told her it was okay to still be processing it, that trauma didn't have an expiration date. But Emberly hated feeling stuck.

She closed her locker with a sigh, just as a familiar voice broke through her thoughts.

"What are you still doing here?"

Emberly turned to find Layla standing behind her, arms crossed but a curious expression on her face.

"Um... I've been talking to the counselor a couple of days a week since the, you know..." Emberly trailed off, the words catching in her throat.

Layla nodded, understanding without needing an explanation. "Yeah. I love Ms. Bailey. She's great."

"Yeah," Emberly murmured, shifting her books in her arms. "I haven't been sleeping much lately. She lets me ramble on as long as I need." She paused, tilting her head. "Wait, why are you still here?"

Layla let out a small laugh. "Extra credit. Still trying to dig myself out of that hole I put myself in when I skipped all those classes."

"At least you seem happy," Emberly noted as they started walking down the hall together.

Layla shrugged. "I'm just looking forward to what's next for me."

Emberly glanced at her, intrigued. "Any ideas?"

"Yeah, actually." A small smile played on Layla's lips. "Can't deny that music's in my blood. I always thought I'd go into songwriting because of my mom, but I actually have a knack for producing—like my dad. So, I've been working on some new stuff."

A flicker of recognition passed through Emberly. "Well, I guess we both get our music genes from our dads." Her voice softened as she admitted, "I've been songwriting a lot more lately. And I think I'm finally ready to put it out into the world."

Layla stopped walking for a second, raising an eyebrow. "Seriously? But I thought you didn't sing in front of people."

Emberly let out a breath, glancing down the empty hallway before meeting Layla's gaze. "I don't. Or... I didn't," she admitted. "But everything that's happened in the last few months—everything I've been through—it's making me rethink things. I love singing. It's one of the few things I know I'm great at, and I don't want to keep running from that."

Counseling helped, sure. It gave her a space to say the things she was afraid to say out loud anywhere else. But even with all the talking, there were still things she couldn't fully express. That's where songwriting came in. It was her escape, her therapy, the one place where she could put every emotion she felt—fear, anger, sadness, hope—into something that felt real.

Layla studied her for a moment before nodding, a knowing look in her eyes. "I think that's really dope," she said sincerely.

Emberly smiled, feeling a rare flicker of excitement cut through the heaviness in her chest. Maybe she wasn't fully healed yet. Maybe she still had a long way to go. But for the first time in a long time, she felt like she was moving forward—and that had to count for something.