Stella was shipped off to a boarding school for troubled kids after her foster parents died. For the next seven years, that is where she's been, but she's back, and things are not the same as they were before.
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We're on our way to my ballet recital. I can hardly contain my excitement. I've never felt this exhilarated before. I'm not sure what it is—whether it's the graceful, fluid movements, the background classical music, or the feeling of being transported into a new world in my mind. A world where I can be and do whatever I desire, especially dance.
But all my dreams came crashing down when that truck collided with us. Glass flew everywhere, and the car tipped over. I hit my head on the car door hard and blacked out. When I came to, I could hear muffled sirens blaring, and I caught glimpses of flashing blue and red lights from police cars. Looking at the front of the car, I saw Melissa and Tyler unconscious (at least I hope). My vision began to blur again, and everything went black.
Seven years later...
It's been seven years and two months since I last saw my twin brother and my foster brothers. I muse while resting my head on the airplane window, which feels cold but strangely soothing. I was 11 when the car accident happened. Melissa and Tyler, my foster parents, died, and I was the sole survivor. I suffered severe spinal injuries, preventing me from pursuing ballet further. After completing physical therapy, I learned that following Melissa and Tyler's death, I was enrolled in a boarding school due to my behavioral issues. That's where I spent the last seven years. Finally, I'm 18, and I can return home, or what's left of it. I step out of the airport, dragging my worn, pink suitcase while texting my twin brother on my phone.
"Stell, Stella!" I start to hear someone shouting my name. I glance over to see my twin brother Scott and my foster brothers Jackson and Oliver. I begin smiling widely. Letting go of my suitcase, I rush into my brother's arms. Our embrace is tight enough to hurt, but I'm reluctant to let go; this is the safest I've felt in seven years. Jackson and Oliver take turns hugging me before we leave the airport.
"So, guys, what's been going on?" I ask.
"Let's see," Jackson begins. "Dimitri still has a stick up his—"
"Can we not talk about him?" I interrupt, practically convulsing.
"You still hate him? It's been 7 years," Oliver inquires.
"Well, you know Stell, girl can hold a grudge," Scott adds, raising his eyebrows.
"Why are you talking about me like I'm not here?"
"I don't know, maybe because I'm finally taller than you."
"Shut up, dumbass," I mutter under my breath.
"Stop fighting! Jesus, I really do not miss that," Jackson says with a smile. My brothers look different now after all this time. Jackson, 24, is the oldest, at least in the car. He has short, dirty blond hair, green eyes like his mom, a dimpled chin, straight eyebrows, and a well-built physique.
Oliver, 22, has shaggy dark brown hair like his father. He has a dorky appearance with black-framed glasses and a somewhat slim but comfortable build.
Scott has changed the most, dare I say. He's taller than me now, with wavy hair, stubble, but some things never change—like his cute dimples and bushy eyebrows. He might be more muscular, but I know he's still the same younger brother from 7 years ago.
We arrive at the house, and it appears unchanged. Melissa and Tyler were well-off; Melissa was a writer, and Tyler was a businessman, so the house is quite large. A two-story abode with expansive French-style windows, grey brick lining the outer walls, and a garden full of meticulously tended flowers and shrubs. I step out of the car and gaze at my childhood home. Memories flood my mind of being wheeled into a wheelchair after the accident, returning home to this place.
My breathing starts to quicken; I can vividly feel the glass shards on my hands and feet. I rub my hands together and scrunch my toes inside my shoes.
"Stel, you coming?" Oliver asks.
"Yeah, sorry," I respond, giving my hands one last rub on my jeans before heading toward the front door.
I walk in and it feels the same. As a child, I remember entering this space. Picture frames adorn every wall, glass cases display awards, mostly Dimitri's, and shelves are filled. The warmth in the house feels like a cozy embrace, yet I hate it.
"So, did you guys convert my room into a lounge or something?" I joke.
"Nope," Jackson replies, dropping the keys into the bowl.
"What did you guys do then?"
"Made a few changes here and there—renovations, you know, normal stuff."
"Sounds nice," I say before plopping onto the living room sofa. While Jackson and Oliver take my stuff upstairs, Scott and I catch up.
"So, anything I should know about?"
"Ummm, nothing comes to mind at the moment," Scott replies, settling into the love seat next to me.
"Well, when something does come to mind, let me know," I say, releasing a long sigh and closing my eyes briefly. I loathe this place, but don't get me wrong—I prefer the air here to boarding school's. You could argue a thousand times that it's the same, but I'll insist a thousand times over that it's not.
"It'll be nice living with you again," I comment.
"Oh yeah, about that," I scrunched my eyebrows in confusion and looked at Scott.
"What do you mean?" I ask, my eyes turning into slits.
"Weeeell, my friends and I rented a place, and that's where we're living now." I exhale in disappointment.
"At least I'll still have Oliver and Jackson."
"Weeeell," Scott says in a higher pitch than before.
"Scott!" I started raising my voice.
"I'm sorry, okay, but Jackson's living with his girlfriend, and Owen is staying with his roommate."
"So, I'll be staying here alone?"
"Weeeell," Scott's eyes widen, and he looks away, his voice taking the highest pitch yet.
"Oh my God! The next time you say, 'well,' I'll choke you until there's no more oxygen left in your lungs."
"You're going to have to live with Dimitri!" Scott blurts out superfast while closing his eyes tightly.
