Fractured

2: Yesterday is Gone

RACHEL

I wake up to the soft light filtering through my curtains, but the warmth of the sun does little to chase away the chill left from last night. I stretch, letting the covers slip off as my mind replays the frantic moments after we meet Elfangor. The image of the blue-and-white light darting across the sky lingers, both beautiful and terrifying.

It's a whirlwind of shock, excitement, and dread when the Andalite reveals everything—the war, the Yeerks, our sudden responsibility. I can't believe I'm now part of this fight. I remember how it felt when he told us we're caught in a war that isn't ours, yet somehow, we're at the center of it. The weight of that truth presses down on me, even in the light of day.

My thoughts drift from Elfangor's warning to the terrifying Visser Three. Just the thought of him makes my stomach twist. I've never seen anything like him before—his fearsome form, his chilling voice, and the sense of danger that radiates from him. I remember how we all scrambled away, adrenaline pumping, knowing our lives have just taken a turn into the unknown.

It's another summer day, warm and bright, but I feel anything but at ease. Last night, I felt invincible, ready to take on anything with my friends by my side. Yet now, the reality of our situation hangs heavy in the air. I want to be fierce and fearless, but today, I feel more like a deer caught in headlights.

After a quick breakfast, I decide to check on Marco. We've been close for years, and his friendship is a comfort in this chaotic world. I hope he's handling everything as well as I'm trying to. I walk over to his house, my heart racing slightly at the thought of seeing him.

When I arrive, the front door opens to reveal Marco, his usual charm subdued. I notice the faint sound of snoring coming from the living room. For a second, I just take him in—and immediately feel a little weird about it. When did Marco get... hot? It's still strange seeing him like this—taller than me now, thanks to that growth spurt last year. He's filled out too, his T-shirt stretched a little tighter over his shoulders and arms. And his hair—it's longer than it used to be, curling slightly at the ends in a way that looks annoyingly good on him. He runs a hand through it absentmindedly, and I feel a sudden, inexplicable urge to look away. He's always been my buddy, my partner-in-crime, but now... I shake the thought away, feeling a little heat creep into my cheeks. What is wrong with me?

"Hey, Rach," he says, stepping aside to let me in, but his expression hints at a bit of embarrassment. He glances back toward the living room and quickly suggests, "Wanna go for a walk?"

"Sure," I reply, sensing he doesn't want me to see his dad asleep on the couch. I understand that—sometimes, you just want to escape reality, even if only for a little while.

We step outside and walk around to the backyard. There's a well-worn path cutting through the overgrown grass, one that we've followed so many times it's practically second nature. It leads us to the woods that stretch behind both our houses, a sprawling tangle of trees and underbrush that feels like it belongs more to us than anyone else.

The path dips slightly as it enters the shade of the forest. The towering oaks and maples form a canopy overhead, their leaves filtering the sunlight into soft, shifting patterns on the ground. Patches of moss and scattered pine needles cushion our steps. It smells earthy and fresh, like damp bark and wildflowers.

We've spent countless summers exploring this place. There's a small creek not far ahead, its cool, clear water winding lazily through the trees. We used to spend hours there, balancing on the slick rocks, daring each other to cross without falling in. A little further along the path, tucked away behind a cluster of pines, is the old treehouse Marco's dad built for us when we were kids. Its weathered wood and tilted roof have seen better days, but it still stands, a monument to our childhood adventures.

Walking here now, it feels like stepping into another world, a secret space where time slows down and the weight of the present fades.

"Everything okay?" I ask, though it feels like a pointless question. Of course it's not.

Marco lets out a short laugh, more a puff of air than anything, and rubs the back of his neck. His hair is all over the place, like he's been raking his hands through it for hours. "What do you think?"

"Yeah," I mutter. "Stupid question." I lean against a tree, watching him.

He kicks a rock off the path, his gaze following it. "It's just... a lot, you know? Yesterday we were worried about finals, and now we're supposed to save the world? I don't even know where to start with that."

"Same," I say quietly. "I keep thinking about Elfangor. About what he said."

"Yeah." Marco's voice tightens. "We're in the middle of some intergalactic nightmare, and we're just supposed to roll with it?"

I push off the tree and step closer. "We'll figure it out. We've always figured stuff out."

He glances at me, his expression a mix of disbelief and something softer, like he wants to believe me but doesn't quite. "You make it sound so easy."

"It's not," I admit. "But we've got each other. That's got to count for something, right?"

For a second, Marco doesn't respond. Then he gives a small nod, his usual smirk making a faint comeback. "Yeah. I guess if I have to fight space slugs, I'd glad it's with you."

"Obviously," I say, nudging his arm. "Who else could handle you?"

His gaze meets mine, and for a moment, I feel a surge of something deeper between us. It's more than just friendship; it's a bond forged in uncertainty and newfound courage. But just as quickly, he masks it with a grin.

"Right. You're the fearless warrior, and I'll be the comic relief," he jokes, breaking the tension. I laugh, grateful for his attempt to lighten the mood, even if we both know there's truth beneath the humor.

"Hero and sidekick, remember?" I shoot back playfully, feeling more grounded. "I'll need someone to distract the monsters while I take them down."

"Hey, I'm all about distraction," Marco says with a wink, the familiar banter easing the weight on my shoulders.

As we stroll deeper into the woods, we pass by the treehouse Marco's dad built for us years ago. It's massive, perched high in the branches of an old oak tree, with a rickety ladder leading up to it. The wood is weathered, the paint long faded to a dull, peeling green that blends with the surrounding trees, making it look like a relic from another lifetime. The boards creak and groan with every breeze, as if the treehouse itself is remembering the countless hours we spent there, planning our adventures and pretending we were invincible. Marco's dad had worked on it for weeks, adding layers and supports until he was sure it was safe. I remember how proud he was when it was finished, and how we'd climb up there with our snacks and dreams, pretending the whole world was ours. Now, it stands quietly among the trees, a reminder of simpler times, and of how much has changed since then.

"Do you remember the time we tried to turn it into a spaceship?" I ask, a smile tugging at my lips.

"Of course," Marco chuckles. "We spent hours trying to convince everyone it could fly. I think I still have that ridiculous cardboard control panel somewhere."

"Maybe we could renovate it. Just in case we need to escape," I joke lightly, but inside, I feel a pang of longing for the simplicity of those days.

"Yeah, a secret headquarters," he replies, a glimmer of enthusiasm in his eyes. "We'll need a place to plot our heroic strategies."

"Or to hide out if things get too crazy," I add, feeling the gravity of our situation wash over me again.

As we continue walking, the comfortable rhythm of our conversation helps dispel some of the tension. It's nice to know that even in the face of everything we're dealing with, we still have each other. Whatever challenges lie ahead, I'm ready to face them with Marco by my side. Together, we can tackle anything—even if it means battling real monsters in the dark.