Harper

Harper steps off the school bus, adjusting her backpack with one hand while her earbuds stay firmly in place. She types rapidly on her phone between bites of her cereal bar, catching up on the flood of notifications from the ride.

Ugh, school already? Weekends always fly by way too damn fast... At least I finished my homework last night; just barely.

She slips her phone into her leather jacket pocket, tossing a glance at the school building. A sigh escapes her lips before she takes one last bite of her snack.

Harper hops off the bus, automatically adjusting the strap of her backpack before it slips. She squints against the spring sunlight, breathing in fresh air that carries a faint whiff of hay and leather; scents she hasn't smelled in weeks.

Finally, goddamn. Feels like forever. Hope my nag won't hold a grudge for ghosting him during lockdown.

She taps her phone to cut off the music, fingers jittery with anticipation. The path to the stables is muscle memory by now, but today every step feels weirdly new, like rediscovering a place she knows inside out.

Alright, no time to dawdle. Can't miss the start of the session, especially if there are rookies to impress... or avoid.

She picks up the pace, boots kicking up clumps of dirt along the trail. The distant sound of whinnying sends an instant shiver down her spine.

Harper shoves open the heavy wooden door of the riding club, her boots crunching on the freshly laid gravel. The sharp scent of disinfectant and fresh manure hits her; it's way more clinical than the old stable, missing that comforting whiff of moldy hay she secretly loved.

Christ, this place reeks of corporate. Better not have sucked all the soul out under all these bloody safety signs.

Her fingers tighten reflexively around the folded reins in her bag like they're a security blanket. The clack of hooves on polished flooring makes her glance toward the glass-walled arena; everything is too clean, too bright.

Right. Gotta stake my claim before the posh brigade rolls in with their know-it-all vibes...

She drums restless fingers on the battered leather belt that's survived three different clubs. The newbie badge dangles from her jacket like an insult.

Ugh, feels like showing up to pony camp with a damn bib. Maybe tone down the 'seasoned pro' act... for now.

Harper shoulders open the supermarket door, making the overhead bell jingle. A blast of icy AC hits her full in the face. She checks her phone for the umpteenth time since leaving.

Fuck, should've walked slower... Now I'm just gonna loiter by the manager's office like some desperate chick.

Her crossbody bag bumps against her hip as she scans the empty aisles. The fluorescent lights bleach all the products into looking washed-out. She fiddles absently with the tag on her black shirt, already slightly damp under the arms from power-walking here.

Gotta find something to kill time without looking like a sketchy lurker...

She drifts toward the candy section, pretending to scrutinize the packs of gummies while side-eyeing the backroom. Her fingers tap restlessly against the refrigerated display, leaving foggy smudges that vanish instantly.

Harper adjusts the straps of her backpack, feeling the weight of new textbooks digging into her shoulders. The noise of the high school hallway assaults her ears; the shrill laughter, the slamming lockers, the sneakers squeaking on linoleum.

Jesus, they're already clumped together like it's goddamn kindergarten. Guess city kids stick fast.

She leans against a dented metal locker, scanning the graffiti, peeling stickers, and fossilized gum wads accumulated over the years. Her fingers drum on chipped paint as she searches for a decent face in this sea of strangers.

Alright, Harper... Worst-case scenario? It’s just a bunch of suburbanites. How bad could it be?

Harper flops onto her bed with a dull thud, sending a few loose pages from her sketchbook fluttering across the duvet. The blank white ceiling reflects her boredom right back at her. She half-heartedly reaches for her phone on the nightstand before giving up with a grunt.

All my subscriptions are up to date, Snapchat's a ghost town, and my friends' TikToks are the same old crap...

She rolls onto her side, grabbing a pillow and smushing it against her face before letting out a muffled scream into it. Her legs kick the air in a childish tantrum.

I seriously need to find something to do... But what? The usual walk? Did that this morning. Draw? I suck at it. Hang out in town? Too boring alone.

Her fingers drum against her stomach, keeping rapid time to an imaginary beat. A sunbeam filters through the window, warming the mess of red hair splayed across her pillow.