Lily had never liked Mondays. They always felt too loud, too fast. The halls buzzed with conversations that felt a mile away from her world—nail colors, celebrity gossip, boys, parties she was never invited to. She kept her head down, earbuds in, sketchbook clutched tightly to her chest like a shield.
But today, something was different.
Not everything. She still felt that familiar twist in her stomach when someone laughed too loudly. Still wondered if they were laughing at her. But the silence inside wasn't so sharp anymore. It was softer. There was space. Room to breathe.
Maya found her at lunch.
Lily had been sitting at the edge of the courtyard under a wide oak tree, sketching the curling shape of a leaf caught in the breeze. It was a spot no one really paid attention to, which was why she liked it.
Maya plopped down beside her, pulling her legs up to sit cross-legged. "You're not one of those people who needs permission to join, right?" she asked, chewing the tip of a Twizzler thoughtfully.
Lily smiled a little. "You're already sitting, so…"
"Fair enough." Maya pulled out a stainless steel water bottle and took a swig. "Want a Twizzler?"
Lily hesitated, then took one. The red candy was sticky and sweet and reminded her of field trips in elementary school.
"You bring these every day?" Lily asked.
"Only on Mondays. It's my survival tactic."
They sat in silence for a while, watching students wander by. Lily's pencil danced across her page. A figure was forming now, something between a girl and a shadow. Something stuck in between.
"Can I ask you something?" Lily said quietly.
Maya nodded.
"When you said you've been there… stuck… what did that look like for you?"
Maya's smile faded, just a little. She didn't answer right away. "It looked like silence," she said finally. "Like skipping breakfast and pretending it was just because I wasn't hungry. Like hiding my shapewear in my locker. Like crying when my jeans didn't fit but blaming the dryer."
Lily's chest ached. She looked at the girl beside her, this soft-spoken, sharp-witted person with ink-stained fingers and a tired kind of wisdom. She didn't know why, but it made her want to cry.
"It's hard to explain," Lily whispered. "Some days I feel like I'm drowning in it. Other days… I don't feel anything at all."
Maya looked at her. "You don't have to explain. Just saying it out loud matters."
A bell rang in the distance, snapping the quiet.
As they stood, Maya nudged her shoulder lightly. "Next time, I'll bring brownies. My sister's trying out some TikTok recipe."
Lily smiled. "Deal."
---
That evening, Lily's mom was already in the kitchen when she got home. The scent of homemade chili hung in the air, rich and comforting. Ava was dancing around the room in mismatched socks, shouting about being a "choreography queen."
Her mom looked up. "How was school?"
Lily shrugged off her bag. "Good. Weirdly good."
Her mom gave her a long, knowing look, then handed her a spoon. "Taste this. I think I added too much cumin."
Lily took a small bite. It was perfect. "It's fine," she said. "Don't change anything."
Her mom smiled. "Hmm. Maybe I won't."
They ate dinner together. Nothing fancy. No pressure. Just food, and talking, and the sound of Ava pretending her spoon was a microphone.
Later, Lily sat on her bed, the journal open again. She wrote about Maya. About her words. About the strange comfort that came with someone who didn't try to fix her, just saw her.
But even with the calm of the day, something still gnawed at her. A quiet guilt she couldn't name. Like she didn't deserve the peace she was starting to feel.
She tried to shake it off.
Tried to focus on her homework. But her thoughts kept circling, buzzing.
She opened Instagram.
That was her first mistake.
A new post from Taylor—the girl everyone seemed to orbit around. She was pretty in that effortless, perfect-hair-and-skin way. Her latest picture was a gym selfie, captioned "Strong, not skinny." Her stomach was flat. Her arms toned. The comments were full of fire emojis and "Goals!"
Lily's heart dropped. That old feeling came back—the tightness in her chest, the urge to measure herself, to check if anything had changed. If her stomach looked bigger. If her thighs were too wide.
She tossed the phone aside, frustrated.
Her door creaked open.
It was Ava.
"Can I sleep in your room?" she asked, already hugging her pillow. "Matt is being annoying and breathing too loud."
Lily blinked. "Breathing?"
"Loudly."
Lily chuckled and shifted over. Ava climbed in, all elbows and hair and sleepy warmth.
After a few minutes, Ava whispered, "Lily?"
"Yeah?"
"You're not fat."
Lily's breath caught.
Ava turned to look at her, eyes wide and serious. "You're just Lily. And you always smell nice."
Lily swallowed. "Thanks," she whispered, brushing a strand of hair from her sister's face. "That means a lot."
And it did. More than she expected.
---
The next morning, Lily skipped TikTok. Skipped Instagram. She brushed her teeth and got dressed with music playing in the background—something upbeat and ridiculous. She even hummed along.
At school, she found Maya in their usual spot.
"Brought something," Maya said, opening a container with a flourish. Inside were gooey chocolate brownies, slightly squished but still warm.
Lily took one. "If I get addicted, it's your fault."
"Noted," Maya said, popping one into her mouth. "You'll have to join the Brownie Addicts Anonymous group chat."
They laughed.
The conversation flowed. About books, music, how awful the school bathrooms were. Lily found herself talking more than usual, her voice less guarded.
But then, something shifted.
Taylor walked past, flanked by her usual group. She was laughing—loud and bright. Her curls bounced perfectly. Her waist, cinched in high-rise jeans, looked impossibly tiny.
Lily's smile faltered.
Maya noticed. "You okay?"
Lily nodded too quickly. "Yeah. Just… tired."
But she wasn't tired. She was comparing. Again.
Later, in Biology, she couldn't focus. Her teacher's voice blurred into background noise. All she could hear were the numbers in her head. Calories. Sizes. The question: Am I enough yet?
When the bell rang, she stayed behind, pretending to pack slowly.
She needed a second.
A breath.
She stared at the chart on the wall—one of those biology diagrams of the human digestive system. Funny how they reduced the body to parts, organs, functions. So mechanical. So impersonal.
But her body wasn't just that. It was emotions. Shame. Fear. Memories.
A battle she didn't ask for.
She sighed and slung her bag over her shoulder.
Outside, she spotted Maya again. But this time, she didn't walk over.
She turned the other way, toward the empty corridor that led to the art studio. A place she hadn't visited in months.
She pushed open the door.
It was quiet. Dusty. Paint-stained aprons hung on hooks. The smell of charcoal and old paper hit her like nostalgia.
She walked in slowly, brushing her fingers against a nearby table. In the corner was her old easel. Still there. Still hers.
She set her bag down and pulled out her sketchbook.
And then, without thinking, she began to draw.
Not a perfect girl.
Not a thin girl.
Just… herself.
Not as she wanted to be. But as she was.
Soft around the edges. A little uncertain. But standing tall.
The lines were rough. Uneven. But they were hers.
She didn't hear the door open.
Didn't see the person step inside.
But then a voice spoke, quiet and curious.
"I didn't know you could draw like that."
Lily froze.
She turned slowly—and met eyes she didn't expect.
It wasn't Maya.
It was Taylor.