IV

When Danielle finally pulled into the driveway, the sky had already begun to darken, casting long shadows over the front of her house. She killed the engine of her Bugatti and sat in silence for a moment, gripping the wheel as if the pressure in her fingers could force the restlessness out of her body. But it didn't. It never did.

With a sigh, she grabbed her bag, pushed open the door, and made her way inside. The familiar scent of home—clean linen, faint traces of lavender, and something that smelled vaguely like cinnamon—greeted her. It should have been comforting. It wasn't.

She didn't bother stopping in the living room or heading upstairs to her room. Instead, she went straight to the kitchen, flicking on the lights and rolling her shoulders as she set her bag down. The quiet hum of the refrigerator was the only sound for a moment before she opened it, scanning the shelves for something—anything—to focus on. Cooking had always been her way of unwinding, of shutting out the world when it became too much.

Pulling out a carton of eggs, some vegetables, and a block of cheese, she set them down on the counter with practiced ease. Within seconds, she had a pan heating on the stove, the soft sizzle of butter melting against the metal filling the air. The simple, repetitive motions—chopping, whisking, stirring—helped steady her mind. Here, in the kitchen, there were no complicated emotions. No lingering thoughts of her. No reason to overanalyze the way Maya had said girlfriend as if it meant nothing at all.

Danielle clenched her jaw, aggressively stirring the eggs in the pan. It didn't mean anything. So why do you care?

The front door creaked open in the distance, signaling someone else had come home. She didn't turn to see who it was. Instead, she exhaled slowly, gripping the spatula a little tighter.

Cooking was supposed to calm her. So why did she still feel so on edge?

Danielle kept her focus on the pan, flipping the eggs with a little more force than necessary. She didn't need to look up to know she wasn't alone anymore—the soft creak of the door and the quiet presence lingering in the doorway told her that much.

Her aunt Izzy stood there, arms crossed loosely over her chest, leaning against the doorframe with an amused expression. "You always cook like you're mad at the food, or is today just special?" she asked, her voice laced with knowing curiosity.

Danielle huffed a short laugh but didn't turn around. "I'm not mad at the food."

"Uh-huh," Izzy said, pushing off the frame and stepping further into the kitchen. "So, is this you unwinding after school, or is this you avoiding thinking about whatever's got you gripping that spatula like it insulted your entire existence?"

Danielle rolled her eyes, finally glancing over at her aunt. "Can't I just make food without it being some big emotional crisis?"

Izzy smirked, raising a brow. "Oh, sure. But considering you drove in here like you were trying to outrun a demon and now you're attacking that poor omelet like it owes you money? I'm gonna go out on a limb and say something's up."

Danielle stayed silent, flipping the omelet onto a plate and moving to grab some toast from the toaster.

Izzy watched her for a moment before pulling out a chair at the kitchen island and sitting down. "So, is this a cheerleading drama thing, a school is annoying thing, or"—she paused, studying Danielle's face—"a girl thing?"

The sound of the butter knife clinking a little too hard against the plate made Izzy smirk. "Ah. Ding ding ding. We have a winner."

Danielle sighed through her nose, gripping the edge of the counter. "It's nothing," she muttered, but even she knew how unconvincing she sounded.

Izzy rested her chin in her hand, watching her niece with something between amusement and sympathy. "You know, for someone who's really good at pretending to be confident, you're terrible at lying to me."

Danielle set the plate down with a little more force than necessary, crossing her arms. "A girl said something today. It was stupid. It shouldn't bother me."

Izzy tilted her head. "And yet?"

Danielle clenched her jaw, shaking her head as if that would physically remove the memory from her brain. "She called herself a guys's girlfriend."

Izzy let out a low whistle. "Oof. Yeah, that'll do it."

Danielle ran a hand through her hair, letting out a frustrated sigh. "It was a joke. She didn't mean it. I think, anyways. But for some reason, it still—" She cut herself off, shaking her head again. "I don't know. I only met her today."

Izzy nodded, drumming her fingers against the countertop. "So, let me get this straight. You, the most untouchable, cocky, 'too cool for feelings' girl in school, are spiraling because some girl, the tiny ball of sarcasm and rebellion, made a joke?"

Danielle shot her a glare. "I'm not spiraling."

Izzy grinned. "Oh, you're definitely spiraling."

Danielle groaned, grabbing her plate and plopping down on the stool across from her aunt. She stabbed at her eggs, pushing them around instead of eating. "I don't know what's wrong with me."

Izzy's smirk softened into something more understanding. "There's nothing wrong with you, kid. You just like her."

Danielle froze for half a second before scoffing. "I do not—"

Izzy held up a hand. "Nope. Stop. Before you embarrass yourself further."

Danielle shut her mouth, frowning.

Izzy leaned forward slightly. "It's okay, you know? Liking someone. Even if it's annoying. Even if you wish you didn't. Even if she's oblivious and infuriating and makes you want to throw things."

Danielle sighed, finally taking a bite of her food. "Yeah, well, what am I supposed to do about it?"

Izzy shrugged. "That's up to you. But bottling it up and beating eggs like they personally wronged you? Not your best strategy."

Danielle let out a quiet chuckle despite herself. "Noted."

Izzy smiled, standing up and ruffling Danielle's hair on her way to the fridge. "That's my girl."