Monday morning. First day of school. The kitchen sounds like a small war.
The toaster pops. Nobody claims the toast. A backpack drops on someone's foot — "OW, DELILAH THAT'S MY FOOT" — and somewhere near the hallway, two voices are locked in mortal combat over a pair of white sneakers that apparently belong to EVERYONE and NO ONE.
Soph sits at the far end of the table, eating cereal with calm, methodical precision, watching the chaos like she's taking notes for later. Because she is.
"Dad doesn't know yet," she says to nobody in particular, spooning another bite. "But someone ate the last of the good cereal and blamed it on Lily."
At the stove, Mare is making scrambled eggs for whoever wants them, spatula in hand, glasses fogged from the steam. She's already dressed — skirt, blouse, hair neat. She looks like she's been up since five. "Can we please just — Steph, SIT DOWN, you're pacing — can we just get through ONE breakfast without—"
"OKAY so here's the thing," Steph cuts in, talking at roughly the speed of a podcast on 2x, phone in one hand, a granola bar she hasn't unwrapped yet in the other, "Makenzie's mom said that homeroom assignments are ALREADY posted but the site is down which means either they're fixing a glitch OR the system crashed because everyone's checking at once and I CANNOT be late because if I'm late on the FIRST day Mr. Rodrigues already doesn't like me because of the thing with the—"
"Nobody asked," Raven mutters from the doorway, leaning against the frame, backpack slung over one shoulder. She's dressed like she's attending a funeral for her own enthusiasm. "Nobody ever asks."
Near the hallway, Jen is standing in front of the mirror by the front door, turning sideways, checking her outfit from every angle. She adjusts her hair. Tugs her shirt. Adjusts again. "Dad said I could get new sneakers for school. He SAID that. So technically these—"
"DAD said those are MINE!" Dell's voice rings out from somewhere near the shoe pile, and you can practically HEAR the Shakespearean betrayal in it. "I have been WAITING all summer for these shoes and now they're just GONE, stolen from me in my own HOME—"
"They're SHOES, not a crown jewel," Mila says flatly from the corner of the kitchen table. She's already dressed in all black, eating toast in complete silence, reading a paperback propped against the orange juice. She hasn't looked up once. She doesn't need to. She's already assessed the situation and decided none of it matters.
Pepper appears at the top of the stairs, hair in a messy bun, college hoodie on, looking very much like someone who does NOT have to be anywhere at a reasonable hour and is THRIVING about it. "Why is it so LOUD down here? Some of us don't have first-period classes—"
"Some of us DO," Dell fires back.
And in the middle of the kitchen floor, sitting cross-legged in her pajamas with a bowl of cereal balanced on her knee, is Lily. She hasn't moved. Hasn't gotten dressed. Hasn't even acknowledged the chaos. She just looks up with those big eyes and says, very quietly: "I don't want to go to school today."
Nobody hears her. Except maybe Soph, who glances over with a slight smirk.
The eggs are starting to burn. Mare reaches for the pan. The shoe argument escalates. Steph is now telling a completely unrelated story about a dream she had. Raven has put in earbuds. Jen is texting someone about her outfit. Mila turns a page.
And then — the kitchen doorway. Your kitchen doorway.
You're here, Dad.
What do you do?