Novels by Murneeyca

HarrietHonestly, dragging myself to school today was the last thing I wanted to do. Seriously, if I could’ve stayed in bed this morning, bundled up in my comfy blanket, with just my thoughts for company, I would have done it in a heartbeat. But of course, that wasn’t in the cards.My mom decided it was time to play the role of the alarm clock from hell. She knocked on my door like a tax collector demanding payment, urging me to get up and face the world. So, here I stood at the entrance of this dreaded institution we call school, side by side with Zoe, who somehow always manages to radiate positivity even on the crummiest days. I felt like I might throw up; the anxiety was crawling up my ribs, threatening to escape.“Come on, H! You’ll be just fine,” Zoe chirped, casually looping her arm through mine, as if she could physically anchor me to the ground. I shot her a skeptical glance. Zoe was the type of person who saw sunshine in even the cloudiest of skies. She was basically a wal

NickHockey was my everything for as long as I could remember.I wasn’t some prodigy when I started. Actually, I sucked. Could barely stay on my feet. I was that kid who fell during the warm-up laps and took a puck to the face during my first game.But I kept going. Skated until my ankles bled. Got up after every fall. Worked harder than anyone else I knew because I had something to prove—to myself, to my dad, to anyone who looked at me like I was just another hotshot with rich parents.Now? I was at the top of my game.Captain of Crestwood’s varsity team. Leading scorer in the division. My name was already being passed around in D1 scouting circles. One recruiter even drove three hours just to watch me glide across the ice for fifteen minutes.If I kept playing like this, I wouldn’t need my parents’ trust fund. Wouldn’t need their names. I’d get out on my own merit,with a full ride, my future paid for in bruises and blocked shots.And that? That mattered more than anything.---Prac

HarrietDoing a slow 360 in front of the full-length mirror mounted to my wall had basically become my morning ritual. I lifted the hem of my plain grey shirt, and—yep—there they were. The stomach rolls. First thing I saw. Always. Then my eyes jumped to my breasts, then back to my stomach, then to the inner battle in my head.Maybe I should just stay home today.Skip the cruelty, the whispers, the not-so-quiet laughter. Pretend I was sick and avoid another round of “Look who’s trying to fit into jeans again.”*Knock knock.*“Harriet! Come down for breakfast or you’ll be late!” my mum shouted from downstairs.Her voice cut through my thoughts like a blade so I yanked my shirt down, exhaled, and gave my mirror self a flat stare.This was me.Hi.I’m Harriet Avery. Female, if that wasn’t obvious. Seventeen. A Senior at Crestwood High—a hellhole politely disguised as a school, ruled by hockey gods and the spray-tanned cheerleaders who orbit them like glittery little moons.Okay, maybe not