Chapter 4 The Morning Storm

“Quick, Stacey, let’s go.” Her mother barged into the room, her voice clipped and brisk. She stopped cold at the sight of Stacey still curled under the duvet, her back turned stiff and silent. 

“Young lady, what is going on here?” Her voice tightened like a pulled thread, thick with rising irritation. She matched across the room in her white hospital scrubs, yanking the duvet off Stacey’s body with one swift, practiced motion—like she was confronting a stubborn patient who refused to cooperate.

Stacey didn’t flinch. Her jaw was locked tight, her eyes dry but burning, and her body coiled with defiance.

“Stacey, I do not have time for your drama right now. I am running late,” her mother barked.

Stacey remained curled up, chin raised slightly as if daring her to say more.

“Stacey!” her mother snapped, her voice rising in frustration.

“I’m not going. Isn’t that obvious?” Stacey shot back, each word edged with heat.

“Stacey, I said I do not have time—”

“Then you can go,” Stacey cut her off, her voice brittle and sharp.

“Watch your tone, young lady,” her mother warned, stepping closer.

“It’s all your fault.” Stacey sat up now, arms folded across her chest like a shield. Her mother blinked, taken aback.

“Are we doing this again?”

“Yes.”

“No. I’m giving you five minutes to get ready—”

“I’m not! Why do we always have to move?” Her voice cracked as anger swelled. “I have no real friends. No built life. No roots. Hell—where am I even from? All we do is move.”

“Stace—” Her mother’s voice faltered. She bit down on her words.

“I hate that school. I hate it. They’re all rude. Nobody even looks at you.”

“My darling, we don’t go to school for people. You go to learn—”

“No! My life was finally starting to feel perfect at St. James, and then you took me away. Just like you always do. You’re ruining my life!” Her voice broke into sobs now, her shoulders trembling.

“Dad!” her mother called out, voice cracking in desperation. “Dad! Dad, come talk to your granddaughter. I do not have time for this nonsense this morning.”

The door creaked open and shut quietly. “What are you both up to this morning?” Grandpa Alonso stepped into the room, his eyes red with sleep, a deep crease forming on his brow.

“Talk to her.” Her mother pointed furiously toward the bed. Stacey rolled her eyes and looked away, her chest still heaving.

“Little bird?” Grandpa’s voice softened. He raised one brow, stepping closer.

“Papa, I don’t want to go to school.” Her words came out shaky, barely more than a whisper. Tears spilled again, warm and relentless.

“Why, baby?” He moved to sit beside her on the edge of the bed, his presence a quiet balm. Her mother huffed and clipped her tongue in exasperation.

“I don’t like it there.”

“I thought we talked about this last night,” he said gently.

Stacey shook her head, silent, and Grandpa Alonso watched her with quiet confusion.

“Dad, tell her to get ready. I’m running late,” her mother cut in.

“Elizabeth, keep quiet.” Grandpa’s voice was calm but firm. Stacey looked up then, guilt flickering beneath her anger. She didn’t like when he scolded her mom in front of her, no matter how upset she was.

“What’s wrong?” he asked again, facing Stacey fully now.

“I don’t think I can survive my last year of high school at Blue Ville…”

“That’s the best school here — with that elite athlete boy, Derrick something. You know that, right?” her mother interjected quickly.

“Elizabeth.” Grandpa Alonso’s sharp look silenced her.

“Stacey, you’re not saying anything yet,” he said gently.

Stacey took her phone from under the pillow. Her hands trembled as she opened the video. She pressed play and passed it to him. The muffled sound of laughter filled the room — the echo of students laughing at her, her image frozen mid-fall on the classroom floor.

Grandpa watched silently, his face hardening as the video played.

“I can’t face them,” Stacey whispered. The tears came again, fast and unstoppable. “Papa, they’re so mean.”

He pulled her into his arms, holding her as her sobs shook her small frame.

“Shhhhh… Little bird, you’ll be late for school,” he whispered, stroking her hair.

“I’m not going…” she said stubbornly, still tucked into his embrace.

“You can cry when you come back.” He raised her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes.

“Dad, I’m late for work!” her mother snapped.

“Did you ask her what was wrong?” Grandpa Alonso didn’t even turn to look at his daughter.

“Don’t you get it, Dad? I’m supposed to be at work, and she’s making me run late!”

“Maybe if you had asked her what was wrong, you both would’ve been on your way now.”

“I tried.”

“Well, you didn’t try harder.”

“Seriously, Dad—” She stared between them, hands raised. “I can’t do this right now.” She stormed toward the door, her voice sharp with finality. “And you better go to school, Stace. My money won’t be wasted.”

She slammed the door behind her.

“Go get dressed for school,” Grandpa said softly, letting her go and standing.

He walked to the door, paused, and looked back at her.

“And whatever happens today… keep your head up.”

Stacey wiped her eyes and nodded, but something in her gut twisted.

She had a feeling today wouldn’t be just another day.