Olympiczero

This remains one of my all time favorite stories. You did an absolutely amazing job!

I use AI for a number of things when writing: As @BabySofia mentioned, names are one. I am a very visual learner too, so I have used it in the past to generate floorplans of homes/schools/other locations my characters frequent, town maps, generating images for specific bedrooms I describe and create. SketchUp is a great tool for floorplans, not sure if anyone else uses that. I don't rely on AI for the description of any building, but just to help me visualize what I am creating when I write, show where doors/hallways are located, etc... This also helps me stay consistent (though I fail regularly) with where dressers, beds, rooms, shops and other locations, are throughout the story. I usually print the layouts out once done. That way I have them handy with me when I write, and don't need to consult more than one screen. The most helpful thing AI does for me though is helps me keep track of my characters relationships. I am not great with remembering names, especially if I name a character a few chapters earlier who does not make a reappearance for a bit. Rather than hunt the name down by trying to remember where I wrote about them, I use AI to keep a list of characters, usually by Family Group, and print those out as well. If a character (as mine tend to) changes in a story, I can note next to their name in multiple Family Groups what chapters/ages they are while in that group. I know I could do all of this by hand, but using AI helps for a few reasons but one more than others 1) my handwriting and artistry are terrible. When I was writing my first story, I started with hand drawn floorplans and family lists, and by Chapter 15 or so, couldn't figure out half of what I had written down. I also don't have to fear losing all my papers which happens enough with my actual job, I don't need to exacerbate the problem. Having everything in one place where I can pull it up quickly is helpful. I I thought about this a long time before responding. I am generally impartial to the idea of requiring AI tags FWIW. Among those suggested, I like the idea of tagging stories best. But I see a potential issue with it; who is the arbiter of what is and is not AI written? If an author doesn't tag their story as AI, can a mod compel them to do so if the mod feels that the story is AI? Does it get put to a vote among mods? I'd hate the forum to devolve into infighting about what it and isn't AI, and the potential to chill writers from wanting to participate in contributing to the story forum out of fear that they. Writing here has been so therapeutic for me at times, I'd hate to feel as though I was denying someone that benefit. Personally, my solution is simply to not read stories i don't enjoy. Just thought I would offer my two cents, but I defer to more seasoned members here as I am sure there are consequences I've not considered in coming to my conclusion.

Chapter 10 - Lillian Carter Lillian could hardly believe an entire week had passed. Between the whirlwind of classes, navigating her way through Seabrook High, and juggling the social aspect of making and managing new friends, the days had blurred together. Monday had been a little hectic, unfamiliar, but by Friday, a routine had settled over her days. And yet, something still felt... off. Tuesday had started with a sluggish haze. She had overslept, jolting awake to Nora shaking her shoulder with an exasperated sigh. "Lil, come on! We have to go! We're going to miss the bus." Scrambling, she threw on the first thing she could find, barely managing to shove a granola bar into her bag before sprinting out the door. The morning air had been humid, and it hadn't helped that she didn't take the time to put herself together. The school day itself had passed in a mix of classroom introductions and syllabus explanations. Her storage cubby was two down from Briella’s, so they spent a lot of time between classes chatting. Lunch was a bit of a surprise when Eleanor decided to sit with a girl she had told Lillian was in her English class. "We have to work together on brainstorming some ideas for our stories, so this was a time that worked for us both," Eleanor had explained on the bus that morning. Even though Sophie and Briella told her at their lunch table that the girl - Olivia - had been in school with them for years and was a bit of an oddball, Lillian was still happy that Eleanor was making friends on her own. Tuesday afternoon had also been nice because she and Eleanor had their first class together - physics. Lillian made sure to save Eleanor a seat next to her, disappointing three different classmates who asked if the spot had been open. When Nora finally walked in, she gave Lillian a nod of approval before sliding into the saved seat. "Nice. I was worried I’d get stuck next to someone who thinks physics is a personality trait." Lillian smirked. "You mean like Mr. Notes over there?" She jerked her head toward a boy in the front row, already scribbling equations in his notebook like they were about to have a pop quiz. Eleanor snorted. "Exactly." Their teacher, Mr. Jones, was an older man with salt-and-pepper hair and an easygoing attitude that made even the most daunting equations seem approachable. "Alright, everyone," he began, leaning against his desk. "Today, we’re diving into motion and acceleration. How many of you have ever tossed something up in the air and watched it fall back down?" A few hands went up, including Lillian's. Lillian chuckled to herself as she turned and expectedly saw that Nora had kept her hand down by her side. "Great. Now, who can tell me what forces are at play?" The class ended with an explanation of a group project they would get to do in pairs. Not unexpectedly, the twins didn't even need to speak to know they would work together. Wednesday had been better. Lillian was ready for the bus that morning, and felt better about the start of her day. She was slowly learning the rhythms of each class. They weren't too different in terms of arriving at class, paying attention, taking notes, and so on. But there was so much less time spent lecturing, and more time spent practically applying things that had been taught, or working to figure things out on their own, or often in small groups. In Wednesday's first class, Ms. Harper, her English teacher, had assigned a short creative writing project due at the end of the month. Rather than have the students start it at home, she broke them out into small groups of four to start brainstorming ideas. Lillian was happy Abby had introduced her to Maddie, as they were assigned to the same small group with two other students that were a bit younger than Lillian. Thursday had been the best day thus far. It had started the same as the morning prior, with Lillian being ready for the bus, mug of coffee in a to-go-cup in her hand as she waited excitedly next to Eleanor at the bus stop. School moved in its usual ebb and flow. That morning Abby and Lillian each had a first period that started later in the day, so they sat together in homeroom chatting and working on some assignments. It was a different vibe, to just have time to work on school at school, not be in class, and go over your assignments with other students. At one point, Lillian approached a guy she recognized from her physics class, who helped her work out one of the problems Mr. Jones had sent them home with. Having the space and environment to work with other students turned out to be really productive and enjoyable. Later that morning, Lillian went to her first advanced math class, which she had secretly been looking forward to all week. Math had always been her strongest subject—the prospect of having a class to show off a bit in excited her. The room itself was different from the others: fewer desks, a whiteboard covered in complex equations she didn’t immediately recognize, and a teacher, Mr. Ellis, who barely glanced up as students shuffled in. Lillian found a seat near the middle, glancing at the students around her. Most looked comfortable, some even eager, and all either her age or older than her. The boy next to her had a neat row of mechanical pencils laid out in front of him, set out in a design to create the illusion it was shaped like a rooster - or maybe a chicken. Lillian decided that he was a good neighbor to have in an otherwise serious class. "Mind if I join you?" she asked, as she took the seat before he could answer "Not at all," the boy replied. "Mason Winters," he said, stretching his hand out. Lillian shook his hand, a firm grasp around her soft hand. "You must be one of the Carter twins. Care to spare me the embarrassment of guessing and tell me which?" Lillian chuckled. "I'm actually the third triplet," she said with an undertone of sarcasm. "Henrietta, of course." Lillian could tell based on Mason's expression that he really wasn't sure if she was serious. Before she could correct him, however, class had started. "Alright," Mr. Ellis finally spoke, clapping his hands together. "Welcome to Advanced Mathematical Concepts. If you’re in this room, you’re here because someone thinks you can handle it. Whether you can, well—that remains to be seen." He launched into a discussion about number theory, tossing out terms like modular arithmetic and prime factorization with the expectation that everyone already understood. Lillian took notes furiously, her pencil flying across the page. These were concepts she was very familiar with, but she wrote down copious notes anyway. At one point, Mr. Ellis asked a question about the Fibonacci sequence. Lillian hesitated. She knew this—she was sure she did—but when she opened her mouth, the answer felt jumbled - so she shut it quickly. The girl beside her answered instead, her voice crisp and confident. After class, she gathered her things, and received a quick goodbye from Mason. "See you around, Henrietta," he said with a wink, having learned from one of Mr. Ellis's earlier questions that her name, was in fact, Lillian. By the time she met up with Nora later, she was quieter than usual. "How was math?" Nora asked. "Pretty great," Lillian replied automatically. By the time Friday rolled around, Lillian was exhausted. It wasn’t just the schoolwork or practicing for soccer tryouts next week; it was this odd, strange, creeping sense that something wasn’t quite right. She had brushed it off, telling herself it was just the stress of the move, of adjusting. Having Eleanor with her - and seeing how well her sister had been adjusting - was a relief, however, and made it easy to shut out the queasy feeling that kept coming back. The cafeteria buzzed with the usual lunchtime energy—laughter, the scrape of plastic trays, and the occasional burst of excitement from a nearby table. Eleanor sat beside Lillian, absently poking at her fries while Jasmine animatedly scrolled through her phone. Across from them, Briella sipped from a bottle of sparkling water, her neatly manicured fingers drumming against the table, and Sophie nibbled on a sandwich, listening intently. “So, are we doing this or not?” Jasmine asked, setting her phone down with a triumphant grin. “That new horror movie, Shadows in the Deep, is playing at the Seabrook Theater tonight. Eight o’clock. Perfect Friday night plans.” Lillian perked up, eyes lighting with interest. “Oh, I saw the trailer for that! It looks so creepy. I’m in.” Eleanor hesitated, biting the inside of her cheek. Lillian knew that she didn’t love horror movies, but also knew Eleanor wasn’t about to be the only one backing out. “Uh, sure. Why not?” Briella made a face, twirling the cap back onto her water bottle. “Ugh, horror isn’t really my thing. I prefer movies where people aren’t getting chased by… whatever monster is in this one.” “It’s not a monster. Well, at least a monster isn't like the center of it all. It’s about a haunted lighthouse,” Jasmine corrected. “Which is basically perfect, considering where we live.” “Oh, so instead of a monster, we get a bunch of flickering lights and creepy whispers?” Briella rolled her eyes, but there was amusement behind it. "Oh wait, and probably still a monster!" “Exactly!” Sophie chimed in, finally setting down her sandwich. “I love stuff like that. There’s something extra eerie about it, you know? Feels more real. Especially since after we leave, we'll be able to see the old Deacon's lighthouse from the theater. Oooooooooooh, Ooooooooh” she added, with a creepy inflection. Jasmine pointed at her. “That’s the spirit. I knew you had good taste.” Lillian nudged Briella. “Come on, it’ll be fun. Besides, don’t you have that ridiculous designer blanket? You can just hide under it if you get too scared.” Briella huffed. “Fine. But I’m getting the biggest bucket of popcorn, and I’m not sharing.” Jasmine clapped her hands together. “Deal. So, we meet at the theater at seven-thirty?” “Wait,” Eleanor interrupted. “How are we getting there?” Lillian could tell that Eleanor was perhaps hoping there would be no good answer. If Eleanor had her way, they would stay at someone's house and hang out. Or maybe sit in a circle and read. “My parents can drive us there, but you're on your own to get home,” Sophie offered. “Perfect,” Jasmine said. “It’s settled. Girls’ night, a terrifying movie, and Briella cowering under her blanket. I can’t wait.” Briella sighed dramatically but didn’t argue. Lillian was grinning excitedly. It felt as normal as it had since they had moved to Seabrook; A night out with friends. _________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ The sky had just begun its slow descent into dusk when the group of girls arrived at the Seabrook Grand. It was a historic theater nestled between the saltwater taffy shop the twins had passed on their first day in town, and an old-fashioned ice cream parlor right on Main Street, not far from the market they had shopped at. A glowing marquee announced tonight’s feature: Shadows in the Deep, the summer’s most talked-about thriller. Two other movies were listed below that, likely playing in the smaller of the three theaters the Grand boasted. The theater was small in comparison to the megaplexes they were used to going to. Yet, this theater had a certain charm about it that couldn't be replicated or preserved in a big city. Seabrook didn’t get big movie premieres, but that didn’t stop the locals from treating opening weekends like an event. The line stretched down the sidewalk fairly long, a mix of families, teenagers, and more than a few couples holding hands, all waiting to step into the cool, dark comfort of the theater. Lillian walked beside Nora, clutching both of their tickets as the five girls joined the line. Briella was already up ahead, wearing a navy sundress and white sandals, her blonde hair swaying with every animated gesture she made. No designer blanket was in sight. Sophie stood beside her, arms crossed, nodding along as Briella recounted something that made a group of girls laugh. Lillian and Nora joined them with their tickets, Lillian bubbling in anticipation. Nora wasn't entirely sure this was how she wanted to be spending her Friday night. 'But what choice did I really have?' she reminded herself. She wasn't about to shoot down her first - and potentially only - chance to make friends. 'This is what they wanted to see,' Nora told herself, taking a deep breath in an effort to quell her uneasy stomach. 'You can manage.' Shadows in the Deep was set in a fictional town eerily similar to Seabrook—fishing boats, lighthouses, misty mornings, and all. A sunken ship, a vengeful ghost, a monster lurking beneath the waves. It was practically made for a summer town like Seabrook, and while Lillian was getting excited, Nora was not really into scary movies. Turning, Lillian saw that her sister's face didn't carry the same level of enthusiasm, and so she extended some words of comfort. "You going to be okay?" Lillian whispered to Eleanor. Eleanor nodded in response, and whispered something, but it was too quiet to hear. "We can always leave, if you have to" Lillian said reassuringly. And she meant it. Lillian wouldn't abandon her sister. The line shuffled forward. Briella glanced over her shoulder at the illuminated theater doors. “I hope we get good seats. I refuse to sit in the front row.” Lillian took Eleanor's hand, and tugged her along. Eventually, the five girls made it inside, the scent of buttered popcorn and candy thick in the air. After coordinating and purchasing snacks—popcorn, a box of chocolate-covered raisin, some gummies, and a few sodas, they made their way to the theater quickly. The theater wasn’t huge, but it had charm, with velvet curtains framing the screen and gold trim along the walls. Fortunately, Jasmine was able to spot five seats together, between two groups, with a perfect view of the screen. The moment the lights dimmed, a hush fell over the crowd. Previews rolled, and then, finally, the opening credits flickered to life. After a lengthy preview which took them on a fake roller coaster through space, and a warning to turn all their phones off (something each of the girls other than Eleanor had neglected to do), the feature started. The movie started slow—crashing waves, a shipwreck in a storm, a figure watching from the cliffs. But then came the first real scare: a hand, pale and bloated, reaching out from the dark waters. Eleanor audibly gasped and shrank into her seat, clutching her sweater tightly, before it was revealed that it was just the harbormaster, innocently climbing up onto the docks. Eleanor was not alone in gasping in the theater, but Lillian checked on her regardless. “You okay?” Lillian whispered. Eleanor nodded, but never resurfaced from clutching her sweater. Halfway through the movie, Lillian first felt it—a slight discomfort in her lower abdomen. She ignored it, shifting in her seat and telling herself she’d be fine. She had gone to the bathroom before the movie started, before they left the house. 'Didn't I.....?' Lillian tried to remember, but her mind was too preoccupied with the eerie music filling the theater, and so she adjusted herself in her seat, and focused on the movie instead. As the minutes passed and the tension on screen escalated, so did the pressure in her bladder. Lillian shifted again, squeezing her knees together. The feeling wasn’t urgent. Not yet. She could hold it. She had to. The idea of getting up in the middle of a packed theater, climbing over people, and drawing attention to herself made her stomach twist. Worse, the girls would all think she left because she was scared. 'And then there's Eleanor...' Lillian thought. 'I can't leave her in this movie by herself.' She would need to hold it - she was practically an adult. It wouldn't be that hard. It was harder than she anticipated. Lillian stole a glance at Eleanor, who was completely sunk into her seat, almost as if she was physically trying to get away from the screen. Lillian didn't want to bother her sister, nor did she want to embarrass herself in front of Briella, Sophie, or Jasmine. Lillian took another deep breath and focused on the screen. The film had reached a particularly suspenseful scene—a dark, abandoned house, a single creaking floorboard, the protagonist stepping hesitantly into the shadows of the cellar they discovered beneath the lighthouse. The tension was almost unbearable, and the entire audience seemed to be holding their breath. Lillian clenched her fists, willing herself to ignore the growing need to go. Then, the scare hit. A grotesque figure leaped out of the shadows with a piercing shriek, and the entire theater erupted in gasps and startled yelps. Lillian jumped, her body tensing involuntarily—and suddenly, the discomfort turned into something far more urgent. 'Oh no.' It was all Lillian could think. She couldn’t wait any longer. There was no holding it. A cold sweat broke out on her forehead as she realized she had mere seconds before she lost control completely. Panicked, she grabbed Eleanor’s arm. “Nora,” she whispered frantically. “I need to go. Now.” Eleanor turned to her, confused. “What?” “Bathroom. Now. I can’t wait. Come with me.” Eleanor’s eyes flicked to the screen, then back to Lillian. “Now?” “Yes, now. Now, Eleanor. Now." Seeing the sheer desperation in her twin’s expression, Eleanor didn’t question it further. She quickly gathered her jacket and bag, then stood up. Lillian followed suit, practically crawling over Briella and Sophie, before uttering rushed apologies to other patrons as they squeezed past them. The row felt endless, and every step was agonizing. Lillian could feel the eyes of the other moviegoers burning into her back as she hurried along, blocking their view of the screen. Someone muttered an annoyed “Seriously?” and another let out an exasperated sigh. Lillian didn’t care. She just needed to get out. By the time they reached the aisle, she wasn’t walking anymore. She was running as quickly as she could with her legs pressed together.. Eleanor barely had time to keep up as Lillian bolted for the exit, pushing the heavy theater door open and rushing into the dimly lit hallway. The moment she spotted the glowing restroom sign, she sprinted toward it, bursting into the nearest stall and fumbling with the button on her jeans. “Come on, come on,” she muttered under her breath, her fingers shaking as she struggled to undo them. The relief was so close—too close. Just as she got the button undone and yanked down her jeans, she barely managed to sit before it was too late. A heavy sigh of relief left her lips as the tension drained from her body. It had been way too close. From outside the stall, Eleanor’s voice carried through. “Are you okay?” Lillian groaned, rubbing her face. “Barely.” Eleanor let out a small laugh. “You really waited until the last second, huh?” “I thought I could hold it,” Lillian admitted, embarrassed. “I didn’t want to miss the movie. And I definitely didn’t want to crawl over Briella in the middle of a scary scene.” Eleanor snorted. “Well, that plan worked out great. I won't lie....I was pretty spooked about that last part. You can just say I needed to step out. I...I don't mind." Lillian sighed again, but this time there was a trace of humor in it. “Shut up. It's fine. I'll tell them I needed to pee, and that I didn't want to go alone. If there are monsters in a lighthouse, why not a toilet," Lillian jested, lightly elbowing her sister. She finished up, washed her hands quickly, and met Eleanor by the door. The hallway was quiet, the only sound the faint hum of the other movies playing in different theaters. For a moment, neither of them moved. Then, Eleanor smirked. “You practically ran out of there. I think you scared the people sitting behind us more than the movie did.” Lillian groaned, covering her face with her hands. “Don’t remind me.” Shaking her head, Lillian nudged Eleanor’s shoulder. “Let’s just get back before we miss the ending.” They made their way back into the theater, slipping through the doors just as another suspenseful moment played out on screen. Carefully, they shuffled down the row again, whispering apologies as they took their seats. Briella gave Lillian a knowing look, but didn’t say anything. Sophie just smirked, clearly amused. The movie was reaching its climax now, the tension building once again. This time, Lillian was able to focus; no more bladder distractions, no discomfort, just the thrill of the film. As the final scare played out and the credits rolled, the theater erupted into a mix of laughter, chatter, and a few relieved sighs. Lillian listened as Eleanor let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “Okay,” Lillian said, standing and stretching. “That was actually really good.” Sophie grinned. “Yeah, but did you missed the part....” “Shhh!” Briella interrupted, holding up a hand. “Let’s talk outside. I do not want to be that group.” They all chuckled, gathering their things and filing out of the theater. As they stepped into the lobby, Lillian threw an arm around Eleanor’s shoulders, a teasing grin on her face. “Thanks, by the way..." Lillian shot her a playful glare but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at her lips. Despite the embarrassing ordeal, the night had been fun. And, at the very least, she’d learned her lesson. Next time, she wasn’t taking any chances; she'd definitely stop by the bathroom before the movie started. “That was so much better than I thought it’d be,” Briella gushed. It was apparently a better place to speak, as Eleanor and Lillian joined the other girls outside the theater, waiting for their parents to show up. “I mean, I knew it was gonna be good, but wow.” “The way they shot the underwater scenes? Amazing,” Jasmine added. Nora stretched her arms over her head. “I need a second to recover. My heart is still racing.” Lillian smiled at that, with some surprise. 'I can't believe she's actually functioning after that movie.' In an effort to help her sister feel a bit better, she threw her a bone too. “I don’t think I’ll be sleeping so well tonight. That was scarier than I thought it would be." Briella grinned. “Guess We know why you ran out of the theater then. Next time, just admit you were scared. Don't need to make up a bathroom lie!" Outside the theater, streetlights flickered on, casting pools of golden light along the boardwalk. The ocean was close enough that you could hear the waves crashing in against the rocks beneath the boardwalk. Deacon lighthouse was alive in the distance, guiding ships away from Seabrook's shore. Soon, headlights swept across the street, and the Carters' car pulled up. Mom was driving, and Dad leaned over from the passenger seat, smiling as the sisters waved goodbye to the other girls, and climbed in. “Have fun?” their mom asked. “So much fun,” Lillian responded, still caught in the afterglow of the movie. Nora, less dramatic, simply nodded. “Yeah. It was good.” As we drove home, the town rolled past in sleepy stillness. The shops were closing, lights winking out one by one. The harbor was dark, the boats swaying gently in the water. Lillian let her head rest against the window, watching everything blur together. Once home, Lillian trudged upstairs without another word. Her room was just as she’d left it, and she collapsed onto the bed without taking her clothes off. Lillian turned to say goodnight to Nora, but she had already disappeared into her own room. Mustering up a bit of energy, Lillian picked herself up and walked over to her dresser to change into pajamas, before heading into their bathroom to brush her teeth, and wash her face. It was a surprise, when Lillian returned to her room, that she even noticed it. Between the long week at school, the late movie, and perhaps adjusting from the move, she was ready to just crawl under the covers and go to sleep. But even in her state of exhaustion, the change caught her attention. There, sitting where she had left it, was the hourglass. The top remained filled, sitting at the juncture it shared with its bottom half. Lillian's eyes traced the timekeeper from top to bottom, once again admiring the craftsmanship. Hey eyes split the middle, where the sand appeared steady and unwavering. As her eyes traced their way downward, all seemed ordinary. Except now, a thin layer of sand sat at the bottom of the hourglass, just barely covering the bottom of the lower chamber. "Huh. I must have missed that."

Pistachio. Gotta have real nuts in it though, I need that CRUNCH! Lol

Thanks kerry - I'm glad to have you following along again! Always appreciate your feedback. I'm hoping to get into some more of the fantasy elements as we move forward in the story. I'm glad you're enjoying the world building, and hope you enjoy where it goes! Thanks so much! Glad you're enjoying it! As usual, your support is so very much appreciated!

It's a nice chapter, well done! Some advice I received here that I try to keep in mind when writing dialogue versus someone's mental thoughts, is to use "double quotations for dialogue," and 'single quotations for mental thoughts.' It allows the reader to more easily distinguish. See below for an example from your latest chapter. Instead of the above you could do "Of course, mo...*gulp* Sarah, glad to help," I replied. I then thought to myself 'whew, that was close. I almost said 'mommy' in front of Julia. I'm going to have to watch that.' WBDaddy wrote very helpful reference guide I keep up whenever I write. You should check it out - I've linked it below. Just paying it forward. I look forward to your next chapters!

Chapter 9 - Eleanor Carter Echoes of the Bay: A Historical Account of Seabrook’s Landmarks Nestled on a windswept bluff overlooking the harbor, St. Mary’s Church stands as one of Seabrook’s oldest surviving landmarks. Built in 1761 by the town’s early settlers, the church was originally a modest wooden structure serving the devout Catholic families who had come to the Maryland coast seeking religious freedom. By 1803, the congregation had outgrown the original chapel, and the townspeople—led by shipwrights and masons whose skills had been honed in Seabrook’s booming maritime trade—laid the foundation for the stone church that still remains today.in 1895, the year of the foundation of Seabrook's historical society, St. Mary's church was issued Seabrook's first every historical landmark certification, and is one of several buildings protected within the city limits. The Hartford family, one of Seabrook’s founding lineages, played a central role in the construction and financing of St. Mary’s. Records suggest that Peter Hartford, a merchant and shipowner, commissioned a set of three bells from a foundry in Philadelphia in 1805, intended as a gift to the church. Each bell bore an inscription: Vox Dei Per Mare Et Ventum—“The voice of God through sea and wind.” Local legend, however, tells a darker tale. On the night the bells arrived in Seabrook, a violent nor’easter swept through the harbor. The ship carrying them, The Providence, never made it to shore. Witnesses reported hearing the bells ringing across the water as the vessel sank, dragged beneath the waves by the storm’s fury. Though divers and salvage crews searched in the years that followed, the bells were never recovered. It is unclear if the local legend is merely a re-telling of history. It is equally unclear if the original bells were ever installed at St. Mary's. What is known, is that St. Mary’s commissioned a new set of bells in 1812, cast from locally sourced metal. The bells were replaced several times until 1995, when the last set of bells were removed, and have not been replaced as of the date of this publication. But even today, Seabrook’s fishermen and sailors claim that when a storm brews on the horizon, you can still hear the lost bells of St. Mary’s tolling from beneath the waves—a warning from the past, echoing through wind and tide. Eleanor traced her finger along the last line of the passage, reading it one more time before closing the book. A warning from the past, echoing through wind and tide. The words sent a shiver up her spine, though she wasn’t sure if it was from the eerie legend or the cool morning air filtering through the cracked bus window. With a sigh, she shut the book and tucked it into her bag, finally letting her mind shift to the present. The weight of reality settled on her shoulders—her first day at Seabrook High. The bus rattled as it rolled over the uneven pavement, and Eleanor glanced out the window. Morning mist still clung to the edges of the road, blurring the dense trees that lined the street. Seabrook looked different in the early hours—quieter, more solemn than it had the day before when she and Lillian had wandered the boardwalk after church, soaking in the last bits of summer. Now, with the sun barely risen, everything felt suspended in time, like the whole town had shifted forward to something else. A soft nudge against her shoulder made her turn. Lillian was grinning, her knee bouncing in excitement. “You were really in that book, weren’t you?” she teased. “I tried talking to you earlier, but I don’t think you even blinked. Do you even breath when you read?” Eleanor rolled her eyes. “I was reading about St. Mary’s actually. You know, the missing bells?” “Of course you were.” Lillian smirked, then shrugged. “There was something in there about that? That's cool I guess." "Ya, this whole thing about a shipwreck, and the original bells. It's actually kind of exciting." Lillian only hummed in response, stretching her legs into the aisle. Lillian had chosen a pair of denim shorts and a loose tank top layered under a zip-up hoodie. Her long ginger hair was tied back in a casual ponytail, the exact opposite of Eleanor’s carefully brushed and pinned waves. While Lillian had thrown together an outfit at the last minute, Eleanor had spent an embarrassing amount of time deciding what to wear the night prior, finally settling on dark jeans, a fitted blouse, and her favorite sneakers—comfortable but put-together. First impressions mattered, after all. Their morning had been surprisingly smooth, given it was their first day in a new town. Their parents had been up early, their mom fussing over breakfast while their dad cracked jokes about embarrassing them at the bus stop. They had both opted for the bus instead of a ride to school—something neither of them had ever done before in the city. They had been used to just walking to school, or when they were younger, walking with one of their parents. It felt strange to be among the students milling about at the stop, standing in the crisp September air as the yellow bus creaked to a halt in front of them. But they were already new, and apparently everyone took the bus. They didn't need to be the stuck up city kids who took a fancy car to school and were too good for the bus. Now, as the bus rumbled forward, Eleanor gripped the strap of her backpack, her nerves creeping back in. The reality of starting over hit her all at once. New teachers, new classmates, new hallways to navigate. She had spent years knowing exactly where she fit in back home—her friends, her routine, everything had been comfortable. Here, everything was uncertain. “You’re thinking too much again.” Lillian’s voice broke through her thoughts, light but knowing. Lillian's own black backpack sat on the ground at her feet. Eleanor exhaled sharply. “I can’t help it. What if I can’t find my classes? Or what if I say something weird and no one wants to talk to me? You know I'm going to say something weird. I know I'm going to say something weird!” Lillian scoffed. “El, you do realize most people are probably thinking the exact same thing, right? Besides, you’ll be fine. You’re, like, scarily good at remembering details. School is your thing. And you aren't as bad at talking to people as you pretend. We'll be fine.” Eleanor raised an eyebrow. “You say that like it’s a bad thing. We don't even have a schedule yet to tell us what we'll be doing. I couldn't prepare at all. Where are we even supposed to go when we get there?” “Relax. Just follow everyone else and blend in,” Lillian admitted with a small smile. “But maybe try not to come off as too smart on the first day. Give people time to adjust to your dorkiness.” Eleanor nudged her with her elbow. “Noted.” The bus slowed at another stop, letting in a handful of students. A few glanced their way, likely recognizing them as new, but no one said anything. The bus was already filled with quiet conversations—friends reuniting after summer, younger students whispering about teachers, returning students slouching in their seats with headphones in. Eleanor took a steadying breath. Lillian leaned her head back against the seat, her expression turning thoughtful. “I wonder if we’ll have classes together.” “We have homeroom together, at least.” Eleanor knew that much at least. “And Abby will be in it as well. But after that, I don’t know. We’re taking different electives, and you’re in an advanced math class.” “Ugh, don’t remind me.” Lillian groaned, rubbing her face. “Why did I let Mom talk me into that?” “Because you’re actually good at math?” Eleanor pointed out. “Doesn’t mean I want to suffer through it.” Lillian shook her head, then smirked. “At least I’ll have soccer tryouts next week to look forward to. You should come watch.” Eleanor wrinkled her nose. “You know sports aren’t really my thing.” “Still, it wouldn’t hurt to check out a game or two. Show some sisterly support.” Eleanor sighed but smiled. “You know I'll be there.” The bus took another sharp turn, and through the front windshield, the school came into view. Seabrook High wasn’t as massive as their old school, but it was sprawling, built from weathered brick with ivy creeping up parts of its walls. A wide parking lot stretched in front, already filling with cars as students arrived. Beyond the school, Eleanor could see the glint of the bay in the distance, the water calm beneath the morning sun. Her stomach twisted as the bus pulled up to the curb, students beginning to gather their things. Lillian was already stretching, ready to move, while Eleanor hesitated for just a moment longer. “You ready?” Lillian asked, turning to her. Eleanor exhaled, straightened her shoulders, and nodded. “Yeah. Let’s do this.” The morning started in a flurry of misplaced items and tangled emotions. Eleanor had never been the type to feel truly nervous for school, but today was different. Everything about Seabrook felt off-kilter, and the unfamiliarity of the new Montessori school only adding to the confusion and upheaval of their lives. Eleanor stepped into the building and was immediately struck by how different it felt from her old school. The walls were covered with student projects, and instead of rows of lockers, there were cubbies filled with personal belongings. Students moved through the hallways in an almost chaotic flow, some stopping to chat in clusters, others sprawled on cushions in corners reading or working on projects. It wasn’t like home, where everything was rigidly scheduled, the halls packed with kids marching in single file to their next class. Here, the school felt... loose, unstructured. It made her stomach twist. Eleanor followed Lillian's lead to their homeroom - the only schedule they had thus far. There they found Abby in quick order, who was standing with her friend Maddie. Lillian and Eleanor joined them. 'Sweet bag," Lillian joked, commenting on Abby's pink and pale blue bag that was littered with half-peeled off stickers of animated characters that Abby had clearly tried to peel off. "Thanks cuz," Abby replied sarcastically. "My mom said we just got this bag last year, so I had to use it. I'm hoping I can pull off the ironically cool look. Worst case, I'll just leave it in my cubby and carry my books all year." Eleanor smiled and was about to remark that she actually liked the bag and thought it was cute when their homeroom leader - the name for the teacher that supervised the period - introduced herself as Ms. Cook, and explained how the Montessori system worked a little more. One at a time, students of all ages were called up to collect their schedules, and either loitered in the room, or headed off to their first class which would start in about 20 minutes. Lillian was one of the first called, and quickly zipped off with a wave. Eleanor was called next to last, only Maddie still left in the room, who was plenty nice to chat with. "Woah. It's like seeing double," Ms. Cook remarked playfully. Eleanor wasn't sure if the comment was to lighten the mood at her obvious discomfort, or if Ms. Cook truly was shocked to see how similar she and Lillian looked. Either way, she was used to it. "Yah haha....we get that a lot," Eleanor responded kindly, before accepting her schedule and waving goodbye with some confidence to Maddie. She gripped her schedule tightly, scanning for Room 3A, but the numbering system didn’t seem to follow any logical pattern. She walked down one hallway, then another, only to find herself back where she started. The map the school had given her didn’t seem to help, and she wasn’t even sure if she was looking at it the right way. She stopped a passing student. “Hey, do you know where Room 3A is?” The girl, who looked about Eleanor’s age, glanced up with her large round glasses and shrugged. “Oh, yeah, it’s down that way and then to the left past the art studio.” Eleanor thanked her and took off in the direction the girl had pointed, only to find herself staring at a row of doors labeled with names like Innovation Lab and Independent Study Room. She let out a groan and turned in the opposite direction. Just as she thought she was getting her bearings, a sharp realization struck—she needed to find a bathroom. Immediately. Panic bubbled in her chest as she looked frantically for any sign. Unlike her old school, where bathrooms were clearly marked near every hallway intersection, this place seemed to delight in making things impossible. She sped up her pace, darting past groups of students chatting casually as if the world wasn’t crumbling around her. Her eyes flicked across every door, scanning, scanning—But there was nothing. Dashing with her legs pinched together, Eleanor was relieved as she passed a room that indicated it was the boys bathroom. 'The girl's room can't be far.' Sure enough two more doors down, Eleanor found it. 'Finally! A bathroom.' She pushed through the door, barely making it to a stall in in time to lower her pants and sit. Crisis averted, she washed her hands and took a deep breath. She just had to get through today. That was all. Determined to make it to class without further embarrassment, she quickly consulted her schedule again. Room 3A. She followed another set of hallways until she spotted a door marked 3A - Literature & Humanities. Finally. She slid into a seat just as the teacher began writing on the board. She was safe. She was— “Are you new?” The boy next to her, sporting a short black hair cut and brown eyes, whispered. Eleanor turned. “Yeah, how’d you guess?” “Because this is a philosophy class.” Her heart sank. She grabbed her schedule again, eyes darting to the class list. 3A was her homeroom, not her first-period class. She was supposed to be in Environmental Science. Before she could melt into the floor, the teacher glanced at her with an amused smile. “You must be Eleanor. Your class is two doors down. You’re not the first to end up here by mistake.” Muttering an embarrassed thanks, Eleanor quickly gathered her things and hurried out. Today was going to be long. ________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Eleanor slid her tray along the counter, taking a hesitant glance at the options. The food looked surprisingly decent, but her stomach still felt a little unsettled from her chaotic morning. She opted for the plainest meal she could find; a turkey sandwich, a bottle of water, and an apple, then turned to scan the cafeteria for a place to sit. Before she could start the awkward task of finding an empty table, she spotted Lillian standing up on her chair, and waving her over enthusiastically. “Nora! Over here!” 'Jeez Lillian.' Eleanor thought, as she weaved her way through the tables, finally reaching the one where Lillian sat. Next to her was Briella, perfectly poised with a neatly arranged tray of salad and a sparkling water, and some sort of dip looking item that Eleanor had quickly seen, and skipped over. Across from them were a couple of other girls wearing cheerleading jackets, chatting and laughing between bites of their lunches. “Everyone, this is my sister, Eleanor,” Lillian announced, scooting over to make room for her. “Nora, you remember Briella of course, and that’s Sophie and Jasmine. Kara was here a minute ago, but she ran off somewhere. You'll meet her too” It was the least shocking part of the morning to Eleanor that Lillian already had made half-a-dozen friends. 'At least she didn't forget to sit with me,' Eleanor thought critically, even though she knew her sister would never do such a thing. “Hey, nice to see you again” Briella said with a warm smile. “Lillian’s was just talking about you. She can finally relax now that you're here” “Hopefully good things,” Eleanor said, settling into the seat, as Lillian shot Briella a look. “All good,” Briella assured her. “How was your morning so far? I know Seabrook can be a little bit different. 'You don't say,' Eleanor thought. It was nice that Briella was including her though, so Eleanor thought she ought to at least try to get to know the girl and share. "It was okay, I guess. I...got really lost trying to find my class after homeroom." Eleanor took a small bite of her sandwich, swallowing it before going on. "It was my own fault though. Sort of. I kept looking for my homeroom class by accident thinking it was my Life Science room. Ended up in someone else's philosophy class or something. It was kind of embarrassing." Eleanor took a bigger bite of the sandwich and looked down, not really knowing what to expect reaction wise. But it was someone new who spoke up first. "Oh don't even think about that for a second," the girl identified as Jasmine responded. "Our first year in high school, I spent two weeks in the advanced math class. I knew after the first day it was the wrong class, but I was so nervous, i just stayed there until Mr. Cortez finally deciphered that I was in the very wrong class." The group of girls all laughed, while Eleanor mustered a smile and a quick "Thanks." It did make her feel better, so much so that she felt she could handle a little self deprecation. "It got worse when I couldn't find a bathroom and nearly went in my pants. Suffice it to say, I didn't retain much in life sciences or European history this morning." “Oof,” Sophie winced. “Yeah, the school layout takes a while to get used to. You’ll figure it out.” “Definitely,” Briella agreed. “And hey, at least lunch is a reset button. Food, new friends—fresh start for the second half of the day.” Eleanor found herself relaxing. She hadn’t expected Lillian’s friends to be so welcoming. She hadn't thought for a second they would use the term 'friend,' at least with her, after just one sit down. She’d assumed they’d be polite but mostly ignore her. Instead, Briella was making an effort, and even the other girls were nodding along in agreement. “So, what do you have after lunch?” Jasmine asked, popping a grape into her mouth. “Ummm...English,” Eleanor said, unable to hide her excitement. “I'm excited.” "Are you with Mr. Jurgins?" Jasmine asked, as she played around with her food using her fork. "No. I'm with uhh..Miss Calloway." “Ooh, you're in the advanced English class,” Briella said, nodding approvingly. “That's a really tough class. Miss Calloway is great. Tough, but if you love writing, you’ll love her. She only takes like 5 students in that class. You're probably the only junior too.” “Oh I didn't realize. But I was looking forward to writing.” Eleanor admitted. "Maybe its not the right class for me?" "No its totally fine. That's what's so great about the Montessori system. You'll be fine," Sophie added. "Everyone is used to being in class with students from every age year. My little sister just started her second year and she was in your life sciences class. I'll bet there were new high school students and kids graduating in it too. If you love writing, you'll love Miss Calloway. “She has everyone write a short novel over the course of the year,” Briella added. “It’s intense, but really cool. You get full creative freedom. I heard one year, that girl Jackie Cummings. You remember Soph - the lifeguard there that used to wear that awesome lip gloss. Well I heard she even got her book published, and retired off the sales to some mansion in like, the south somewhere. ” "She did NOT retire and she does NOT own a mansion Brie - my cousin goes to Penn State with her. They are always studying together during school break. She's like, a normal college student." Sophie said, correcting her friend's embellished story. 'Whatever." Briella said, waving Sophie off. "She still totally made a boatload of money. So she's a rich college student. That could be our Nora before we know it!" Eleanor’s excitement grew. And not just at Briella referring to her as "their Nora." A whole year to work on her own novel? That sounded like exactly what she needed. Lillian nudged her. “See? Told you today would get better.” Eleanor gave her a small smile. Maybe she was right. Lunch had turned out better than she expected, and now she had something to look forward to. As the bell rang and the cafeteria buzzed with movement, she grabbed her tray, feeling lighter than she had all morning. ________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ Eleanor slipped into a seat near the middle of the classroom, her fingers curling tightly around the edges of her notebook, new blue pen set on her desk. She still felt the lingering warmth of the friendly lunch conversation, but her nerves resurfaced as she glanced around the room. There were only four other students, an unusually small class, making it impossible to simply blend into the background. The five of them sat in a semi circle formation that had been set up prior to their arrival. Miss Calloway sat at a longer table in front of them, but in close proximity. Three of the students - who Eleanor determined to all be graduating, chatted among themselves like old friends, while a fifth student - the girl with the large, round glasses Eleanor had bumped into that morning - sat quietly next to her. Miss Calloway eyes swept over the students as she adjusted her glasses. She was a woman of presence—tall, with a streak of silver in her otherwise dark hair, dressed in a crisp blouse and an ankle-length skirt. There was an air of quiet authority about her, the kind that made students sit up a little straighter without being asked. “Welcome, everyone,” Miss Calloway began, her voice measured and calm. “This class is different from your other English courses. It is a workshop, an exploration of storytelling, and most importantly, a space where you will create something entirely your own. By the end of this year, each of you will have written a short novel.” Eleanor did her best to sit up a little straighter, her heart skipping with excitement. Next to her, the girl with round glasses and an oversized sweater was nodding eagerly, a small, delighted smile on her face. “Throughout the year,” Miss Calloway continued, “we will discuss structure, character development, and themes, but the direction of your story is entirely up to you. My job is to guide, challenge, and support you, but the words themselves—those are yours alone.” Eleanor glanced down at her notebook, already feeling a dozen ideas flickering in the back of her mind. "One of the advantages of having the small class is that each of you will help edit and develop each other's stories. Each of you will be responsible for providing constructive feedback to each other student - not just one - in the class. This class goes beyond this room, and this school. If you're to put together a product that you're proud of, it will involve you frequently meeting outside of class and working on ideas. The most successful products have come from the closest knit classes I've had in the past - you ought to get to know each other well," She added firmly. “Before we dive in,” Miss Calloway said, stepping up and around her desk, “let’s introduce ourselves. I’d like each of you to share your name and what kind of stories you enjoy reading or writing. Or something that you've always admired about writing, or in books that stand out to you. Let's be open - share - this is a space to develop ideas, and not worry about sounding silly.” The first student to speak up was a petite girl who introduced herself as Eloise Chan. "I love to read a book that challenges me with new ideas, with new life experiences. Something that is hard to read, that you need to reflect your own emotions on after reading. Something that changes you and the way you consider new ideas." It was a brilliant answer, one Eleanor had not been expecting. She would have to think something up fast. The second student to speak was a boy with messy blond hair, slouched in his chair like he had just rolled out of bed. “Hey, I’m Ryan. I like fantasy, science fiction. I really like to push the bounds of reality, but also make sure a world has a strict set of rules. I hate when an author sort of invents a new system half way through a book to justify something that feels like it wasn't thought through." Next was a girl with dark braids and a bright smile. “I’m Simone. I love historical fiction. Something about bringing the past to life is just really cool. I really like when an author connects their own history or past to their novel” Then came the glasses girl. She pushed her glasses up her nose and straightened slightly in her seat. “I’m Olivia. I like mysteries, especially ones with really complex characters. I know some people think they can just be predictable. But to me, its about the journey, and not always the 'Big Reveal.'” Eleanor liked her answer. And so far, each student had answered with some confidence. Eleanor had to the same. 'This is my thing,' she reminded herself. 'I can do this." Eleanor was next. She hesitated for only a moment before speaking. “I’m Eleanor, but most people call me Nora," she articulated with enough force in her voice to portray confidence. "I love anything with really deep world-building. Stories that make you feel like you’re stepping into a whole other place. i like a story that almost forces me to snap back to reality, make me feel like I was really in that space.” Miss Calloway nodded approvingly. “Good. You’ll all have plenty of room to experiment with different styles.” The last student was a quiet boy named Marcus, who admitted, almost shyly, that he preferred writing poetry but wanted to challenge himself with longer stories. Miss Calloway smiled. “Excellent. Now, let’s talk about what makes a story compelling.” As the discussion began, Eleanor found herself fully engaged, the morning’s stress fading into the background. The class was small, but there was something exciting about that—it felt more personal, more focused. And with Olivia seated across from her, sharing knowing glances as they both jotted down notes. As the bell indicating the days end went off, Eleanor felt energized. "El - i mean Nora," Eleanor heard the voice over her shoulder. It was Olivia. "I'm Olivia Hayes - obviously. We just sat together." Eleanor offered the bespectacled girl a comforting smile. "Hi! Of course. Class sounds great, doesn't it?" Eleanor watched as Olivia visibly relaxed. "Ya it does. I am hoping we can work together. Maybe we can hang out some time, at lunch, or even after school, and talk about some ideas? The other kids all seem to know each other already, and I know you're new in town. It'd be nice to hear your fresh ideas." Eleanor really couldn't believe what she was hearing. After a rocky start to the morning, everyone here was being so kind to her. It made the first day much better than she expected. "I'd love that Olivia. Why don't we meet up tomorrow at lunch." Sounds great," Olivia said. "And Liv - or Livy is just fine with me. Only my dad and teachers call me Olivia."

Chapter 8 - James Carter The smell of charcoal and slow-cooked ribs lingered in the humid afternoon air as Jim Carter stepped onto the back patio of the Sullivan home. The gathering was already in full swing, with neighbors and friends chatting in clusters, balancing paper plates piled high with barbecue staples. A cooler filled with drinks sat near the picnic table, its lid propped open as kids darted back and forth, grabbing sodas and bottled water before racing toward the yard. Jim scanned the crowd before spotting Chris Sullivan near the smoker and the grill, tongs in hand, expertly flipping burgers on the latter. The man had an ease about him, a confidence in the way he worked, whether it was behind a grill or on a construction site. Jim had always respected that kind of steady competence. They had always gotten along, and Jim was looking forward to spending more time with him in Seabrook. Jim made his way over, nodding to a few familiar faces along the way. "Chris," Jim said, extending a hand. "Appreciate the invite. Smells amazing." Chris grinned, shaking his hand firmly. "Jim, glad you made it. Figured you’d want a break after walking that lot all morning yesterday." Jim chuckled. "Yeah, my legs are still feeling it. But it was good to see it up close. Got me thinking about next steps." Chris flipped another burger and nodded. "You’ve got a solid piece of land there. Good bones for a development project. We’ll make something worthwhile out of it." "That’s the plan," Jim agreed. "I want to make sure whatever we build fits into Seabrook, not just another generic development. It’s why I was so looking forward to working with you. We'd always discussed it. It's great that it's now a reality." Chris wiped his hands on a kitchen towel draped over his shoulder. "Smart move," he said with a wink. "Town’s protective of its character. We do it right, and people will get behind it. You thinking residential or mixed-use in the end?" Jim took a sip of his drink. "Leaning toward mixed-use. Maybe some storefronts with townhomes above. It's close enough to the town that it can blend right into Main Street. But it'll have to be something that fits the boardwalk’s aesthetic, being closer to the water. Something that still brings in fresh energy." Chris nodded approvingly. "I like it. We’ll need to talk to some of the local business owners, get a feel for what they need. Maybe loop in the historical society too—Kate and now Maggie would love that. It doesn't hurt to have some insiders there." Jim smirked. "Maggie would have me writing historical grants before I knew what hit me." Chris laughed. "Probably. But you’re in good hands. Seabrook’s got a way of rewarding the people who invest in it the right way. Fortunately we can get permitted up pretty quickly with the town board. So long as we use local contractors, we can start hitting dirt before the leaves fall." Before Jim could respond, a burst of laughter from the porch caught their attention. Several girls around the twins age were gathered around the picnic table, Lillian and Eleanor among them, deep in conversation with Chris’s daughter, Abby, and several other girls. Jim couldn’t hear what was being said, but the sight of them talking easily, like they’d been friends for years, settled something in his chest. Maybe the move was working out better than he feared. Jim followed his gaze and chuckled. "Looks like the girls are hitting it off." "Yeah," Chris said. "Good to see. I imagine the transition hasn’t been easy on them. Abby said she had a lot of fun at the beach the other day - she hasn't stopped talking about it." Jim nodded. "Lillian seems to be hitting her stride well. She's enjoying the yard - she spent the whole morning kicking her soccer ball around and dribbling it in the front yard. She even let one of the kids up the street kick the ball around with her a bit, chatted with their parents. Maggie nearly killed her when she ran back into the house on the restored floors in her cleats though." Chris stifled a laugh. "Yah...that'll about do it." Jim thought pensively, before continuing. 'Eleanor though.....she's always been the quieter of the two. Spent all morning up in the upstairs TV room. Went up to the third floor patio when she said it was 'too noisy' in the house for her to read. I just hope the first week of school goes well for both of them, and they make some friends." Chris nodded knowingly. "It’s tough, especially at their age. But Seabrook’s got a way of growing on people. Give it a little time." Jim exhaled, letting the words settle. He had spent so much time worrying about whether this move was the right choice that he hadn’t stopped to consider that maybe, just maybe, it could actually be good for them. His eyes drifted back to the group of teenagers. "I recognize Abby, obviously, and I see Nora and Lillian, but who are the other girls?" Chris glanced over and nodded. "That’s Maddie Langley, the one in the blue tank top. She and Abby have been friends since grade school. The one sitting next to her with the ponytail is Savannah Brooks. Her family runs the marina, so if you ever need anything boat-related, they’re the ones to talk to. And the younger girl—curly hair, sitting closer to Lillian—that’s her little sister, Emma. She’s a couple of years older than Caleb. Always chasing Abby around." Jim took in the new names, filing them away. "Seems like a good group." "They are," Chris confirmed. "They’ve all grown up together. Good kids. Abby’s been a little nervous about starting high school, even if she doesn't want to admit it, but having her friends around helps." Jim watched for a moment longer as the girls continued talking, their laughter light and easy. "Eleanor’s lucky to have some younger ones in the mix there. I think it might make things easier for her to speak up and make friends." Chris clapped him on the back. "C’mon, let’s grab a plate before the kids eat everything. We can talk more about business later." Jim nodded, following Chris toward the food, the tension in his shoulders easing just a little. He still had a long way to go in figuring out his place in this town, but at least for today, he felt like he was heading in the right direction. As the afternoon stretched on, Jim took the opportunity to observe the kids. Lillian and Abby were thick as thieves, caught up in an animated discussion with Maddie and Savannah. Eleanor, meanwhile, had drifted toward Emma who was being chased by Caleb around the yard with his barbeque stained fingers, as she shrieked. Jim laughed as Eleanor tried desperately to get Caleb to leave poor Emma alone, to no avail. Ultimately Kate intervened, and Eleanor had returned to the older girls while Caleb and Emma engaged in an impromptu game of tag with a few of the other middle schoolers that had them weaving between the adults. Every so often, Lillian glanced toward the older girls, as if debating whether she should chastise them or chase them. Jim also found himself introduced to a few of the other parents. Some he met alongside Maggie, like Savannah’s mother, Rachel Brooks, who chatted easily about the marina business and how her husband had grown up in Seabrook. He also got engaged in a long conversation with a gentleman named Tom, a retired contractor himself, who was interested in Jim’s former development projects in the city, and had a few pointed questions about zoning and permits and how they compared to the . By the time the sun had dipped lower in the sky and the scent of grilled food had given way to the sticky sweetness of melted marshmallows from all the kids' s’mores, Jim felt like he had taken another step toward settling in with the community. Home was starting to feel just like that, home - professionally, personally, and with his family. "Why don't we go home and see if we can't get the girls to go to bed, or at least their rooms," Maggie whispered into Jim's ears, the scent of red wine and bad decisions on her breath. Jim smirked. "Sounds like a plan to me." As the Carters gathered their things and prepared to leave, Jim caught sight of Eleanor yawning as she leaned against the car. "Guess it’s been a long day," he remarked. Maggie smiled. "It has. But I think it was a good one." Jim pulled away from the Sullivan's house, the warm glow of the porch lights fading into the night, the car settled into a comfortable quiet. The steady hum of the tires on the pavement mixed with the occasional chirp of crickets in the humid summer air. “That was fun,” Maggie said, glancing at Jim with a satisfied smile. “Yeah,” Jim agreed, drumming his fingers lightly against the steering wheel. “Good food, good company. And it’s nice to finally start feeling a little settled here.” “You’ve definitely been busy,” Maggie added. “I heard Kate mentioning to a few people that you and Chris already have projects lined up.” “Yeah, we spent yesterday looking at that lot near the boardwalk,” Jim confirmed. “It’s got potential—if I can work out some of the zoning details.” Lillian made a tired noise in the back seat. “Can we just go home and watch the rest of our movie?” Jim and Maggie exchanged a glance. “Well,” Maggie started, turning slightly in her seat. “It is getting late, and we’ve got an early morning tomorrow. We need to get up early to get ready for church." Jim pulled into the driveway, shifting the car into park. “Alright, girls. Inside, teeth brushed, in bed. Or at least in your rooms. No arguments. You have a big week ahead of you coming up, and you need your rest.” Lillian rolled her eyes but climbed out of the car, tugging Eleanor along with her. “Fine. But next weekend, we're doing what we want. No neighborhood barbeques with family and little kids. Were hanging out with our school friends.” “Deal,” Maggie said, watching as the girls trudged inside. She turned to Jim with an amused smile. “You think they’ll actually go to sleep?” Jim chuckled, shutting off the engine. “I don’t care as long as they stay in their rooms.” Maggie laughed, shaking her head as she reached for the door handle. “Come on, let’s go enjoy our ‘quiet time,’ then.” Jim grinned, following her inside. ___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ The first light of morning crept through the sheer curtains, casting soft streaks of gold and pale blue across the ceiling. Jim stirred, stretching out beneath the cool sheets before cracking open one eye to glance at the clock on the nightstand. Just past six. Maggie was still asleep beside him, her faded red hair fanned out over the pillow, the covers pulled wildly around her bare body. One arm was tucked beneath her cheek, the slow rise and fall of her chest lifting and lowering the only sound in the otherwise silent room. Jim smiled to himself, carefully shifting his weight so as not to disturb her. Jim lifted the edge of the blanket, covering his wife's exposed legs so she might stay warm in his absence. Jim was thanked with a grateful yet fully sleepy turn, as he watched his wife turn from one side to the other, pulling a pillow into her arms to replace what was her warm husband. Jim smiled, considering for a moment whether he ought to stir her awake. Deciding she had earned a good rest, Jim instead let his eyes wander over the space—their space—a place that, despite being in this house for only a short time, already felt like theirs. 'Just like the bedroom apartment,' Jim smirked to himself. The master bedroom was the largest in the house, positioned in the back corner of the second floor, with three tall windows overlooking the backyard and a stretch of trees beyond. During the day, the sunlight poured in, illuminating the room’s high, sloped ceiling and the crisp, neutral tones Maggie had chosen for the walls—a soft shade of cream with hints of gray, warm and understated. She had insisted on adding subtle crown molding along the perimeter, and Jim had to admit, it gave the space a quiet elegance. The centerpiece of the room was their bed, a king-sized four-poster made of deep mahogany wood. It had been one of their first major furniture purchases as a couple, back when they were still newly married and living in their first real house. Maggie had fallen in love with it instantly, running her fingers along the carved details at the posts and declaring it “the bed of a lifetime.” It had been a complete pain in the ass to get both in, and then out of their apartment, but Maggie said she wouldn't leave the city without it, and so Jim pulled a few extra strings - and more than a few extra bills - out to make sure it got to Seabrook safe and sound. They had dressed it in a thick, linen duvet—white, with delicate embroidery along the edges—which currently lay haphazardly on the ground. Plush pillows stacked against the dark wooden headboard. The bedside tables matched the bed, each with a small brass lamp, a glass of water, and whatever book Maggie had been thumbing through the prior few nights. To the left of the bed, a matching mahogany dresser stretched along the wall, Maggie’s jewelry box perched neatly on one side, next to a silver-framed photo from their wedding. The opposite wall held a cozy sitting area, with two upholstered armchairs facing the windows and a small table between them. Maggie had placed a woven basket in the corner, draped with folded blankets, though Jim suspected she liked the aesthetic of it more than the functionality. On the far side of the room, a set of double doors led to the master bathroom. Jim moved carefully, grabbing a pair of briefs and a set of loose pajama pants from the chair by the window. As he glided across the hardwood floor, he caught one last glimpse of Maggie, now tucked peacefully beneath the sheets, and then eased the door open, stepping into the bathroom, quietly shutting the door behind him. The master bath was spacious—something they had prioritized when looking for a house. It was designed in crisp whites and soft grays, with sleek marble countertops stretching across the dual vanity. Each sink had its own mirror, framed in dark wood to match the cabinetry below, with warm accent lighting casting a soft glow. The mirrors each contained a hidden cabinet for storage behind them, though most of Jim's space was somehow already occupied by Maggie's good lotions. A set of open shelves was built into the far wall, neatly arranged with rolled towels, glass apothecary jars, and a small vase Maggie had filled with dried lavender and other herbs which permeated the room. At the center of the bathroom stood a large freestanding soaking tub beneath the frosted window. Overhead, a chandelier hung above the tub, its lanterns waiting to be turned on to set the mood. The tub was modern yet classic in design, its smooth, curved edges inviting after a long day. Maggie had picked it out from a local vendor in town claiming that “a proper bath” was a necessity, and that it was "one of a kind". The salesperson had mentioned that it was the only replica of one a former governor of Seabrook had owned. Jim knew then and there that they were buying the tub. On the nearby ledge, Maggie had arranged a few candles and a small tray that usually held her book or a glass of wine when she indulged in one of her long soaks. To the right of the tub, a spacious glass-enclosed shower took up most of the back wall, its floor made of smooth river stones that felt grounding underfoot. The built-in bench and rainfall showerhead were Jim’s favorite features—he had tested both extensively in the short time they’d been here. In the far back corner was a proper washing closet - apparently necessary to be in a separate room due to the unnatural smells Jim made. 'Maggie should talk," Jim heard himself thinking, as he went inside to relieve his bladder quickly. The bathroom connected to a walk-in closet, though Jim barely glanced toward it as he made his way to the sink. He turned on the faucet, washing his hands and then splashing cool water onto his face before looking up at his own reflection in the mirror. His hair was slightly disheveled, and a light shadow of stubble had started to creep along his jaw. Not bad for a man in his forties, he thought with mild amusement. After drying his face with one of the soft white towels hanging nearby, he stretched again, rolling his shoulders. The house was still quiet. He had time before the day fully started—before Maggie stirred awake, before the girls clattered down the stairs, before the inevitable rush of Sunday morning began. He let out a contented breath. It was going to be a good day. Jim stepped out of the bathroom, stretching once more before making his way downstairs. The house was still silent aside from the faint creaking of the wooden steps beneath his feet. In the kitchen, he moved on instinct, reaching for the coffee beans stored neatly in a glass jar on the counter. He ground them fresh, savoring the rich, earthy scent as he poured them into the machine. The steady drip of the brewing coffee was the only sound in the house now, and Jim leaned against the counter, rubbing a hand over his face as he waited. When the pot had filled enough, he poured himself a generous mug and took a slow sip, letting the warmth spread through him. Black, no sugar. Just the way he liked it. Mug in hand, he made his way to the garage. The air inside was cooler than the house, holding onto the last traces of the night’s chill. Jim set his coffee down on the workbench and flipped on the overhead light, casting a glow over the organized chaos of tools, blueprints, and neatly stacked boxes still waiting to be unpacked. Pinned to the far wall was a set of development plans, laid out in clean, precise lines—a vision for what was to come. Jim stepped closer, pressing a hand against the edge of the paper as he reviewed the details. The prior afternoon, he and Chris had walked one of the empty lots together. It was a prime spot, close enough to town to feel connected but far enough to appeal to those looking for a quieter, more private home. The land had good bones—flat, with solid drainage and plenty of natural buffers from neighboring properties. They had talked through initial concepts, from foundation layouts to materials, even tossing around ideas for exterior finishes. Chris had an eye for structure, for the craftsmanship that made a house more than just walls and a roof. It was why Jim had trusted him from the start. He traced a finger along the blueprint, mentally running through the next steps. He’d already closed on a few properties, a mix of renovation and new builds, each chosen with the long-term vision in mind. It would take time, but that was the point. After another sip of coffee, and an hour of making structural notes, he stepped back, rolling his shoulders before turning off the garage light. He grabbed his mug and headed back inside. As soon as he walked into the kitchen, he was greeted by the familiar sound of movement—Maggie, standing at the stove, wearing the short hemmed, glossy bathrobe she had bought for their honeymoon all those years ago. It still fit, and Maggie knew how much he enjoyed seeing her in it. Maggie's back to him as she flipped something in a pan. “Morning,” she said without turning, her voice warm but still heavy with the remnants of sleep. “Morning,” Jim replied, setting his mug down and stepping behind her, pressing a quick kiss to the exposed section of her shoulder She glanced over her shoulder at him, offering a small smile. “You were up early.” “Couldn’t sleep in,” he admitted, leaning against the counter. “Figured I’d get a jump on the day.” Maggie hummed, turning back to the stove. “Coffee’s fresh?” “First pot of the day.” She reached for a mug from the cabinet, filling it before taking a slow sip, her eyes briefly closing as she sighed in appreciation. Jim smirked. “That good?” She shot him a look over the rim of her cup. “You know I don’t function without this.” He chuckled, watching as she returned to her cooking. Pancakes, by the smell of it, and something else—bacon, maybe. It was a ritual of hers, making a full breakfast on Sundays, a grounding routine before the inevitable rush of getting everyone ready for church. “I’ll go get dressed,” Jim said after a moment, grabbing his coffee again. “Need any help down here before I do?” Maggie waved him off. “I’ve got it covered. But let the girls know food will be ready soon.” He nodded and started for the stairs, taking the steps two at a time. _____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ The Carter family walked up the worn stone steps of St. Mary’s, the morning sun casting a warm glow over the historic church’s whitewashed walls. The empty bell tower loomed above them, its shadow stretching across the courtyard where families greeted one another before the service. Maggie let out a quiet sigh as she eyed Lillian’s outfit. “Look at everyone else Lillian. At the very least you could have put on anything decent” she muttered under her breath, smoothing down her own skirt as they climbed the steps. Lillian glanced down at herself, frowning. “It’s not that bad,” she protested, tugging at her leggings. She had at least put on a blouse instead of a t-shirt, but next to Eleanor, she looked noticeably underdressed. “You could have at least worn a dress,” Maggie whispered, leaning closer. “Like your sister.” Jim watch as Eleanor drooped her posture, not wanting to be the center of any conversation, let alone an example of what her vocal sister might have done wrong. "I think she looks nice mom...." Jim heard her mumble. “I didn’t think it was a big deal,” Lillian mumbled, glancing around at the other congregants filing inside. Jim, walking slightly ahead, turned back and gave them both a look. “Alright, that’s enough,” he said in a low but firm voice. “We’re here now. Might I remind you, the big guy is listening," he said, pointing his pointer finger upward. "Let’s all behave.” Maggie pressed her lips together but didn’t argue, stepping ahead of the girls as they entered the church. The cool interior was filled with the quiet murmur of conversation as families found their seats. Stained glass windows cast colorful patterns across the wooden pews. As they made their way down the aisle, Jim spotted an open row and motioned for the family to file in. Jim was surprised when the young girl with them greeted Lillian. “Hey,” she whispered with a small smile. Lillian grinned back. “Hey.” Mr. Michael Montgomery, a tall man with sharp features and graying hair at his temples, proceeded to introduce himself to Jim, and the families made the connection as to how their daughters already knew each other. Jim laughed to himself as he watched Maggie step between Jennifer Montgomery and Lillian, as to conceal the shame of her daughter's dress from THE supposed socialite of Seabrook. As the organ music began, and his family took their seats, Jim couldn't help but think the family was perfectly nice, and that Kate had exaggerated her description of them. Jim watched as Lillian and Briella exchanged a small look before facing forward, both settling in for the service. After a few opening hymns - the first of which was interrupted by Kate and Chris ushering their kids in late - and a few read and responses, the priest stepped up to the pulpit, adjusting his glasses as he scanned the congregation. His gaze lingered on the Carters for a moment before he smiled warmly. “I’d like to take a moment to welcome a new family to our community,” he said, his voice carrying through the high ceilings of the church. “The Carter family has recently moved to - or should I say, back to - Seabrook, and we are blessed to have them join us here at St. Mary’s.” A polite round of applause filled the sanctuary, and Maggie offered a gracious, appreciative wave while Jim gave a small smile. Lillian showed off a glowing smile, while Eleanor shifted in her seat, sitting up a little straighter. The priest continued, his voice steady and familiar to the long-time members of the congregation. “And as we transition from our busy summer season, into the fall, we find ourselves in a moment of shifting change. Change is something we all face in life. From the time we are children, we crave the comfort of what is known. We build our lives on routine, on familiarity, and when that is disrupted—when we are forced to step into something new—it can feel as though we are losing part of ourselves. But scripture tells us again and again that change is not to be feared. That it is, in fact, the very means by which God shapes us. We are told in Ecclesiastes that ‘to everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven.’ Seasons change, time moves forward, and we are called to move with it. Called to support others as they shift into it. Even when it is difficult. Even when we do not understand.” He let his words settle before offering a gentle smile. “My friends, I urge you today—do not fear change. Do not cling so tightly to what was that you fail to embrace what could be.” Jim found himself nodding slightly, absorbing the words in a way he hadn’t expected. He thought of their move to Seabrook, of uprooting their family for a fresh start. He thought of his business, of the developments still in their early stages, of what the town might look like in a few years with his vision coming to life. The sermon continued, but those words lingered. Change is not meant to be feared. 'Embrace what could be' Jim thought to himself. It's WAY too immature for Lillian. I mean, come on, purple sparkles? And yes, I wanted to flesh out the characters a bit more and create a good baseline before anything, hypothetically of course, you know changed or something....I really had this idea to write from various characters POVs, which I hope adds flavor as I move forward. I am glad you're enjoying it! Much more to come!

Chapter 6 - Lillian Carter Lillian stretched out on the couch in the TV room upstairs, her fingers tracing the soft woven fabric of the throw pillow beneath her arm. The house already felt more lived-in, the echoing emptiness from moving day replaced with the low hum of normalcy. Boxes had been unpacked, furniture arranged, and little touches of home had started creeping into every corner. Her mom had set out candles in the dining room, though the faint scent of sea salt and still driftwood lingered in the air. Her dad had finally gotten the old record player set up in his office, the occasional crackle of jazz filtering through the hallways in the afternoons. Seabrook moved at its own pace. That was the biggest thing Lillian had noticed this past week. Everything here was slower—not in a frustrating way, but in the way where no one seemed to be in a hurry. Unlike the city, where people rushed from one place to the next, Seabrook had a rhythm that ebbed and flowed like the tide. People lingered on porches, chatted in the streets, and stopped at the market just as much for conversation as for groceries. Everyone knew everyone. It was something Lillian and Nora hadn’t quite been prepared for. Their first few days had been filled with a revolving door of introductions—neighbors stopping by with baskets of muffins, jars of homemade jam, and warm welcomes. The Sullivans, whose house sat just down the street, had been around often, with Kate sweeping inside like she belonged there, Caleb darting up the stairs before anyone could stop him. Then there was Mrs. O’Donnell, the elderly woman next door who had brought over a loaf of fresh bread and had promptly quizzed them on their entire family history. The Jacksons from across the street brought over what felt like a new pie everyday Even the Montgomerys had sent Briella over with a tin of cookies—store-bought but tied up with a neat little ribbon. At the market, shopkeepers and strangers alike had already learned their names. “Carter girls, right?” someone had asked just yesterday when they stopped by the general store for ice cream. Lillian had nodded, caught off guard by how easily they had been placed. It was always coupled with a "welcome back," or a "you look just like your mother at your age," that was equally warming as it was kind of uncomfortable. It seemed word had gotten out that they moved there - everyone knew who they were, but they hardly knew anyone at all. At least Lillian felt like she was getting used to it. She could tell that Eleanor was having a harder time. Back home, even as twins, they could kind of blend in. Here, it was impossible. But there was something nice about it too. Lillian watched out the window as a couple strolled leisurely past their house, the man tipping his hat at their neighbor across the street. A few kids rode by on bikes, making loops in the middle of the street as though a car wouldn't dare come on their turf, no one in a rush to get anywhere. The air was still warm from the lingering summer, cicadas humming in the distance. "Maybe slow isn’t such a bad thing," Lillian said aloud to herself. Lillian let her head rest against the back of the couch, listening to the distant sounds of Seabrook fill her head. She had just started absentmindedly twisting her bracelet around her wrist when the sound of footsteps on the stairs made her glance toward the doorway. A moment later, Eleanor appeared, a DVD case in one hand and a bag of popcorn in the other. “You just going to sit there and stare out the window all day?” Eleanor teased, holding up the movie. “Or do you want to watch something?” Lillian smirked. “Depends. What’d you pick?” Eleanor flipped the case around so she could see. It was The Princess Bride, one of their comfort movies, the kind they had probably watched a dozen times over the years. Lillian grinned. “Classic.” Eleanor took that as an invitation and flopped onto the couch beside her, tossing the popcorn bag onto the coffee table before reaching for the remote. A few minutes later, the movie started playing, the familiar opening music filling the room. For a while, they watched in silence, both sinking into the comfort of the story they knew so well. Lillian pulled her legs up onto the couch, tucking them beneath her, while Eleanor stretched out, one arm draped over the back of the couch. Then, somewhere between the introduction of Buttercup and Westley, Eleanor spoke. “This week went by fast.” Lillian let out a breathy laugh. “Did it? Feels like we’ve been here forever already.” Eleanor tilted her head, considering. “I guess. It’s just weird to think school’s starting soon. Feels like we just got here.” Lillian nodded, reaching for a handful of popcorn. “Yeah. At least we’ve done a lot. I mean, it was nice to see Grandpa the other day.” “That was nice,” Eleanor agreed. “He seemed happy to see us. Though I think Mom was more worried about how he’s doing. He seemed normal to me though, like, he was just the same. No?” “Yeah. I thought so too. Still weird seeing him without grandma there too.” Lillian thought back to their visit. Their grandfather had seemed fine—maybe a little slower, a little more tired—but he had been in good spirits. Still, she could tell their mom had been watching him closely, taking mental notes of every little thing. Eleanor shifted, pulling a blanket over her lap. “And the beach was fun with Abby yesterday.” Lillian grinned. “That was fun. Even if she did drag us all over town again before we got there.” Eleanor laughed. “She talks so much.” “She really does.” Lillian reached for another handful of popcorn. “But she’s fun. I’m glad she’s around.” Lillian thought back to their day yesterday. The beach hadn’t been crowded—just a handful of families, a few teenagers tossing a frisbee, and a couple of older locals walking along the waterline with their feet sinking into the wet sand. As soon as they found a place to set their things down, she had yanked off her cover-up, already wearing her swimsuit underneath. She didn't hesitate at all before making a break for the water, Abby right on her heels. Looking back from the water, Lillian remembered Eleanor spreading out her towel a few feet away from the others, smoothing out the edges before sinking onto it with her book. The image of the breeze off the ocean ruffling the pages as she tucked her cover-up more securely around her legs came back to Lillian. "I still can't believe you didn't want to get into the water with us!" "I didn't want my feet to be all sandy and wet," Eleanor echoed her protest from the day prior. "Not that it did me any good when you flopped down next to me like a fish out of water!" Lillian laughed. Eleanor titled her head. “But it has been a nice week. And we got our rooms set up. They're starting to feel like ours now, you know?” Lillian let out a dramatic sigh. “Finally.” She glanced toward the staircase. “I swear, I feel like we’ve moved things around in there a hundred times.” “Your room looks nice, though.” “So does yours.” Lillian smirked. “Though mine has the better view.” Eleanor rolled her eyes. “Debatable.” They fell into comfortable silence again, the movie playing as they both settled back into the couch. Lillian let her gaze drift around the room, taking in the small but familiar signs of home—the framed pictures on the shelves, the soft throw blankets their mom had brought from their old house, the scent of whatever candle their mom had lit earlier that morning. Eleanor sunk closer into Lillian, pulling the blanket covering her body up and slipping in underneath it. Lillian felt as Eleanor stretched her body out underneath it, Eleanor's toes extending beyond hers and pulling he blanket out from being tucked beneath her heels. "Hey!" Lillian shouted. "Sorry," Eleanor recoiled, startled, realizing what she had done, pulling her toes back in. Lillian didn't actually mind, and wanted to make sure Eleanor knew it. "Just kidding Ellie-bear." Lillian said, planting a kiss on her sister's cheek. "Lilly-bear, thanks for the scare!" Eleanor replied, her heart beginning to slow. The soft hum of the television filled the living room as Eleanor and Lillian lounged on the couch, a bowl of popcorn wedged between them. A late-summer haze drifted in through the open window. They had settled into the cushions, their attention locked on the movie playing on the screen, a well-worn favorite that still held a nostalgic charm. Laughing silly together, it felt right. The front door opened with a familiar creak, and their mother’s voice rang through the house. “Girls?” Lillian groaned dramatically, tilting her head against the back of the couch. “We’re watching something,” she called back. A short pause followed by the sound of footsteps on the stairs and through the upstairs hall indicated mom was coming. Sure enough, Maggie stepped into the TV room, dropping her purse onto the side table. “I can see that,” she said, eyeing the paused frame of the movie. “But we need to head out soon. You two need school supplies, and this weekend is going to be too busy to squeeze it in.” Eleanor glanced at the screen, calculating how much of the movie was left. “Can’t we go after this?” Maggie shook her head. “No, we’re going now. The barbeque tomorrow will take up most of the day, and we’re going to church Sunday morning. By the time we’re free, everything will be picked over. This isn't like the city where we can just go to another store. I don't want to be the last ones getting our things together.” Lillian shot her sister a look, silently pleading for backup. “But we’re at the best part,” she tried. “Can’t we—” Maggie gave her a patient but pointed stare. “You’ll survive. You've seen this a hundred times. Get your shoes on.” Eleanor sighed, knowing resistance was futile. She stood and stretched, glancing down at Lillian, who still hadn’t moved. “Come on. Let's just get it over with.” With exaggerated reluctance, Lillian dragged herself up from the couch, defiantly popping a few more pieces of popcorn into her mouth before trudging toward the door. The office supply store in town was bright and cool, the scent of new notebooks and sharpened pencils thick in the air. Parents with their kids crowded the aisles, scanning supply lists and debating over brands of binders. Lillian grabbed a cart, lazily steering it as Eleanor pulled out the printed school list from her pocket. “Let’s split up,” Eleanor suggested. “I’ll grab the binders and notebooks, and you get the pens and highlighters.” Lillian gave an exaggerated salute. “Aye-aye, captain.” Maggie chuckled as she walked beside them, scanning the shelves with idle interest. “Just make sure to grab two of everything,” she said, her voice light, “You two can have the same supplies this year, different school system and all.” Eleanor turned curiously, giving her mother a look of confusion, before brushing it off and moving forward. “What do you mean?” Maggie tilted her head slightly, looking faintly puzzled at Eleanor’s vexation. “I just mean you don’t need separate lists this time. Makes things easier, right?” Eleanor forced a nod. Other than the odd advanced placement book Lillian would get in math, and the odd advanced placement English book she would need, the supplies were always the same. Weren’t they? Lillian, oblivious, had already moved toward the aisle with the pens, humming to herself as she examined the options, slapping the ones she wanted off the racks and into her basket like it was a game. Eleanor followed her list, grabbing a sturdy black binder and a pack of college-ruled paper. When she returned to the cart, she found Lillian grinning and holding up a pencil case decorated with cartoon animals. “Look at this,” Lillian said with a grin. “It has little whales on it.” Maggie chuckled. “That’s cute. Didn’t you have one just like that in elementary school?” Lillian hesitated, her smile flickering. “Maybe? I don’t remember.” “You used to love those kinds of designs,” Maggie mused, a fondness in her voice. Lillian blinked down at the pencil case, then placed it back on the shelf without a word. “Yeah. Nora always kept hers jam packed with those fun little erasers she would refuse to ever actually use” As they moved further into the store, Maggie gestured toward a display of backpacks. “Do either of you need a new one this year?” Eleanor shook her head. “Mine’s still fine.” Lillian hesitated before answering. “Mine… I think mine is fine too?” Eleanor glanced at her, frowning. “Didn’t you just get a new one last year?” “I guess?” Lillian said, furrowing her brow slightly. “I can’t really remember.” Maggie smiled and patted her shoulder. “Well, if you need one, we’re here. Just pick what you like.” Lillian’s fingers brushed over a light purple backpack with small, glittering stars stitched along the fabric before shaking her head and turning away. “Nah. I think I’m good. Eleanor is right. I have my black one, its perfect.” They moved on to the notebooks. Eleanor picked out a plain spiral-bound one, flipping through the crisp pages, adding sets for each her and Lillian As they moved toward the checkout, Maggie double-checked their cart. “We’ve got everything? Binders, paper, pencils?” “Yeah,” Eleanor said, casting a glance at Lillian, who was fidgeting with a pack of erasers. Maggie smiled. “Good. This was painless. Now you can go back to your silly movie.”

I really enjoyed reading this story. I hope you continue! Great work on the first post!

Chapter 6 - Eleanor Carter The town of Seabrook was not built on fortune or ease, but on the backs of those who braved the untamed Atlantic coast in search of opportunity. In the early 1700s, long after the first English settlements took root along the Chesapeake, a group of settlers set sail from England, their destination an unclaimed stretch of land where the dense forest met the sea. Among the first settlers were a number of merchant families, all with ambitions of carving out a prosperous trading post along the Maryland coastline. Much of our knowledge of the early settlements of Seabrook come from their journals. James McConnell and Elias Gomery were two such visionaries. According to McConnell, among the first settlers were craftsmen, farmers, and sailors who sought to build a community sustained by the riches of the sea and the trade routes that connected the American colonies to Europe and the Caribbean. The settlers named their new home Seabrook, after the small inlet that offered them a natural harbor, and quickly set to work constructing docks, simple homes, and a meetinghouse that would later serve as both church and courthouse. According to Gomery's writings, Seabrook’s early economy thrived on maritime trade. Timber from the inland cedar forests was felled and shipped to England, while sugar, molasses, and textiles arrived from the Caribbean. The town became a stopping point for merchants and whalers. Many of the merchant families, including those mentioned here, were keen business people and secured contracts that allowed Seabrook’s ships to ferry goods up and down the coast, cementing the town’s place on the colonial map. Despite the increased wealth that came to Seabrook, it was self-sustaining, and did not experience the exponential population growth that much of the colonial world was experiencing in the early 1700s. Still, the once small village did expand outward, with many of the wealthiest families moving further inland and to higher elevations to avoid the constant noise of at the dock and shipyard, and the impact of storms. Eleanor shifted in the rocking chair, re-tucking her legs beneath her as she turned another page. The early morning sun stretched long golden beams across the wooden planks of the porch, warming the cool breeze that drifted in from the sea. The book in her lap—its spine already soft from being bent too far back—was filled with carefully curated accounts of Seabrook’s founding, the kind of history that was polished for local pride. Still, it was fascinating in its own way. She traced her finger over the names of the merchants as she read, trying to picture the kind of people who would leave behind everything familiar to carve a life out of the wilderness. A merchant, a businessman. A trader, a trapper. A farmer, a craftsman. People who saw the coast not as a barrier, but as an opportunity. Seabrook wasn’t built on luck—it was built on ambition. That much was clear. The pages described the settlers’ first harsh winters, the tension of waiting for supply ships that might never arrive, and the slow, grueling process of turning a patch of raw land into a home. Eleanor imagined the docks slowly taking shape, the sound of hammers ringing through the salty air as wooden beams rose to form the first storehouses. It was hard to picture the town as anything but the boardwalk-and-tourist-haven it was now, but there had been a time when Seabrook was nothing more than a hopeful idea. She let the book rest open on her lap, eyes drifting toward the horizon. The ocean stretched endlessly before her, its surface shifting and restless. It was easy to forget, sitting in the comfort of the porch, just how unforgiving the sea could be. How many lives had been lost to it over the centuries? How many ships had vanished beneath the waves, never to return? 'If they could make a life for themselves here, why not us,' Eleanor found herself asking. 'They made much more than just a town; they made a community. A community where mom is from. A community that includes us now.' Eleanor wasn't sure if that idea made her nervous or proud. She concluded it was probably a bit of both. 'Probably just like the settlers,' she decided. Still, reading about the town's history made her feel more connected to the land around her, to the ocean, to the sun on the horizon. 'To mom.' A gust of wind tugged at the loose tendrils of hair that had fallen at her shoulder, and she shivered, despite the warmth of the sun. Seabrook’s past felt closer out here, where the breeze carried the scent of salt and the sound of waves washed up against the shore. The creak of the screen door behind her pulled her from her thoughts. She glanced up just as Lillian stepped outside, rubbing sleep from her eyes, a steaming cup of coffee in her hand. You’ve been up forever, haven’t you?” she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep. Eleanor smirked, shutting her book but keeping a finger between the pages. “I don’t know about forever. But long enough to make the coffee, make breakfast, chat with mom about grandpa, make another pot of coffee for your sleepy butt once the first was done, and then I don't know, just read about how our charming little seaside town was founded on backbreaking labor and unreasonable optimism.” Eleanor said, with a big smile. Lillian plopped into the chair next to her, drawing her knees up to her chest. “Is that one of the books you picked up yesterday?” “Yah It’s interesting,” Eleanor defended. She tapped the worn cover. “You’d like it if you gave it a chance. There’s a whole section about the first settlers and how they nearly starved their first winter because the supply ship was late.” Lillian wrinkled her nose. “Sounds uplifting. At least that part sounds exciting. I'll bet the other chapters are slightly more dull, like about the proper way to chop trees or something.” Eleanor rolled her eyes. “It’s history. It’s not supposed to be uplifting. Or always exciting. But it is kind of fascinating. All of the history comes from the journals of the families that settled here. Their whole business was built on maritime trade.” She paused, turning to glance at Lillian. “I'll let you know if any sexy vampires make an appearance - I know you'll pick it up then." Lillian gave a sleepy shrug. “Laugh all you want. You like those as much as I do, even if you pretended not too. Sorry I haven't found anything better to read!” Eleanor huffed a quiet laugh, then closed the book and set it aside. “Ya. You're right." Eleanor paused before continuing "So? How was your first night in the new house?” Lillian sighed, leaning her head back against the chair. “Weird. Everything still smells like moving boxes and fresh paint.” She stretched her legs out, wiggling her toes against the warm wooden planks. “It’s nice, though. I like my room. And my bed is actually comfy.” Eleanor tilted her head. “That's good....I uh...Kind of like that our beds are against the same wall. It felt like you were," Eleanor paused, "close last night." Lillian hesitated, just for a second. A shadow of something unreadable flickered across her face, but then she nodded. “Yeah. It's kind of like when we used to share that room. Except this time no bunk beds." There was something in the way she said it that made Eleanor pause. But before she could press further, Lillian sat up, brushing her hair over her shoulder. “Anyway, what’s the plan today?” Eleanor let it go. “I was thinking we should see what Abby’s up to. It’d be nice to have an excuse to get out of the house for a while.” Lillian grinned. She had a feeling Eleanor had the same conversation as she had from their parents a bit earlier “Agreed. I’ll text her.” She stretched again, this time with more energy, shaking off the last remnants of sleep. “Let’s see if she wants to go to the beach or something. Or maybe check out the rest of town.” Eleanor smiled. “Sounds like a plan.” As Lillian pulled out her phone, Eleanor let her gaze drift back to the ocean. ________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ “So, I guess you two are probably getting used to the town by now, right?” Abby said, pausing in front of a small, charming café, its windows decorated with flower boxes. “I know, everything must feel really quiet, but you get used to it. My mom says it’s all about finding a rhythm. You know, like how in the summer, this place comes alive with tourists, but in the fall, it gets peaceful. I kind of love the quiet, though—though it'll mean losing this job at the water park. Not that I could do both that and school." Aby lead Eleanor and Lillian, chattering away as she guided them through the heart of the town. The air was warm but crisp, warmer than their walk along the boardwalk. Eleanor couldn't believe how short everything was - not a single building stood taller than three stories, maybe four in a couple of parts. The awnings and storefronts had the feel that they had travelled back in time. Eleanor half expected a horse-drawn carriage to pull around the corner and hoof down main street - yes, the actual name was in fact main street. Abby’s energy was contagious—she was always moving, talking a mile a minute, and today was no different. As Abby continued to lead them through the town, Eleanor found herself studying her cousin more closely. It had been at least two years since they’d last seen her, and although they had exchanged regular text messages in the "cousins" group, Eleanor hadn’t really seen her for a while. 'Well, at least in person.' Social media didn't really count. Abby had changed. She was certainly taller now, standing only an inch or two below Eleanor's own height. Her features, once round and soft, had sharpened, lending her an almost grown-up look. Her blond hair, streaked with sun from her days spent at the water park, cascaded down in soft waves, the light catching it in a way that made it seem almost golden. It was a lighter shade of blond as her mom’s, though Abby’s hair had the messier, more carefree texture that matched her personality. Abby still carried herself with as much confidence as ever. Her shoulders were squared, her steps purposeful as she led them through Seabrook’s winding streets. The training bras the twins had taken her to purchase all those years ago had long since been replaced. Her voice, though a register deeper than it had been two years ago, still carried the same upbeat tone, constantly bubbling with enthusiasm. Her clothes were simple, a light t-shirt and denim shorts, but they looked effortlessly cool, as though she had thrown them on without a second thought and yet still managed to pull it off perfectly. She wore sandals, her feet kicking up bits of dust from the gravel street as they walked. In that moment, Eleanor felt both a twinge of envy for Abby. She had grown into herself so naturally, so confidently, while Eleanor still felt like she was in the process of figuring out where she fit. And now she'd have to do it in a new place. Abby’s energy was magnetic, and despite herself, Eleanor couldn’t help but be drawn to it. Abby grinned as she gestured toward the water park on the edge of town, just visible through the trees. Eleanor could spot the tall, colorful slides, the echoes of laughter and screams notable even here in town. “I’m basically the lifeguard queen of Seabrook Falls now,” she added with a laugh. “It’s not all that glamorous, but I get to hang out in the sun and boss around the little kids, tell 'em they aren't tall enough to go on some slides. Caleb won't even come on days I'm working, cause he knows I'll embarrass him. He's going through this 'I'm too cool for my sister' phase now." Abby noted, with an undertone of exhaustion. "Plus, it’s nice to have some spending money. I blow most of it on the pier on the weekends with my friends. I mean, who says no to candy apples, right? My mom doesn’t mind too much—she’s proud of me for saving at least some of it, especially with school coming up.” Lillian smiled as she glanced toward the water park, and made her way up to walk alongside Abby. “That sounds...great. I've never worked as a lifeguard before. Is it hard?” Abby shrugged. “It’s not so bad. Some of the little kids are a pain, but you get used to it. The hardest part is trying to stay patient with everyone when it gets crowded. But there’s always something to do. You’d be surprised how much there is to manage, even with a small park.” As they passed a few more buildings—each one a mix of old and new, with brick walls and charming storefronts—Abby continued her animated storytelling. She was clearly fond of her hometown, and her enthusiasm was catching. “It’s funny, though,” Abby said, slowing her pace as they passed the small library. “Even though I grew up here, there’s still so much I didn’t know until I started working at the water park. Like, you wouldn't believe what some families spill when they are in line. Especially if they have been waiting a while on hot days - tempers LITERALLY flare. Like this one family, they came all the way here to go on some sunken ship tour. And this one time, this couple, I swear, they actually started and ended their relationship at different points in the line. It was very dramatic!” Eleanor paused for a moment, considering Abby’s words as they approached a small park with a view of the bay. “That’s kind of cool. Who knew there was so much going on here over the summer. I always thought Seabrook was just, like, a tourist town with a nice beach.” Abby laughed, her voice lively. “It’s definitely a tourist town, but there’s a lot more to it than you might think. People come for the beach, sure, but there is loads that goes on during the year. Harvest festival, Christmas and New Years in town, Wintersday in the Park, crab bakes and seafood boils in the spring. It's loads of fun. There's also so many places you can adventure on the weekends. And some of the best spots are off the beaten path. Eleanor, you should check out the maritime museum if you haven’t already—it’s not huge, but it’s packed with interesting stuff. Lots of old maps, ship models, even some artifacts from shipwrecks.” Eleanor wasn't sure why that was directed to her in particular - such a museum would be fascinating to anyone. They rounded a corner, and the school came into view, a small but impressive building nestled between a few larger homes. Abby stopped in her tracks, gesturing to the school with an excited gleam in her eye. “Speaking of things that are cool—this is the high school. You’ll love it. Everyone does. I can't wait to be going there next year, and it'll be so much more fun having you both there! This year is going to rule!” Eleanor and Lillian glanced at each other. The school was small, with a classic brick exterior and large windows. It didn’t look all that different from the school they had back home, though everything felt just a bit more open here—wide open spaces, less crowded, a little more freedom. Abby seemed to radiate pride as she continued, her words coming quicker. “So, here’s the deal with the school,” Abby said. “I'm sure you probably already know, but you’re not gonna have, like, freshmen, sophomores, juniors, seniors—none of that. It’s all about interest and ability, not age. I don’t know if that sounds weird, but that’s how they’ve been doing it for almost ten years now. When they first started the school’s Montessori project, it was just a pilot program. They started with only a few schools, and the state thought it would fail. But guess what? It actually worked really well. It's supposed to be all the rage in like Sweden or Italy or something, and I think they have the best schools.” Eleanor frowned slightly, remembering that their mom had gone over this with them at length, that they needed to select subjects of interest, and that the classes would be mixed, though that she could still expect to be with loads of people her age. “So how does it work exactly? Do you just go to whatever class you want when you show up in the morning? I kind of prefer to have a schedule.” Abby laughed. “Not quite. It’s more like you’re placed in classes based on what you want to do and what you can do, not necessarily what year you’re in. They have, like, a really flexible system. You can take a math class that actually relates to something you care about, like something particular to someone who wants to be an engineer versus someone who wants to be a teacher. You can take history that focuses on Europe, or history that focuses on Asia. And then they have special programs for things like literature, art, and even computer coding. There are even some programs that take in more local trades, like harbor work, ship building, even glass blowing. The great thing about it is that everyone moves at their own pace and you can try things to find what you like. So if you’re in a class with older or younger students, it’s not because you’re ahead or behind. It’s all about learning at your own speed.” Lillian raised an eyebrow. “Mom mentioned this. The way she explained it was basically if I’m really good at one subject, but not another, I could be in totally different classes with different kids, but I'll still get whatever credits I need. Is that right?” Abby nodded. “Exactly. And don’t worry—it’s not weird or anything. Everyone just goes with it. The school’s really small, so we all know each other anyway, and everyone supposedly kind of helps each other out. You’ll see—it’s like a little community. Everyone in the middle school can't wait to get to go.” Eleanor looked thoughtful as they continued walking. “That’s actually kind of cool. So it’s not all about grades?” Abby shook her head. “Nope. It’s just about learning and growing. The idea is to get the best out of each student, no matter what year they’re in, and no matter what they are interested in. Of course the school can't offer every subject there is, but you can always work on an independent study of a particular subject if a teacher is willing to sponsor you. that's reserved for junior and senior aged students though. Eleanor had found the entire subject of Montessori schools to be fascinating. She'd read about them after mom explained the school system to her. "That actually sounds pretty fun," she piped in from behind Abby and Lillian. "And would you believe it - we have more Ivy League acceptances than any other school in the state. The program works great, and for some people, they'll have the practical skills to go right into work, if that's something they want. Me personally? I plan to stay in school as long as possible” By the time they reached the town square, Eleanor and Lillian were deep in conversation about their new school, each of them picturing how they would fit into such an unconventional system. Abby’s words had painted a picture of a place where they could grow without the pressure of traditional grade levels—a place where their abilities could be nurtured, not defined by their age. "It's really so different from what were used to," Lillian explained. "Everything was so...competitive back home. It felt at times like we were being pitted against each other, you know? And it never mattered that you excelled at one thing. If you struggled at another, it was all anyone every focused on." Eleanor nodded, though no one could see her. Although both Eleanor and Lillian were very good students, they each had their strengths and weaknesses, and they very often did not overlap. Abby grinned as she looked at them, knowing that she had given them a glimpse into the unique system that would soon become their own. “Trust me, you’ll fit in great. It's going to be new for me too. I mean, we had like fifty meetings last year getting us ready for high school, and still no one really knows what to expect. They always said the same thing to us "just take your time, figure out what you want to do, and don’t stress" I guess we'll all just find out how it all works once we get into the swing of things. Maybe we'll even have some classes together!! Wouldn't that be great!” "Ya, it would" Eleanor stated firmly. It would be nice to have at least one other friend before the first day, and Abby was reminding Eleanor just how much she and Lillian liked spending time with her. "Kind of a funny word - Montessori." Lillian said, stifling a laugh. "Sort of sounds like a dinosaur or something." The girls paused and all looked at each other, before bursting into a collective giggle that drew the attention of more than a few patrons of the local stores. Having decided that they'd had enough of town - and that Lillian ought to take a natural sciences class - the twins acquiesced to their cousin's request for a tour of their new house. After exploring the outside, Abby followed the girls through the front door, taking in the space with wide, curious eyes. "Mom didn't let me come while they were working on it. She said we'd get up to no good in here." Abby said, admiring the beautifully renovated foyer. It gave Eleanor some pride knowing that her cousin thought the house was nice. Lillian led the way toward the living room, chatting about their plans for the space while Lillian trailed behind, offering tidbits about rooms here and there. They passed the stairs, with the wooden banister still slick and polished, and made their way down the hallway toward the bathroom they shared. “This is our bathroom,” Eleanor said, pushing open the door with a flourish. It was a large, yet cozy space, with old-fashioned charm. The cream-colored tile, slightly worn around the edges, glimmered in the soft light. A clawfoot bathtub sat in the center of the room, its brass feet polished to a gleam, though the tub itself had a few scratches that added to its rustic charm. The shower curtain was a soft blue, with a pattern of white seashells, and beneath it, the floor was tiled with small, circular tiles that felt cool underfoot. A small window let in the daylight, its panes slightly fogged from the humidity in the air. Two separate sinks sat in brand new vanities, one for each sister. “Mom picked out a lot of the decor,” Lillian explained, half-smiling as she ran her hand along the edge of her sink. “She has this thing for vintage stuff.” “Yeah,” Eleanor chimed in. “She says it gives the place character. It’s pretty comfy though. We don’t have to fight over the mirror like at our old place.” Abby chuckled. “I can see that. It’s nice. Really cozy.” After a few moments, the twins led Abby further down the hallway to the next door. They turned the handle, revealing a space that was a welcome blend of comfort and fun. “This is the TV room,” Lillian said, with an air of pride. “In fact, its the only room with a TV.” The room was spacious but cozy, tucked into a corner of the house where the afternoon light streamed in through a large window. A long sectional sofa faced a large flat-screen TV mounted on the wall, with a scattering of colorful throw pillows on the floor nearby. A rug of plush, pale yellow carpet lay beneath the furniture, adding to the welcoming feel of the room. Against the wall with the television, shelves were filled with old board games, puzzles, and a growing collection of DVDs. There was a large, long, leather coffee table with a marble chess set resting on it centered between the sectional. Another small table was tucked into the back wall in front of the window, perfect for playing a game at or doing homework. After a few moments, the twins led Abby further down the hallway to Lillian’s room, which was tucked just past the bathroom, its door slightly ajar. They paused in the doorway as Abby took in the sight of the room, her eyes scanning the details. The blue walls gave the space a fresh feel. The bed - completely unmade, was a mess of blankets and sheets. Abby stepped inside, looking around thoughtfully. “Wow, it’s…really personal. You can tell it’s yours.” "Shut up." Lillian retorted. "I haven't even had a chance to unpack yet. I basically threw half the stuff out of that box just looking for pajamas," Eleanor shrugged, thinking that perhaps they should have started with her room, with its bed made, and boxes neatly folded after being unpacked. Eleanor opted to not mention it, running her fingers lightly over the edge of her sister's desk. “It’s still a work in progress, but it'll feel like Lillian in no time..” As Abby nodded in agreement, Eleanor's gaze fell to the desk where the hourglass sat, its base steady and firm on the surface. And then, just as she was about to comment on it, something shifted. Eleanor’s eyes narrowed as she saw the fine, almost imperceptible line of sand creeping down the narrow neck of the hourglass, slowly falling into the bottom chamber. The first few grains fell silently, almost unnoticed, but the sight of it was enough to make Eleanor’s breath catch. "Huh..." “Is something wrong?” Abby asked, her voice breaking through the quiet moment. Eleanor blinked and immediately pulled her attention back to the room, her face briefly flushing with something she couldn’t quite explain. “No, nothing’s wrong. Just— I could have sworn— ” She stepped back, giving Abby room to look around. The sound of the front door creaking open downstairs caught Eleanor’s attention, and the sound of Maggie’s voice called up from the entryway, making Lillian turn and glance toward the door. “Mom’s home,” Lillian said with a light chuckle, as if the arrival of their mom could erase the strange feeling that lingered. “Let’s go see her!” Abby said with enthusiasm. “I want to see what she’s been up to.” Eleanor gave one last glance at the hourglass, where the sand had settled, the trickle she had seen - or thought she had - no longer able to be identified. She shook her head, trying to clear the thoughts that had started to cloud her mind, before following her sister and cousin out of the room. 'It's been a long couple of days,' Eleanor told herself as she descended the stairs. 'It was probably just my imagination. And if not, Lillian has a working hourglass and an even better bargain than she'd originally believed.

I had the same issue - clear your cache, browsing history, and open a new window. It worked for me!

Thanks for sharing. I am always on board with action that has proven records, or at least studies supporting, action that will protect people. I think that starts with teaching all people about consent, first and foremost. I found the contrast between the article's discussion on choking - where they referred to studies supporting their claims (albeit I didn't go and read them myself) and the article's discussion about age play - which admits studies are patchy at best, but cite general "concern" from certain sources. A ban certainly does not help the stigma of the community by making insinuations and conclusions based on "concern" alone, without more. It's disappointing to see. I appreciate you keeping us informed.

Chapter 5 - Lillian Carter Lillian stirred beneath the blankets, stretching lazily as morning light filtered through the unfamiliar curtains. Her body felt heavy, sluggish from the exhaustion of the day before. Moving was a slow, deliberate process—her limbs a little stiff, her mind still caught between sleep and wakefulness. Her legs ached especially from all the walking the day prior. The mattress beneath her felt different. Not uncomfortable, just… new. The springs didn’t creak the same way her old bed had, and the sheets were crisp in a way that only freshly unpacked linens ever were. The memory foam was just beginning to develop. She ran her hand along the fabric warming her body, fingertips catching on the subtle ridges of the quilt her mom had pulled from storage. It smelled faintly of cedar, the detergent her mom used to use when they were younger, and something homey. But there was something else beneath it—a hint of the cardboard boxes it had been packed away in, a stiffness that she disliked. Blinking against the sunlight, she turned onto her side, tugging the blanket tighter around her. The air in the room was cool, a reminder that Seabrook’s coastal mornings weren’t quite as warm as she was used to. She exhaled slowly, letting her eyes adjust as she took in the details of her bedroom. It still didn’t feel like hers. And it was quiet. Dead quiet. Even on the quietest mornings in the city, the sounds of traffic and the general business of the street would have made it's way up, even to the floor their apartment was on. By this hour, she would have heard the little stall selling coffees on the sidewalk barking orders, honking from various cars ignoring traffic signals, and at least two different emergency vehicle sirens. All the noise here was missing. It wasn't that the lack of noise bothered her, she had simply gotten used to waking up to the rustle and bustle of city life. She smiled as she thought back to the last time Abby had come to visit them, complaining that the noises had woken her up at 5 A.M. "What noises??" It was all Lillian remembered asking in response, as she fought of a yawn a full 8 hours later. Lillian blinked the sights in around her. The walls were painted a soft, muted blue—a shade Lillian had selected among the options afforded to her. Her mother had decided that her old room’s dark teal was “too harsh” for a fresh start, and definitely didn't fit the house's aesthetic. The color was fine, she supposed, but it wasn’t the same. There were still boxes stacked near her desk, some half-open from her search for pajamas, others untouched. She hadn’t finished unpacking, hadn’t yet found places for all her books or strung up the fairy lights she used to have above her bed. The room wasn't quite hers yet, but she smiled at the prospect of making it so. A few things had made their way out, though. Her soccer cleats sat by the door, laces still knotted from when she’d kicked them off after their last use. A small stack of well-worn paperbacks she had read dozens of times rested on the nightstand, along with her phone and the silver bracelet she had purchased the day before. The bracelet gleamed in the soft light, the delicate chain coiled neatly beside the lamp. That was odd. She didn’t remember taking it off. She frowned slightly, rubbing her wrist absentmindedly. Maybe she had, without thinking—she’d been so drained from the move, from the walk up and down the boardwalk, from the shopping, she barely remembered getting into bed. Shrugging it off, she pushed the covers down and sat up, stretching her arms over her head. Her pajamas—an oversized t-shirt and soft cotton shorts—fell loosely on her body.. The shirt’s neckline slid slightly off her shoulder, and when she shifted, the hem brushed against her thighs comfortably. Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, she let her feet settle onto the cool hardwood floor. The house, like their new town, was quieter than she expected. No muffled conversations drifting up from downstairs, no clatter of dishes from the kitchen. For a moment, she wondered if she’d woken up too early—but a quick glance at her phone told her it was already past nine. "Yikes." She wondered how much Eleanor had already gotten done that morning. Yawning, she stood and wandered toward the window. The view outside was different from what she was used to—not a familiar cityscape, but a quiet suburban street lined with trees. Beyond the houses, she could just barely glimpse the shimmer of the ocean, the water catching the light in a way that almost made her want to be outside. Almost. First, she needed sustenance. Instead, she turned back to her dresser, absently running a hand through her hair, and examining the state of herself that morning. Lillian than moved back across the room to the wall her bed rested against. Pressing her ear gently against the wall she shared with Eleanor, Lillian listened as if to confirm that her sister was already up. "Nothing, as expected," she said aloud to herself, before flinging herself back into bed and scrolling through her social media apps, letting her friends from back home know that she had made it safely, how quiet and boring the town was, and how much she missed them. After another hour of absentmindedly scrolling through pictures of excitement back in the city and delaying the start to her day, Lillian decided she could stay in her room no longer. The warmth of the sun pouring into her room told her it was late enough, and she was likely already in for a scolding from her mom for 'wasting the day away.' She didn't need that. As Lillian lifted herself out of bed, her gaze drifted toward her desk. Amid the scattered books, notebooks, charging cables sprawled about, and a half-unpacked box of knickknacks, something caught her eye. The hourglass. She had almost forgotten about it. It sat near the edge of her desk, right where she had left it last night after exploring her new room, absentmindedly setting it down without another thought. The glass gleamed in the morning light, its delicate curves making it look more fragile than she remembered. The sand—an odd, almost iridescent color—rested in the bottom half, completely still. Eerily so. She picked it up carefully, turning it over in her hands. Up close, she could see the tiny imperfections in the glass, the way the surface wasn’t entirely smooth. She felt the carvings in the wood as she delicately traced her fingers along its sides, trying to discern what they may have once been. The hourglass really did look old, older than anything else she had spotted up at the market. It wasn't like her to buy something like this, but now that she had it, it felt right, felt like it belonged in her room. "But it'd look cooler like this," Lillian decided, flipping it over, and setting it back down. Lillian watched as the sand shifted, settling down at the bottom of the upper chamber, and stopping where it met the lower chamber in the middle, settling and stopping still. "Better." Tilting her head, she considered it for a moment. It looked cooler this way, sand side up. It was unique - no one else's hourglass did this. 'Then again, who owns a broken hourglass.' Without really thinking about it, she left it like that, giving it one last glance before, grabbing her phone and putting on her new bracelet, and turning toward the door. By the time she left the room, the hourglass had long been forgotten about. Lillian padded quietly down the hallway, the restored wooden floors cool beneath her feet. The house still felt foreign, the echoes of her movements slightly different from what she was used to. Lillian had to stop and confirm that she was, in fact, going the correct way down the hallway to get to the stairs, before moving on. As she reached the staircase, she ran her fingers along the polished wooden railing, still adjusting to the way everything in this house smelled of fresh paint and varnish. The old banister had been stripped and refinished before they moved in, something her dad had insisted on after noticing how worn it had been when they toured the place. Though she had no real appreciation for the project, Lillian could recognize when something looked good, and the staircase looked fantastic. Halfway down the stairs, she slowed, her gaze catching on a familiar figure through the bay windows in the front room. Eleanor. Her twin was curled up in one of the white rocking chairs on the front porch, her long legs tucked beneath her as she read. A thick paperback rested in her lap, one hand idly twirling the edge of a page between her fingers. The rocking chair swayed gently, moving with the breeze. Her copper hair blew delicately, wisping by her ear. Lillian lingered for a moment, watching. Nora had always been a morning person, unlike Lillian, who preferred to sleep in when she could. Even during the summer, her sister would be up before everyone else, finding a quiet spot to read while the rest of the world caught up. She'd likely been our there for hours already At least some things hadn’t changed. It made Lillian warm inside to see her sister settling in. 'She'd been getting nervous about this move.' Yawning, Lillian tore her gaze away and made her way toward the kitchen, following the faint scent of coffee. The kitchen was flooded with warm morning light, golden beams filtering through the windows above the sink. The unpacking from last night was mostly finished, but a few stray boxes still sat near the far wall. Lillian barely noticed them as she walked in, stretching her arms above her head. “Morning, sweetheart,” Jim’s voice came from the kitchen island. Lillian turned, spotting her dad at the head of the table, a steaming mug of coffee in one hand and the morning paper in the other. He looked at ease, dressed in his usual weekend attire—soft flannel rolled up at the sleeves, work jeans, and the faintest trace of sawdust clinging to his shirt, as if he had already been out in the garage. “You’re up early,” he noted, arching a brow, sarcasm rampant through the comment. Lillian made a face. “It’s already past ten.” “Exactly. Early for you.” He smirked, taking a slow sip of coffee before gesturing toward the counter. “Coffee’s fresh if you want some. It's the second pot, if you'd believe it.” Lillian stuck her tongue out at her dad, before reaching for a mug. "Thanks. Do you think Nora wants a cup?" Lillian asked without thinking much, before remembering "oh...never mind." Jim chuckled. “Right, can't forget I raised a tea-drinking traitor out there.” Lillian rolled her eyes, grabbing a carton of oat milk to add to the coffee, before heading toward the cabinets, and locating the sugar jar. As she pulled down the sugar pot, she felt her dad’s gaze lingering on her. “You sleep okay?” he asked. Lillian hesitated for a moment before pouring her juice. “Yeah. Just feels… weird.” Jim nodded, setting his paper down. “It’ll take time to feel like home.” She leaned against the counter, taking a sip of her coffee creation. “It doesn’t feel real yet.” “That’s normal,” Jim said, stretching his arms behind his head. “When your mom and I bought our first place, it took us a while before it actually felt like ours. Kept expecting someone to tell us we had to pack up and leave.” Lillian snorted. “Didn’t you build that apartment?” “No," Jim corrected, "I just renovated the inside. In fact, that was what almost got us evicted. Still, just making changes inside didn’t make it feel any less temporary at first.” He tapped his fingers against the rim of his mug, thinking. “Home isn’t just about a house. It’s about what you do in it. You and your sister’ll settle in soon enough.” Lillian wasn’t so sure. "When did that apartment eventually start to feel like home?" Jim smiled. "Well, it sort of happened sort of one room at a time. It started with our bedroom. It was much, much smaller than even your bedroom here. But you see, your mother does this thing sometimes, and one night, when she was looking particularly good - "EW! Stop RIGHT NOW." Lillian shrieked over her dad's laughter. She was about 80% sure he was just joking but the 20% that he might not be was just not worth the risk. "Ew ew ew ew ew! You guys are OLD. And gross. And that is SO not funny." Lillian said, trying her best to conceal a wry smile. She turned, opening the pantry and scanning for something to eat. They had just stocked up on groceries, so there were plenty of options, but nothing immediately jumped out at her. Jim must have noticed her hesitation because he asked, “What are you looking for?” “Not sure.” She glanced over her shoulder. “What’d you eat?” “Toast and eggs. Your mom made them before she left.” Lillian wrinkled her nose. “Eh. Not feeling eggs.” Jim chuckled, standing and making his way over. “Want me to make you something?” “I’m not helpless, Dad,” she said, grabbing the box of cereal from the shelf, pouring it into a bowl, with a small portion of it spilling onto the counter. “Never said you were,” he replied easily, ruffling her hair as he passed. She swatted his hand away, scowling. “I’m not five. And I just fixed that,” she added half-heartedly, knowing she hadn't actually put much effort into her hair at all. She did her best to straighten the new mess that her father had exacerbated “Nope. But I still remember when you were.” He shot her a grin, moving toward the coffee pot. “You and Nora used to climb on the counters just to get to the cookie jar. You'd have her make a table on all fours while you climbed up and pulled the jar down. You'd always split them even though. Like little sugar-obsessed goblins.” Lillian snorted. “I had better balance than her. It was a mutually beneficial system. ” Jim chuckled, pouring himself another cup of coffee. “That’s debatable.” Before she could think too much about it, Jim’s voice broke through her thoughts. “So,” he said, leaning against the counter, “you girls found some cool stuff at that market yesterday?” Lillian nodded, pouring milk into her cereal. “Yeah. There were a lot of weird antiques and vintage clothes. Nora got a whole set of books, obviously. The map she got was cool though.” “Obviously,” Jim echoed with a smirk. “And you?” Lillian hesitated, stirring her cereal absently. “Just some stuff. This bracelet. A—” She almost said antique but stopped herself. “—a few things.” Jim arched a brow but didn’t push. Instead, he took a sip of his coffee and said, “Maybe next time I’ll come with you guys. Haven’t been to that market in years.” Lillian scooped up a bite of cereal. “You’d just go for the tools.” “Damn right, I would,” he said, grinning. “You see how many old hand tools they had? Some of those are better than the new ones they sell now. I bet they have some cool old sailors tools too. You'd be fascinated how sailors used to navigate the seas with these amazing devices.” She rolled her eyes. “You sound like an old man.” Jim let out a bark of laughter. “That’s because I am an old man, Lil.” Lillian smirked, shaking her head as she continued eating. For a moment, they stood in companionable silence, the only sounds in the kitchen the occasional clink of a spoon against her bowl and the distant creak of the porch rocking chair outside. Finally, Jim stretched, setting his empty mug in the sink. “Alright, I’ve got some things to do in the garage. You and Nora have plans today?” “Not really. Maybe we’ll text Abby. If i can get Nora's nose out of her book.” "That'd be nice. I bet she's excited you girls moved here. Maybe go by your grandfather's too - your mom is there this morning. He'd appreciate it." Jim nodded, then ruffled her hair again on his way out. “Dad—ugh, stop,” she groaned, ducking away. He just grinned. “Can’t help it. Habit.” She huffed, shaking her head as he left the kitchen. As she finished the last bite of cereal, her gaze drifted back toward the hallway. For some reason, she had the strangest feeling she had forgotten something.

There’s lots of good advice here. I personally like using notepad. I find it easy. best of luck with your writing journey!