“This is going on Tik Tok,” he muttered, not even trying to hide it.

I wanted to disappear. No, I wanted to scream.

But instead, I stood there frozen, gripping my notebook so hard I thought the spiral binding would snap. My jaw clenched, my throat tightened.

Don’t give them more to laugh at, I told myself. Not here. Not now.

“Are you going to stand there all day?” Mom said sharply, gesturing to the empty seat near them. “Or do you need me to ask the flight attendant to get you a map?”

Another chuckle from somewhere behind us.

I walked to my seat—her seat, really. She’d booked it. I wasn’t worth my own booking, apparently—and sat down without saying a word.

“Goodness,” Mom continued, as if I wasn’t sitting right next to her. “The least you could do is sit far enough away not to embarrass us. But I suppose it’s too late for that.”

I stared at my notebook.

Endure. For now.

I wrote it slowly, pressing hard into the paper. The only thing that kept me from falling apart in moments like this was knowing I could still write, still turn pain into words, even if those words stayed locked in this notebook forever.

The flight attendant stopped by, offering drinks. I managed to find my voice long enough to ask if there were any other available seats.

She apologized politely. Full flight.

Mom smirked at me like she’d won something.

I didn’t give her the satisfaction of reacting. I kept my eyes forward, my hand resting on my notebook, holding on to it like a lifeline.

As the plane taxied down the runway, I turned toward the window, watching the lights of Chicago blur into streaks as we lifted off. My reflection stared back at me—hair pulled into a simple bun, no makeup, clothes that screamed out of place among this crowd. I didn’t look like someone who once… well, it didn’t matter. Not to them.

They think I’m nothing, I whispered so softly, even I barely heard it. But they don’t know who I used to be. They think I’m nothing. They don’t know who I used to be.

I leaned my head back against the seat and stared at the overhead vent, letting the hum of the cabin drown out my mother’s voice.

But then, a sound sharper than all the others cut through. Laughter. Not the casual passing kind, the sort that’s aimed like a dart.

I turned my head slightly and saw him, the same teenager across the aisle holding his phone at just the right angle to capture me. His friend peeked over his shoulder, whispering something before they both laughed.

“The internet’s loving this,” he said, just loud enough for me to hear. “She’s trending already.”

Trending?

I bit the inside of my cheek. I didn’t need to see the comments to know exactly what they said.