✷ CHAMPAGNE COAST... 🌊🌺☀️
twenty twenty five (2025)

warning: slight mention of ed, and self harm.

lead me out on the moonlit floor

STONE WALLS FIGHT STONE BRICKS.

Within her protective barrier, Priya was impenetrable—a stone wall, immune to attack. 

She had been surrounded by toxicity her entire life, a constant undercurrent that shaped her early years. Her first memories were scattered impressions of relatives who, as she would later realize, were manipulative and cruel. 

Priya didn't remember everything clearly, but certain details stuck: her mother, always cleaning, scrubbing every corner of their modest home, even when her grandmother wasn't there to inspect. It was a nervous habit born from years of criticism. 

Her father, on the other hand, had chosen to be absent. While his job as a security guard at a tech firm in Chandigarh required long hours, his time away from home wasn't just spent working. He'd often linger after shifts, drinking with friends, and then making the nearly two-hour drive back to their house in Ludhiana—assuming he bothered to come home at all. 

Neha Danvers, Priya's mother, had been planning to leave long before Priya was born. She couldn't endure the constant humiliation and control from her in-laws. But when she found out she was pregnant, her escape plans stalled. Instead, she began to save—quietly, desperately—hiding small amounts of money wherever she could: in the folds of an old lehenga tucked away in her closet or in corners of the house her in-laws rarely looked. 

It took nearly five years of silent endurance and careful planning. One day, Neha told her family she was taking Priya to the market, but instead, she called a friend for help. That friend became her lifeline, the first step toward freedom. 

Neha was one of the few women in their tight-knit, conservative community to escape alive. It was a dangerous act of defiance, one she never forgot. 

Though she loved her homeland, Neha could never bring herself to return to India. It wasn't the place she hated—it was the memory of her husband's family, a sprawling, oppressive force that still haunted her. They could be anywhere, and the thought of encountering them was enough to keep her away. 

✷

Priya started school tomorrow, and the weight of it all was hitting her hard. Her class schedule had arrived in the mail that morning, sending her thoughts spiraling. 

Last night, she'd indulged in a little wine—because why not? Frank's sister, Mary Jo, had come over, dragging along her overly chatty daughter, Anne. God, Anne. All she did was talk. Nonstop. Priya couldn't help but think, Take a breath. Chill.

By now, Priya had officially moved everything from her old room in Boise to her new one. The space was beginning to feel like hers, covered with TV Girl, Sabrina, and Charli XCX posters. Faux vines hung above her bed, complementing the wavy blue print of her bedsheets, the sky-blue fur pillows, and the statement knot pillow she adored. It was her aesthetic, perfectly curated to feel like home. 

But the reality of her situation still loomed large. This was her last year of high school—a year she had imagined being hard enough already. Now, she had to face it in a new place, surrounded by strangers. New friends, a new boyfriend, a whole new life. She wondered, though: could this be her chance to reinvent herself? 

Frank was supposed to be home soon with the last of the boxes from the Boise house, so Priya rushed to get dressed. Even though Frank let the kids wear whatever they wanted, she still felt the urge to dress a little conservatively around him, out of habit more than necessity. 

She threw on a pair of biker shorts and an oversized tee, fluffing her hair into a semi-decent shape. Her wardrobe often blended with Jacquette's, and they traded clothes so often it felt like one shared closet. 

Leaving her cozy sanctuary, Priya headed to the dining table, where the envelope with her school paperwork waited. Sloane, unsurprisingly, had already made friends—the two girls down the street and the boy next door had fallen under her effortlessly magnetic charm. Priya, meanwhile, was still figuring out her next steps. 

Dumping the envelope's contents onto the table, she sorted through the pile: a student handbook, a bumper sticker, a consent form for field trips and the driver's ed course, a grad trip form, and, finally, the coveted class schedule. 

One paper caught her attention: a letter informing her of a meeting with her assigned school therapist, Mrs. Florence. Priya stared at it for a moment, unsure whether to be annoyed or intrigued. She'd never had a school therapist before. Was this standard for everyone, or was she being singled out for some reason? 

She tucked the papers back into the envelope, exhaling deeply. Tomorrow, everything would change. Whether she was ready or not, she was about to find out. 

✷

The outfit was simple, perfectly adhering to the school handbook. High-rise jeans paired with her favorite sports jersey, the neckline casually sagging below her right shoulder. On her feet were her trusty navy blue New Balances. Her hair, for once, cooperated, lying in soft, wavy curls. She'd braided a few strands—nothing too elaborate, but nice if you noticed. 

Her mom was already awake, bustling about the kitchen. It was nearly the end of her first month on the job, and the routine was starting to settle.

Meanwhile, Frank seemed to be thriving. He was finally home on time most days, even taking over Priya's usual task of picking up Sloane from field hockey practice. 

Grabbing her navy blue backpack, Priya slung it over one shoulder and stepped outside into the cool morning air. 

The first five minutes of her walk were spent untangling her headphones.

When she finally got them sorted, music filled her ears, and she let herself relax. The breeze was calming, and the quiet streets gave her a moment of peace. 

Suburban Los Angeles wasn't like Boise. Everything felt bigger, busier—different. 

As she turned down a street, the lively sound of a family caught her attention. She glanced up to see two young women and a teenage boy piling into a minivan. A man in a sharp suit slid into the driver's seat, while a blonde woman in business attire climbed into the passenger side. 

The van backed out of the driveway, revealing a cluster of overlapping similar bumper stickers on its rear. One stood out among the stack: 

Proud Parents of a Palisades Charter Grad of 2017!

Priya couldn't help but smile. She'd seen that same bumper sticker in the big envelope she'd opened the other day. It felt strange, like a tiny connection to these strangers. 

Shaking the thought away, Priya continued her walk. After another 15 minutes, she arrived at school and headed straight for the office. 

A student guide had been assigned to show her around. He was nice enough, but he wouldn't stop talking. He rambled on about the campus, classes, and his "totally underrated taste in music." Priya caught him making googly eyes at her when he thought she wasn't looking, which only made her more eager for the tour to end. 

She couldn't quite remember his name—something like Manny Delta? It hardly mattered. 

By the time she reached her first class, AP U.S. History with Mr. Cameron, most of the seats were already taken. She scanned the room and reluctantly sat next to a boy whose backpack and water bottle took up half the desk. 

Mr. Cameron sat at his desk, waiting for the bell to ring. The moment it did, he stood and began writing on the chalkboard in bold letters: 

APUSH

Priya recognized the acronym immediately. AP U.S. History. It had been drilled into her last year as the one AP course she needed for her future criminology degree. 

Mr. Cameron turned back to the class, clapping his hands together. 
"Good morning, everyone! Welcome to APUSH! I'm Mr. Cameron, your teacher—for now, at least—while Mrs. Alan recovers from her knee surgery." 

There were a few chuckles from the students. 

"As you know, Palisades Charter is a great school but doesn't have enough resources for every student to take AP classes. That's why the standard U.S. History course has been merged with AP U.S. History. It's a bit more challenging, but nothing you can't handle." 

Priya glanced at the handout on her desk as he continued. 

"Throughout the year, we'll tackle nine units, each with a quiz midway through, a unit test, a midterm in December, and a final in May. Sounds fun, right?" 

The class groaned collectively, but Mr. Cameron ignored it, his tone cheerful. 
"Your first unit begins in 1491 and goes through 1607. We'll start with Native American societies before European contact and the Columbian Exchange. The learning objectives are listed at the bottom of the handout." 

Priya scanned the goals quickly. She appreciated having a roadmap, even if the workload seemed daunting. 

"One last thing," Mr. Cameron added. "For those of you who emailed Mrs. Alan asking for recommendation letters: unfortunately, she won't be able to write them from her whole-body cast." 

A few students laughed. 

"Instead, Mr. Ali, the Social Justice teacher, will handle them. Be sure to submit your requests by September 29th." 

He looked at the clock. "Class is short today. Tomorrow, you'll get your textbooks, but on Wednesday, come prepared with a notebook, a pen, and correction tape. See you then!" 

The bell rang, and Priya hurriedly gathered her papers, slipping them into her folder. As she stood, her bag bumped into the water bottle of the boy sitting next to her, knocking it to the floor. 

"Hey! This is new," he complained, picking it up. 

"Sorry! Here," Priya said, handing it back to him. He smiled. 

As she turned to leave, she hesitated and looked back. 

"Sorry to bother you, but I'm new here. What's your name?" 

"Luke. Luke Dunphy." 

"Priya Danvers." 

They exchanged nods before starting to chat as they left the classroom together. 

Outside, Priya's assigned guide stood waiting. His eyes widened in mild panic. 

"I'm here to take you to your next class," he said quickly. 

"It's fine," Priya replied with a polite smile. "I know where it is. Thanks, Danny." 

She walked off with Luke, leaving the guide sputtering behind her. 

Luke raised an eyebrow at him. "You like her, don't you? She's been here one day, Manny." 

"Ugh," Manny groaned. "Why do you get to talk to her, and I don't? She even got my first name right earlier! But now she's calling me Danny Delta. Wow." 

"Maybe because you talk too much during these tours," Luke teased. 

"At least I can tell she doesn't like you either," Manny shot back. 

"She doesn't like you either," Luke countered. 

The two boys continued bickering as Priya made her way to her next class, AP Life Sciences. 

As she walked, she noticed students staring—not at her, but at someone behind her. She paused by a locker, watching as the stares followed. 

Who was it? 

She turned slightly, curiosity piqued.

A girl walked slowly down the hallway, her head lowered, her eyes half-closed. Her arms hung close to her sides, her fingers tightly clutching a cell phone with a sparkly lanyard dangling from it.

Priya noticed her right away. The girl exuded a mix of vulnerability and quiet defiance, as if she were trying to shrink into herself while daring someone to notice her.

Suddenly, a boy stepped into the girl's path, tapping her on the shoulder. Priya recognized him instantly—one of the loud, arrogant guys from the parking lot that morning.

The girl stopped abruptly, turning to face him. She stared at him dead-on, her expression void of emotion but her gaze sharp enough to cut.

The boy flinched. Whatever bravado he'd been holding onto faltered as his eyes twitched nervously.

Without a word, the girl raised her hands and clamped them down on his biceps, her grip firm. The boy's friends, standing off to the side, chuckled and made no move to intervene.

The girl didn't hesitate. With a sharp, practiced motion, she shoved him to the floor. He hit the ground hard, his confidence crumbling as she darted off down the hallway.

Priya couldn't help herself. She turned to the girl standing by the nearest locker, her face nearly buried inside it.
"Do you know who that is?" Priya asked, her voice tinged with curiosity.

The girl glanced up briefly, her tone neutral but not indifferent.

"That's Andrea Presley," she said. "She and that guy had a huge, messy breakup last year. It got really bad. She didn't eat for a month after, almost ended up in the hospital."

Priya's chest tightened. "Oh... that's awful." She hesitated, then added, "I'm Priya Danvers, by the way. What's your name?"

The girl turned to face her fully, her expression softening slightly.
"Lana Presley," she replied. "Andrea's my sister."

✷

AUTHOR'S NOTE━━━━━━━
luke , what have you done?

heyyy! how was this chapter? im really hoping i can keep this up regularly!

as of right now, jan 10, i have written the prologue and this chapter, and have started on the following!

i want to finish at min. 5 chapters before publishing. they will be scheduled for random times!

xoxo june