𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐞𝐝𝐞𝐧

[ ₁₉₉₆! ]

Annie Jo woke to the smell of French toast.

For a moment, she stayed still beneath the covers, breathing it in—warm cinnamon, browned butter, a faint trace of powdered sugar. The scent wrapped around her like a memory, something soft and half-forgotten. French toast meant a special morning. Birthdays. Snow days. Days her mother wanted to go above and beyond, make things feel a little more like love.

And now... game day. Nationals.

The ceiling fan turned slowly above her, stirring the curtains. Her bedroom was still dim, blue light softening the edges of everything. The cross above her bed cast a faint shadow on the wall, long and uneven.

She sat up slowly. Her head ached faintly—not a hangover, she didn't drink at the keg party, but something adjacent. Her body felt heavy, her throat dry. The aftershock of a long night—too much emotion, not enough air.

Last night came back in fragments. The party. Taissa's fight. Natalie in the woods. The warmth of the jacket on her shoulders. The way her heart had stuttered at the sound of her name in Natalie's voice.

She exhaled.

Then she pulled herself out of bed and crossed to the mirror.

She looked pale, underslept. Her eyes had that puffy, just-cried look to them. She splashed water on her face, rubbed a little balm into her lips, and tugged on a blue, short-sleeve flannel top. The fabric was soft and familiar—stolen from the laundry basket, slightly oversized, sleeves rolled up at the wrist. She slipped into a pair of worn jeans and tied her hair into two loose ponytails, one on each side. It made her look younger than she felt, but she didn't have the energy to change it.

The suitcase waited near the door, zipped up tight.

She glanced at it.

Then, without quite meaning to, she pressed her palm to the top. She felt the shape of the leather jacket inside.

Downstairs, the kitchen buzzed with low chatter and the sizzle of butter in the pan.

Their mom stood at the stove, wearing her navy robe and her usual pearl earrings, spatula in hand. A short stack of French toast slices already steamed on a plate beside her. Their dad sat at the table in jeans and a polo, reading the local paper and sipping from his green mug.

It smelled like vanilla and syrup and Sunday mornings. It almost didn't feel real.

"Morning, girls," Charlene said without turning around as they stepped into the room. "Hope you're hungry."

Laura Lee gave her usual chipper "Morning!" and took her seat. Annie Jo mumbled one too and slid in beside her, trying not to make eye contact with either of them.

Randy looked over the top of the paper. His eyes flicked once between them, then landed on Annie Jo.

"You two got in late last night."

Annie Jo felt her stomach seize. The chair creaked under her as she shifted. "Yeah. Sorry."

"We were helping clean up," Laura Lee said quickly. "We were just trying to be respectful."

Randy didn't respond right away. Just took another sip of coffee. When he spoke again, his tone was even, but that was worse somehow. "You've both got responsibilities now. You're part of something bigger than yourselves. So don't go doing anything that'd reflect poorly on your team—or on this family."

That last part settled like a stone in Annie's chest.

Charlene slid two plates of French toast onto the table with a smile. "I'm sure they know that, Randy." She touched Annie's shoulder gently. "Eat up, sweetie. You'll feel better with something warm in you."

Annie Jo nodded, but her appetite had already vanished. The smell, once comforting, now made her queasy.

She glanced sideways at Laura Lee, who was quietly cutting her French toast into neat triangles. Their eyes met for just a second. Then Laura looked away.

Molly arrived at 8:45, honking twice from the driveway in that obnoxious way only she could get away with. Charlene frowned at the noise, but Randy chuckled under his breath. "That girl."

Molly was practically family—she'd been coming around since elementary school, loud and loyal and unapologetically weird. Her parents were divorced and barely in the picture; Annie Jo had only met her mom once, years ago, and couldn't remember her face. For all intents and purposes, Molly had adopted the Chambers house as her second home. Charlene called her "a handful," but with a smile. Randy liked that she played rough and called him "Coach" even though he didn't coach anything.

Annie Jo hauled her suitcase down the steps and out the door, the morning sun glaring off the pavement. She blinked against it, shielding her eyes. Her dad helped load their bags into the back of Molly's car while their mom hugged them both tight at the curb, whispering, "Be safe, okay? Say your prayers. We'll be watching from home."

"Love you, Mama," Laura Lee said, squeezing her back.

"Love you too," Annie Jo echoed, quieter.

Then they were in the car, windows cracked, a punk mixtape humming softly from the tape deck. The seats were sticky with early heat and smelled faintly of cherry gum and old hairspray.

Molly threw the car into reverse and grinned at them through her aviators. "Guess what. Coach is bringing Travis and Javi with us."

Annie Jo lifted her brows. "For real?"

"Yup. Said it was a last-minute thing. Travis looked like he wanted to crawl out of his own skin about it. But Javi's pumped."

"Of course he is," Annie Jo said, unable to stop the fond smile. "He's been asking me about nationals for weeks. Kid's more into this than half the team."

Molly smirked. "And Travis didn't say no to the invite. Wonder why."

Annie Jo glanced at her sideways. "You two been talking a lot lately."

Molly shrugged, exaggerated and casual. "He's not as grumpy as he acts. If you get him going, he actually has thoughts. He smiled at me yesterday."

"Was it a real smile or like... a 'my soul is dying' smirk?"

"I'll take what I can get," Molly said with a laugh.

Laura Lee turned from the window. "I'm just glad Javi's coming. He's sweet."

"Yeah," Annie Jo said softly. "He really is."

The airport drop-off zone was already busy when they pulled up. Parents hugged players beside rolling duffels and yellow school-issued sweatshirts. Coach Martinez stood near the group with a clipboard in one hand and a thermos in the other, barking orders as bags were loaded onto a shuttle bus.

Javi stood beside him in a gray hoodie, bouncing a tennis ball off his knee with near-professional rhythm. When he spotted Annie Jo, he lit up and waved both arms above his head like he was signaling a plane.

She waved back with both hands before dragging her bag over to the group.

"Morning, Coach," she said, giving a quick nod.

Coach Martinez turned toward her, eyes sharp behind mirrored sunglasses. "You all set, Chambers?"

"Yes, sir."

"You ready to win?"

"Yes, sir," she repeated, a grin tugging at her mouth.

"That's what I like to hear. Bus boards in ten. Stay close, stay focused."

"Yes, sir."

As she turned to step away, someone else caught her eye—Coach Ben, standing a little off to the side, hands in his jacket pockets. "Hey, Annie Jo," he said as she passed, his voice quieter than Martinez's bark. "You doin' okay?"

She hesitated, surprised by the softness in his tone. "Yeah. Just... nerves, I guess."

He smiled—small, warm, real. "That's normal. Means you care. You've got a good head on your shoulders, Chambers. Keep it steady out there."

She nodded, that warm flutter blooming low in her chest. "Thanks, Coach."

He gave her a thumbs-up and wandered off toward the clipboard chaos.

Javi jogged over, tennis ball tucked under his arm. "You think we'll get room service?" he asked brightly.

Annie Jo laughed. "I think we're lucky if the hotel has hot water."

Travis trailed behind him, hands in his pockets. He didn't say anything at first, but his eyes tracked the group—and stopped, unmistakably, on Molly. She looked back at him through her aviators, then gave a small wave.

His lips twitched, almost a smile.

Annie Jo turned toward the back of the lot. A familiar rumble caught her attention—Natalie's beat-up car pulling in like it might fall apart at any second. She parked crookedly, killed the engine, and stepped out in slow motion.

Natalie looked over. Met Annie Jo's eyes.

And then she smiled—slow and quiet, like it was just for her. Annie Jo's breath caught. Her fingers curled tighter around the suitcase handle. Then she turned toward the shuttle and walked forward, slow and steady.

One step at a time.

‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧

Annie Jo's jaw dropped as she stepped onto the plane.

The cabin stretched out ahead of her like something out of a dream—white walls, high ceilings, clean leather seats arranged two by two on either side of the aisle. Sunlight streamed through the windows, casting long stripes of brightness across the floor. It was somehow both sleek and soft, the kind of quiet luxury that felt completely out of place in her small-town world.

She stared, blinking.

"Oh my gosh," Van said behind her, ducking into the cabin. She gave a sharp laugh and turned toward Lottie, next in line. "I cannot believe your dad paid for a private plane. What the hell?"

Lottie shrugged, hoisting her duffel into the overhead bin. "It's pretty much his only form of parenting." Her voice was flat, not bitter. Just practiced. She slid into the seat beside Laura Lee and added, quieter, "I guess I'll take it."

The girls chorused in mock-thankfulness as they moved past: "Thank you, Mr. Matthews!" Lottie let out a dry chuckle and shook her head.

Annie Jo lingered, letting the tide of the team move around her—buzzing, excited, crackling with leftover adrenaline from the morning. Her palms were sweaty. She wiped them on the thighs of her jeans and moved further in.

She found a pair of empty seats near the back and slid into the one by the window, dropping her backpack at her feet. Up ahead, Laura Lee was already settled, talking quietly to Lottie, who sat upright with her seatbelt fastened, ankles crossed like she was bracing for turbulence.

Just then, the light shifted.

A figure dropped into the seat beside her.

"Wicked," Natalie murmured, eyes wide as she took in the cabin.

Annie Jo looked up—caught by the low sweep of Natalie's lashes, the way the sunlight caught the blonde in her hair like threads of gold. Her leather jacket creaked softly as she settled beside her, the smell of smoke and clove gum clinging faintly to her clothes. One knee bounced, restless. She pressed her palm to the window like a kid seeing snow for the first time.

"Is this real?" Natalie muttered.

Annie Jo didn't mean to answer, not out loud, but it slipped out anyway. "I don't think so."

Natalie turned toward her with a crooked grin, eyes narrowing like she'd just figured something out. "Hey, country girl."

Annie Jo flushed. "Hey."

"You alright?" Natalie's voice had dropped, edges soft now. Her gaze moved across Annie Jo's face—not teasing, not mocking. Just... noticing. "You look kinda... I dunno. Pale."

"I'm fine," Annie Jo said too fast. Her knuckles were white on the armrest.

Natalie didn't look convinced.

Annie exhaled. "My granddad used to fly little planes. Crop dusters. He'd say stuff like, 'The sky's the only place a man's free.'" Her voice wobbled at the edges. "But I never liked them. I always felt like I was gonna fall straight through."

Natalie tilted her head, a little smile at the corner of her mouth. "That's kinda beautiful. Morbid, but beautiful."

Annie Jo gave a small shrug. "Laura Lee loved planes, though. We used to sit on the back porch and watch them pass over. She said it made her feel closer to God." Her voice softened. "Like the sky was whispering or something."

Natalie's smile shifted, gentler. "She's kind of weird, huh?"

"She's my sister," Annie Jo said. No bite—just a strange, surprising warmth.

"Yeah," Natalie said. "And I like her style."

Silence folded in between them—not heavy, but charged. Annie Jo became acutely aware of the space between their shoulders, the edge of Natalie's jacket brushing warm against her sleeve. She could feel the static of it beneath her skin—buzzing, wanting.

Up front, Coach Martinez called out names, clipboard in hand. Coach Ben leaned beside him, chewing gum like it might help him keep order, even as the team continued to mill around in semi-controlled chaos.

Travis slid into a window seat and shoved his duffel down beside him, blocking the spot.

"Nuh-uh, buttmunch," he snapped at Javi, who hovered beside him. "Get outta here."

Javi frowned, clutching the pack of gum their dad had handed him like a ticket to something permanent.

Across the aisle, Molly gave Travis a look. "Don't be a dick," she said flatly. She patted the seat beside her. "Come sit with the cooler one, Javi. I'll even give you the window."

Javi lit up and slid in beside her. Travis rolled his eyes and yanked on his headphones, slouching like he'd just lost a bet. Molly didn't say anything else—just rested her arm on the shared armrest and looked out the window, quiet.

Coach Martinez gave a sharp whistle. "Alright, folks. Buckle up—we're good to taxi."

Annie Jo's throat went dry.

The engines stirred beneath them—a low mechanical growl that vibrated up through the floor into her shoes. Her stomach flipped. Her fingers clamped the armrest. Her pulse thundered in her chest, fast and hollow.

Natalie glanced over, softer now. "You sure you're okay?"

Annie Jo nodded, too quickly. Her whole body betrayed her.

Natalie leaned in, voice barely more than a whisper. "Hey. I'll distract you. Wanna hear something stupid?"

Annie Jo turned toward her. "Okay."

Natalie grinned. "I've never been on a plane either."

Annie blinked. "Seriously?"

Natalie nodded. "But I've seen Die Hard 2 like... twelve times."

Annie Jo let out a laugh—tight at first, then real, tumbling from her chest in surprise. Her grip on the armrest loosened.

The wheels began to roll. Slowly at first, then faster. The hum turned to a roar. The plane lifted—and Annie Jo's stomach dropped as the nose tilted skyward. She pressed back into her seat, breath hitching.

She stared out the window.

The runway blurred. Then disappeared.

And suddenly—

Clouds.

White and soft and endless.

"Holy shit," Natalie breathed.

She leaned closer to the glass, hands braced on the window frame, eyes wide. Her reflection blurred against the sky, blue light flickering across her face.

Annie Jo turned to look at her instead.

The light hit Natalie's profile just right—sharp cheekbones, soft lashes, a shimmer in her eyes like wonder or disbelief or both.

Something shifted in Annie Jo's chest. Sharp. Electric.

Natalie looked back at her, smirking. "Told you it was wicked."

Annie Jo didn't answer right away. She just smiled—small, private—and turned back to the clouds.

‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧

The sky stretched on forever.

Clouds like fields. Clouds like cotton torn into shreds. Clouds like the edge of something holy.

Annie Jo pressed her forehead against the window and let the cool glass anchor her. The hum of the plane softened, became something distant and low—like a river far away or the murmur of prayer through a thick church wall. She could feel Natalie's shoulder pressed against hers, warm and solid. At some point—she wasn't sure when—Natalie had fallen asleep, her head tucked neatly into the hollow where Annie Jo's shoulder met her neck. It felt like something chosen. Like something trusted.

Natalie's breath was slow and even, a rhythm that calmed Annie Jo more than scripture ever had. Every few seconds, a stray strand of her hair shifted, brushing lightly against Annie's collarbone like a question with no clear answer.

She didn't move. She didn't dare.

Instead, she looked—drank in the sight of Natalie soft and defenseless in sleep, her lashes casting shadows across her cheeks, a single freckle beneath her jaw. Something about that freckle made Annie Jo feel like crying. There was no logic to it. Just a dull, quiet ache in her chest, steady as a pulse, steady as a sin.

It wasn't loud. Just constant.

Like a question she wasn't allowed to ask.

What was so wrong with this?

With this warmth, this closeness? With the way her heart steadied when Natalie was near, like it had been beating crooked her whole life and only now was righting itself? What part of her was actually sinning? Was it her heart? Her skin? The part of her that wanted to stay exactly like this—still and safe and held together not by scripture, but by another girl?

She thought of Father Miller's voice, thundering across the pulpit. All fire, no light. She thought of her mother's hugs—brief, functional, perfunctory. She thought of the wrinkled issue of Seventeen she'd hidden under her mattress last summer, the one with the spread about girls kissing girls at music festivals, and how afterward she'd sat in the shower until her skin went red and raw, begging God to wash her clean.

She'd tried to scrub the want out of herself.

Tried to bleach it back to it's pure state.

But the ache had stayed.

And now here she was, head bowed like a penitent, Natalie's breath against her neck like grace. Like temptation. Like both.

She wanted to weep. But more than that—she wanted to rest.

Slowly, carefully, she let her head tilt until her temple rested atop Natalie's. Her eyes fluttered closed.

And for a moment, it felt like peace.

Then came the pain.

A crack—loud, sharp, wrong—and her body jolted forward before her brain could catch up. Her skull slammed into the tray table, the metal edge biting into her forehead. A burst of white behind her eyes, like a camera flash gone off too close.

She gasped. Choked. Cried out without meaning to.

The plane groaned around her, a low, primal sound like some enormous creature in agony. Everything trembled—floor, seat, lungs, teeth. Screams bloomed in the air like firecrackers, like prayers turned inside out.

She tried to sit up. Her hands clawed for something solid. The world tilted and refused to right itself.

Annie Jo blinked, head throbbing, vision swimming in waves of color and light. Something warm trickled behind her ear—she didn't know if it was sweat or blood or both. The seatbelt bit into her hips. Her stomach pitched again.

With effort, she turned her head. Her neck screamed. The muscles pulled tight, trembling under the strain.

Natalie was awake beside her. Her eyes locked onto Annie Jo's with something close to terror—wide, glassy, pupils blown so large they swallowed the grey around them. She looked like she was seeing something Annie Jo couldn't.

A clear oxygen mask clung to her face, fogging slightly with each shallow breath. Her chest heaved. Her hand shot upward, fingers shaking so badly they barely worked, and yanked down the second mask from above Annie's head. The movement was rough, panicked. Desperate. The mask smacked into Annie Jo's shoulder, dangling for a second before Natalie caught it again with both hands. Her knuckles were white, her nails bitten to the quick.

"Put it on!" the older girl shouted, but the words were smothered by plastic and panic.

Annie Jo couldn't move. Could barely keep her eyes open. Sound swam in and out—muted like she was underwater, like her ears were packed full of static.

Natalie grabbed her chin, gently but with urgency, guiding the mask over her mouth and nose. Her fingers brushed Annie Jo's cheek again, pushed hair from her face with a kind of frantic tenderness that almost undid her. The rubber pressed tight against her lips. It smelled faintly of dust and fear.

She tried to speak. Tried to ask about Laura Lee.

Where was she?

She twisted in her seat, heart galloping, vision smeared like wet paint. Bags had fallen into the aisle. Hands flailed. Someone was crying. The cabin lights flickered.

The seat in front of her—that was Laura Lee, wasn't it? Head ducked, eyes shut, hands folded like she was praying through the storm.

Annie Jo's fingers clawed at the seatbelt buckle, fighting the sudden tremor in her hands.

"No, no—Annie!" Natalie's voice again, distant and distorted. Her hand clamped around Annie's wrist.

But Annie had already risen.

The moment she stood, the world warped. Her knees buckled. Her stomach dropped like she was on a rollercoaster plummeting from its peak.

Her body felt wrong. Too heavy. Too light. Like she was wearing herself from the inside out.

She turned toward the window again, dizzy and reeling.

The trees.

A sea of them, endless and dark and green, rising to meet the plane like a second sky. The treeline rushed upward—eager, hungry. It didn't feel like they were falling. It felt like the earth had decided to reach for them.

And then—

It hit her.

The thought.

The terrible, sacred thought.

Is this what Eden looked like?

Before the shame. Before the sermons. Before someone pointed at her heart and called it filthy.

Before exile.

She pictured herself walking barefoot through that forest, Natalie's hand in hers. No fear. No silence. No rules. Just light filtering through branches and breath warm against her neck.

Had she already tasted the fruit?

Had she already fallen?

Been cast out?

And if so... was this the consequence?

Her legs trembled beneath her. Her hands sparked with pins and needles. Her lips went numb. The air in the cabin thickened until it felt like soup in her lungs.

A hand clutched her arm again—Natalie's—trying to hold her upright, trying to pull her back to her seat.

A voice called out behind her, frantic.

A prayer? A curse?

It didn't matter.

Because the sky ripped open.

There was a sound like thunder being torn apart. A light that had no color at all. The shriek of metal twisting, breaking, dying.

Annie Jo's chest slammed into the seat in front of her. Her head snapped sideways into the wall. Pain bloomed like fire, hot and bright and total.

And then everything went dark.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

And that's why we wear seatbelts, kids.

Thank you so much for reading Chapter Six! This one was a big turning point emotionally! Writing this chapter was weirdly bittersweet. I loved showing the quiet, tender (and awkward) moments between these girls, especially as Annie Jo starts to really feel the cracks in everything she thought she believed.

We're officially in the wilderness, and the end of the pilot episode.

If you're enjoying the story so far, it means the world when you vote, comment, or add it to your library — it helps more readers find the fic, and I really love hearing your thoughts, especially as we start to move deeper into the story! Adult Annie is coming up!

Question of the Chapter: Who would you want to sit next to on the plane?

Until next time,

Lyss