Chapter 1 - Just Another Monday

The first day of Eternal Child Week started like any other Monday—annoyingly loud and way too early.

I groggily rolled over, slapping my alarm clock into silence before it could get a second beep in. A deep sigh left my lips as I stared at the ceiling, mentally bracing myself for whatever chaos the day would bring.

Some people start their mornings with gratitude. Me? I start mine with resignation.

Downstairs, I could already hear my younger brother running around like an over-caffeinated squirrel, followed by the distant scolding of my mother trying—and failing—to contain the storm.

With a groan, I pushed myself out of bed, stretched, and got dressed, keeping my usual neat and practical style. As much as Liana tried to convince me to "live a little" with my wardrobe, I wasn’t about to wear anything that screamed, Look at me! I have regrets!

By the time I made it to the kitchen, my mom was pinning my brother, Jake, with a Mom Stare™ as he sat at the table, stuffing toast into his mouth like it was an Olympic event.

“Nina, can you please talk some sense into him?” she asked, exasperated.

Jake, being the little menace that he was, barely looked up. “Sense is overrated.”

I sighed, grabbing an apple from the counter. “Jake, if you keep inhaling your food like that, you’re gonna choke.”

He grinned. “That’s quitter talk.”

Mom gave me a helpless look. I shrugged. At this point, if natural selection wanted to have a go at him, that was between them.

A knock at the door saved me from further parenting attempts. I already knew who it was.

Liana never just knocked.

She banged like she was trying to break the sound barrier, then followed it up with an overly dramatic, “NINAAAAA, OPEN UP OR I’M BREAKING IN.”

I sighed, biting into my apple as I walked to the door. “Liana, this is a house, not a bank vault. You’re not breaking into anything.”

The door swung open before I could reach for the knob. Liana stood there, looking completely unbothered by the fact that she had just about rattled the walls.

“Okay, but imagine if I did break in,” she said, walking inside like she lived here. “Super impressive, right?”

Mom gave her a tired smile. “Morning, Liana.”

“Morning, Mrs. M!” Liana waved before turning back to me. “Ready to face another pointless school day?”

“Ready to survive another school day,” I corrected.

Jake perked up, grinning. “Liana, tell Nina she’s boring.”

Liana placed a hand over her chest, looking deeply offended. “Excuse me? As your best friend, it is my duty to say that daily.”

I rolled my eyes, grabbing my bag. “Let’s go before you infect my house with whatever unhinged energy you woke up with.”

…

Walking to school with Liana was always an experience. She had exactly two walking speeds: sluggish and “we’re late.”

“So, did you actually sleep last night,” I asked, side-eyeing her, “or did you go down another rabbit hole of Eternal Child Week conspiracy theories?”

She grinned. “What if I told you I found a forum thread about how this whole thing is secretly a ploy to turn us all into government experiments?”

I sighed. “I’d say that’s not how science works.”

“Or is it?” She wiggled her fingers dramatically.

I ignored her.

…

By the time we got to school, the hallways were already buzzing with conversation—mostly about how Eternal Child Week still made no sense.

Liana, naturally, ignored all of this and made a beeline straight for our lockers—only to stop halfway.

I barely had time to react before she gasped loudly and grabbed my arm like she had discovered the secrets of the universe.

“Oh. My. God.”

“What now?” I asked warily.

She pointed across the hall. “Look. At. His. HAIR.”

I followed her gaze and immediately regretted it.

It was one of our classmates, Tyler, proudly showing off his new electric blue hair like he had just been cast in a cyberpunk movie.

I turned back to Liana. “And?”

Liana placed her hands on my shoulders. “Nina. This is a big deal.”

“For who?”

“For everyone!” She gestured wildly. “The school dress code is practically allergic to fun. If he got away with that, it means I could—”

“No,” I said immediately.

“You don’t even know what I was gonna say!”

I gave her a look. “Liana, you and impulse decisions go together like fire and gasoline.”

She gasped in mock betrayal. “Rude!”

I sighed. “Just promise me you won’t dye your hair neon green out of spite.”

“I make no promises.”

I rubbed my temples. It was too early for this.

By lunchtime, Liana had already racked up two near-detention moments: one for “accidentally” throwing a paper ball at our history teacher (it was totally on purpose) and another for attempting to sneak an entire bag of spicy chips into class (which she then choked on).

And now, here we were—her sitting across from me, looking like a scolded puppy, while I stared at her with a level of disappointment that transcended words.

“Nina…” Liana said cautiously.

I didn’t answer. I just… stared.

She fidgeted. “C’mon, say something.”

Silence.

Liana gulped. “I can feel you judging me.”

More silence.

Finally, she snapped. “OKAY, I MESSED UP. ARE YOU HAPPY?”

I sighed dramatically, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Liana, my dear, beloved best friend, what possessed you to challenge a history teacher to a paper ball duel?”

“I—”

“AND why, pray tell, did you think sneaking chips was a good idea? You do realize teachers have eyes, right?”

Liana shrunk back. “Uh…”

“Ok. Let's say we ignore that.”

“But then, choking on said chips?! Did you plan to humiliate yourself today?”

She groaned, flopping onto the table. “I panicked, okay?”

I took a deep breath. “Liana.”

She tensed.

Her face paled. “Wait, hold on—”

“You’re testing my patience, Liana~” My eyes twitched.

“I CAN CHANGE—”

The bell rang.

I exhaled, standing up. “Lucky you.”

She slumped in relief. “I swear, one day, you’re gonna actually kill me.”

I smirked. “I could throw you in a dumpster.”

“And yet, you don’t.” She stood up, dusting off her skirt. “That’s called friendship.”

I sighed. “More like tolerance.”

She grinned. “Same thing.”

And with that, we headed to class—completely unaware that this week was about to change everything.