Fatal Flaws

"Wake up! We're here," my mother's voice slices through my dream.

I'm dancing with my father, the radio playing in the background. His powerful voice rings out louder than the music—singing to me—as we move across the sunlit porch. Standing on his feet, we swirl and twirl through the air. I feel free.

In the moment, the world stands still and everything is perfect—until my mother's voice rings out again, dragging me back. "Get up, we're here."

The scent of his cologne and the sound of his laughter fade into the stale air of the car.

Lifting my head, my neck throbs, and my shoulder is stiff from sleeping against the door.

I blink several times, trying to hold onto the sight of my father's smiling face, but all I get is my mom's hand shaking my leg, her voice sharp with impatience. "Rebekkah, get up now!"

I must've dozed off at some point, after watching countless mountains and trees whiz by.

The car smells like fast food—April's sausage biscuit, Mom's coffee—and sweat. My sister's face is pressed to the window, a smudge of grease on her chin, her eyes wide open.

My mouth is dry as I yawn, searching for my earbuds that have escaped and are nestled between the seats, still playing music—but it's not enough to drown out my mother.

"This is the last time, Rebekkah! Get up, now!" she snaps, throwing the car in park.

Groaning, I rub my tired eyes, and the memory of my father's smile flickers in my mind. I glance at the empty seat beside me; a hollow ache settles in my chest.

The only sounds are our breaths and the clicks of April's phone as she photographs the scenery. The stillness grates on me. I need to escape this car before I completely unravel.

A rush of cool air floods the car as April flings open her door, and Mom leans down to grab her purse from the floorboard—finishing her coffee before tossing the rest onto the asphalt.

"Don't forget your trash, April," Mom reminds her as April steps out of the car, but she chooses to ignore her.

Opening my door, I step out onto the pavement, taking a deep breath. The fresh salty air fills my lungs—clean and fresh, compared to home.

Looking around the parking lot, it's packed with cars and people. A sign attached to the nearest post reads Lot D.

My eyes scan over the campus map's colored blocks and symbols, finding our location.

We're in the lot closest to the main buildings—with classrooms and other offices.

The massive buildings are constructed of grayish-white stone, with large windows that reflect the sun's rays.

Lush greenery sprinkled with white flowers and tall, thick trees lines the paths winding between the structures.

Twirling in circles, I try to take everything in at once, but there's too much.

My eyes dart between the people, buildings, and scenery, landing on a group of students across the quad. Seated at a wooden picnic table, they're laughing and talking while eating lunch.

Various shops, restaurants, and other businesses line the roads behind them, with people walking in and out. Horns honk, cars screech, and the faint sound of music playing on the radio—all seem to seep into the university grounds.

Glancing back down, I locate student housing—nowhere near here.

"Ugh," I groan, my shoulders slump, kicking at the white lines on the asphalt.