It all started with a dare ✔️

The blare of my alarm ripped me from the sweet embrace of sleep. Not the gentle chirping of birds, not the soft caress of sunlight, but a piercing electronic shriek. With a groan, I slammed my hand onto the snooze button, desperate for another five minutes of oblivion. A moment later, Ashton, my older brother and resident morning menace, began his ritualistic assault on my bedroom door.

“Elena Ella Garcia! You better hurry or I’m leaving without your late ass!” His voice, a booming crescendo of annoyance, echoed through the house.

“Leave me alone!” I yelled back, my eyes still stubbornly shut, clinging to my pillow as if it held the secrets to eternal slumber. But the urgency in his tone, coupled with the sudden realization of the time, jolted me awake.

Shit. I’m gonna be late.

I sprang from bed, a blur of motion, fumbling for clothes that vaguely resembled something presentable: a baggy black shirt I’d haphazardly painted on and my trusty blue denim mom jeans. A quick dash to the bathroom for the essentials, and then I was grabbing my bag, sliding on my glasses, and tearing out of my room, already hearing the impatient honk of Ashton’s black Mustang from the driveway. He was waiting, and I knew, with a sinking feeling, who else would be in that car.