The Ivy Academy [COMPLETED]

The blare of my alarm, playing Fleetwood Mac’s “Dreams,” tore me from a fitful sleep. I slammed the stop button, the song’s usual comfort replaced by a creeping dread. It was Friday the 13th, December, and my birthday—a day usually marked by cheap cake and my sister Stevie’s arrival, but today felt different.

My ripped pillow and the Justin Bieber poster covering a hole in my wall served as constant reminders of our family’s struggles. A pan clattered in the kitchen, followed by a shriek. My stomach rumbled, but my hunger vanished as I walked into the kitchen and saw her.

Stevie, my older sister, was squatting on the linoleum, gathering spilled bacon. “Rhiannon!” she beamed.

“Stevie… I go by Rhi now, to acquaintances,” I retorted. Our usual banter.

Mom entered, her hair unusually styled for a nurse, making me feel a pang of guilt for her everyday sacrifices. Just then, the school bus honked. I rushed, pulling on a hoodie and Converse, ignoring my acne scars in the mirror.

As I ran out, Stevie’s cheery “Have a nice day!” echoed behind me. On the bus, Alice Fisher, my sweet, ring-clad friend, offered me her window seat and a root beer lollipop.

Looking out, I studied my house, the familiar weeds and clean-enough shutters. But then I saw it: the basement window, slid ajar, just enough for a human body to fit through. My heart hammered.

Before I could process it, a brick shattered the living room window. Breathless, I stood. No one on the bus noticed. Not the window, not the brick, not the intruder I was certain was inside.

Ignoring the bus driver’s impatient yells, I ran back home. Bursting through the front door, I saw the most terrifying sight of my life.