The wood of the pole felt rough under Samara’s feet, the wind blowing through her hair. She gripped the paper-thin gown covering her body as she stared at the city’s tall buildings, the blinding lights shining on her face. Even from her spot on the tower, the super skinny models in skimpy bikinis seemed to glare at the teenager with their neon eyes.

Sam closed her eyes, allowing the faint buzzing of the lights to echo in her brain. She didn’t quite know where she was, as she had only seen this city in her dreams. But she’d had these aforementioned dreams ever since she was a little kid, so she knew the area like the back of her hand. 

She slowly lifted up a foot and stepped onto the powerline, the giant steel wire swaying slightly beneath Sam’s weight as she walked across, her hands outstretched at her sides like a tightrope walker. Others would probably be fearful in this situation, of being this high in the air in a neon-colored city.

But Samara wasn’t. 

This thrilled her, down to her core.

Until she approached the tall statue in the middle of the town square, the sculpted hunk of rock covered in moss and bird shit.

At first, she was intrigued, as she had never seen this before—in fact, that was what drove her to step closer.

Then it cracked.

And then grew bigger, and bigger, almost as if it were some sort of giant egg.

And then the statue exploded, vines and trees bursting out of the stone, filling the streets with bright green foliage.

Vines wrapped around her body; first her feet and legs, then her torso, until they started making their way around her head.

The smell of cut grass filled her nose as her vision went dark, the vines obscuring her vision.

Samara Thornbury awoke in her bedroom, her arms and legs tangled in her pale yellow sheets.

She kicked herself free from her bedding, grasping her bedframe to avoid falling off her bed in the process, only releasing her grip once her sheets were no longer trying to make a faux cocoon around her body. Sam slowly stood up, yawning and rubbing her eyes as she went to grab her clothes, glancing outside as she got dressed.

The summer sun shone brightly, peeking through her curtains and flooding her bedroom. It was warm, but not to the point where it was unbearable. It appeared to be one of the most perfect summer days of the year, and school vacation had only started last week.

A good day for exploring, Samara thought as she slung her bag over her shoulder, running her fingers through her hair as she stared at the mirror. There were photos pasted around it, mainly of Samara and the rest of the Thornburys, occasionally of her siblings’ friends, but smack dab on her left…

Sam gently kissed her index and middle finger before pressing them onto the photo of her birth parents, their faces forever smiling, one of the only things she had left of them. She had very little memory of them since she was only a baby when they passed, but she still missed them. She couldn’t help it.

“Morning, Mom and Pop,” she whispered. “Hope you’re having a good day up there.” Sam smiled at the photo momentarily before grabbing her journal and pen and shoving it in her bag, despite thinking she wouldn’t need it. After all, she mostly used it to jot down significant moments, and today seemed like it would be peaceful and uneventful.

Samara was quickly proven wrong by the sound of loud crashing, followed by violent cursing.

The teenage girl hopped out of her room to investigate the source of the chaos, almost immediately spotting her older adoptive siblings Peyton and OJ, the two of them fighting over a dollar bill in their hands as they argued loudly.

“I saw it first!” OJ snapped.

“Well, I grabbed it first!” Peyton replied sharply, clawing at their brother’s hands. “Stop being a baby!”

“I’m older than you!”

“By forty-five seconds!”

“Still older than you, beanpole!”

“DON’T CALL ME THAT!” Peyton tackled their twin brother to the floor, the fight getting even more physical as OJ fought to keep the dollar out of Peyton’s reach, the two of them failing to account for the other variable, which came in the form of the youngest and third Thornbury child.

“Yoink!” Samara chimed, snatching the bill from OJ’s hand. “I got dibs!”

“Hey!” OJ gasped, head snapping up as he glared at his little sister. “Samara, gimme that!”

“You’ll have to catch me first!” Sam ran off, sliding down the stairs’ handrail as she giggled wildly, her prize in hand.

“Why that little—SAM, GET BACK HERE!” Peyton used their brother as a vault as they chased after their sister, OJ quickly following suit. It was soon a high-speed chase as Samara weaved in and out of rooms, attempting to shake her siblings off her tail, before she finally turned on her heel and shoved her way past the twins like a football player, making a beeline for the kitchen table, which had been declared one of the many stagnant “bases” around the house by none other than the Thornbury teens, from back when they were all little kids.

“Kids?” Sylvester Thornbury, more commonly referred to as “Sylvie” by his loving wife Cansu, shouted for his children from the living room, standing next to the staircase. “Breakfast is almost ready—what’s all that noise up there?”

“The noise of a winner!” Samara cried, rushing down the stairs, the twins following her so fast they nearly knocked over their father. The three teenagers burst through the kitchen doorway, the twins tackling their sister to the ground, but not before Samara could grasp the table with her free hand.

“Safe! Table’s safe!” Sam exclaimed, cackling as she heard her older siblings groan. “Too slow, punks!”

“I see you three have been up a while,” Cansu chuckled from her place near the stove, putting scrambled eggs on plates. “Good game, Samara!”

“Cansu, don’t encourage this!” Sylvie groaned, shuffling in the kitchen. “The kids could’ve broken something, for God’s sake!”

“Don’t say that like we weren’t like that at their age, Sylvie,” Cansu replied. “Remember sophomore year of high school, when Nick—”

“We do not speak of the frog incident, Cansu.”

The kids burst into laughter as they took their seats at the table, Samara sticking her tongue out childishly at the twins as she shoved the dollar into her pocket.

“So, kids, any plans for today?” Cansu asked her children, setting out plates of eggs and sausage.

“Luna found a box of lightbulbs behind the school’s dumpster the other night, so my friends and I are going to the empty lot near the church to smash them with a baseball bat,” Peyton replied.

“Why was your girlfriend by our school? Classes have been out for a week,” OJ questioned.

“Because why are you questioning me, you dork? Do you not have any plans?”

“Actually, I’m going bowling with the gang later, so there.”

“Ah, yes, because you don’t get bitches.”

“Peyton, be nice to your brother,” Sylvie said warningly. “It’s not OJ’s fault that he can’t get bitches.”

“Dad, not helping.” OJ looked like he wanted to sink into the floor.

“Do you have any plans today, Samara?” Cansu asked the youngest Thornbury, pouring herself some herbal tea.

“Not really, Aunt Cansu.” Unlike her siblings, Sam was never really comfortable calling Cansu and Sylvie “Mom and Dad,” unlike her siblings. It just didn’t sit right with her for some reason, almost like her parents would disprove that from beyond their graves. “Thinking of heading down into town for a while.”

“Well, they did finish construction in the next neighborhood over,” Cansu mused. “They cleaned up all the damage from last week’s storm and fixed the powerlines….”

“They did? Aw, sweet!” Now that was something Samara could get in on.

“Samara, I don’t want you walking all over those things,” Sylvie told Samara in a warning tone. “People get arrested for doing things like this.”

“C’mon, Uncle Sylv! They’d never catch me.”

“Yeah, eff the cops,” OJ chimed in. 

“Oliver Jackson!” Cansu scolded. “I thought you knew better than that.”

Sylvie sighed. “Thank you, sweetie—”

“It’s ‘fuck the cops,’ not just eff them.”

Sylvie rubbed at his temples. “Oh my God.”

“You did this, Dad,” Peyton informed him. “You married Mom, had us, then adopted Sam. The chaotic shitshow that is our family is all on you.”

“Peyton, quiet.”

“Anyways, slandering the police aside,” Cansu chuckled, turning to Samara again. “Sam, sweetie, try and make some friends over break this year, okay? I mean, the twins have their friend groups—"

“I have friends!” Samara said defensively.

“I don’t mean your siblings’ friends. I mean friends of your own,” Cansu replied. “After all, the twins will be seniors soon, and they’ll be off to college before you know it. They’re not always going to be around to support you….”

Sam sighed, shoveling the last bit of egg into her mouth defeatedly. “Okay, Aunt Cansu. I’ll try.”

“That’s the spirit!” Cansu smiled, ruffling her adoptive daughter’s hair, taking the empty plate. “Now get out there and—”

Honk, honk!

“Fuck, they’re early!” Peyton cursed as they jumped up from their seat, shoveling the rest of their breakfast into their mouth before tossing their dishes in the sink and rushing out the door. “Bye, Mom and Dad! Don’t wait up!”

“Be home by curfew!” Sylvie shouted after them.

“I should be heading out, too,” OJ said, standing up to put his plate in the sink, Sam following his lead. “The gang and I are thinking about poking around the mall before we hit the lanes.” 

“And I’m going to poke around to see if the new Lilith Celestes is out yet!” 

“Is that the book series you read about that witch?”

“Sorceress! Lilith’s a sorceress,” Samara corrected. “A very pretty one, may I add.”

“Gay.”

“Shut up, you hypocrite.”

Cansu chuckled, smiling slightly at her two kids. “Well, you two have fun. And don’t forget to call if you’ll be out late, alright?”

As the two other Thornbury teens left, bidding their goodbyes, Sylvie waited until the door shut before turning to his wife and asking, “Are you sure we should be letting Samara read those sorceress books? I mean, I’m okay with encouraging her creativity, but—"

“Oh, Sylvie, it’s fine!” Cansu reassured him. “It’s only fantasy, remember? And besides, it’s not like Sam can use magic or anything….”