“And she showed me this super adorable cat cafe in the area! Their tea is pretty good, though they mostly sell coffee, but they have open mic nights every week!” Basil drummed her hands on her lap, bouncing slightly as her older brother Bentley brushed out her hair. “Sam said most of the participants are high school kids who're in comedy or drama clubs, but I could read my poetry there!”

Bentley chuckled, combing through a part of his little sister’s hair with his fingers. “You’re rambling again, sis.”

“Am I? Sorry, I…”

“No, no, it’s fine. More than fine, really.” Bentley gathered his sister’s hair in a loose fist, reaching for a scrunchie. “I haven’t seen you this happy in a while. And I don’t think you’ve ever clicked with anyone as fast, either. I’m happy for you, sis.”

Basil quickly noticed the slightly melancholic tone in her brother’s voice. “You okay, Lee?”

“‘M fine. It’s just…” Bentley’s grip loosened a little. “It’s not that I’m upset about moving here, but…I can’t put it into words that well, but I feel bad that you haven’t been able to make friends until now.”

“Bentley, I keep telling you. It’s not your fault.”

“I know, I know. But some part of me feels guilty about not being able to do anything. I know it was out of my control, for the most part, but…” Bentley trailed off with a sigh, flopping back on the bed. “...maybe I’m just…relieved, y’know? That you don’t feel alone anymore.”

“Yeah, it’s nice. Sam lives near our new neighborhood, so she can probably show me around town and introduce me to other people before school starts in the fall.” Basil turned to her brother, folding her arms as she rested her head on them, deciding to change the subject before Bentley got all mopey again. “So, I heard there’s some historical society in town?”

“Oh my God, the historical society—I went there with Mom earlier today and it looks cool. Did you know that most of Hatchwood’s counties were named after constellations? It’s one of the main reasons why a lot of mythology from this area of Ohio has astronomical and astrological roots…”

“And she told me that her mom’s family came here from Russia during the Second World War—she even taught me how to say some things in Russian! And a few things in another language called Yiddish? I’ve never really heard of it, but Basil said her mom told her that not many people speak it these days…”

The Thornbury siblings were hanging in the library, Samara sitting upside down on the couch as she rambled about Basil for the third time since she’d gotten home, the twins sitting on opposite sides of her. They were doing their own things; Peyton was doodling in their sketchbook while OJ fiddled with his glasses, but it didn’t mean they weren’t listening. After all, it wasn’t the first time their sister was going off like this.

“You should have seen how happy she got when we passed the planetarium—apparently she loves stargazing, but it was tough for her to see them back in her hometown at night—” Samara paused, blinking slowly as eyes slowly darted around the room. “Hang on, I feel dizzy.”

“This is why you take breaks, little sister,” Peyton chuckled, looking up from their sketchbook. “It’s like you’re trying to make yourself pass out sometimes.”

“Sitting like that probably doesn’t help either,” OJ pointed out. “I don’t get how you can sit upside down like that for so long. I get a headache when I do that for even a little while.”

“Yeah, but you get headaches, like, all the time,” Samara pointed out, kicking her feet a little. “It’s honestly sad. You’re seventeen and everything gives you headaches.”

“Oh, stop being so dramatic.” OJ rolled his eyes, rubbing his thumb and forefinger against the arm of his glasses.

“Sam’s right, though. It is sad.” Peyton smirked. “You’re a sixty-year-old man in the body of a teenager, for God’s sake.”

“Old man OJ!” Samara exclaimed. “Hey Peyton, do you think OJ—”

“I am not an old man!” OJ screamed, his face burning as his siblings laughed their asses off. “Screw you, Peyton! Screw both of you!”

“Really? With your weak-ass bones?” Peyton snickered.

“You have osteoporosis!” Samara pointed at her older brother as she quoted the vine, laughing like a madwoman. OJ grumbled to himself, choosing to kick his sister off of the couch in response, the youngest Thornbury flopping to the library floor with a loud thud. “Hey!”

“Respect your elders,” OJ replied, putting his glasses back on.

Samara grumbled in response, choosing to give her elder brother the bird as she flipped onto her back. “Shove off, old man.”

“Yeah, get off our case, ya geezer,” Peyton chimed in, closing their sketchbook as they tried to hold back their laughter.

“Do you two have to encourage each other?” OJ groaned, giving his siblings unamused stares.

“Why shouldn’t we?” Samara questioned, kicking her feet in the air. “It’s fun to mess with you.”

“Yeah, your reactions are funny as shit,” Peyton added.

A facepalm accompanied OJ’s groan. “I hate both of you.”

“Aww, we love you too, bro!”

Light footsteps echoed through the library, alerting the three teens to the fourth mystery visitor. OJ stood up, adjusting his glasses as he walked forward. The library was huge, with two whole floors as large as a medium-sized classroom. Mahogany bookshelves towered high over everything else in the room, brushing against the ceiling as they held onto the hundreds of dozens of books on their shelves. Of course, every last one was meticulously organized according to the myriad of genres Sylvie had collected over the years, ranging from fantasy novels with beautiful illustrations on the front covers to books on art history that were older than any of the Thornbury children and so thick and heavy that one had to carry it with both hands. 

The upper floor of the library had a similar aesthetic, with spiraling stairs of white granite leading up to the second floor, where a large fireplace was built into the front wall, a painting of the Thornbury family hanging above it (which was pretty outdated, as it was done when the kids were still in elementary school). Furniture surrounded the area near the fire—a walnut coffee table where a clay bowl of super-shiny fake fruit sat next to a smaller bowl filled to the brim with deep blue sapphires, a cinnamon-colored couch that the three (well, two) teens were sitting on, that somehow always smelled of ink and frankincense, and several armchairs that were somehow able to fit at least two people with ease. A long railway made of espresso-brown wood overlooked the library’s bottom floor, which OJ leaned on as he glanced down below, quickly noticing Cansu starting to walk up the stairs. 

“Hey, Mom!” OJ greeted his mother as she stepped up to the top floor. “What’s up?”

“Oh, you know, just mother things,” Cansu chuckled, tucking a strand of violet hair behind her ear. “I just heard something fall—is everything alright up here?”

“OJ kicked me off the couch with his old man leg bones,” Samara announced from her position on the floor, spinning circles in the air with her legs.

Cansu blinked, a puzzled look appearing on her face. “I’m sorry?”

“...it’s nothing,” OJ quickly mumbled, glancing away as he adjusted his glasses. “They’re just poking fun at me and my headaches.”

“Are they still bothering you? You know we can always see the doctor if—”

“Mom, it’s fine, really. They’re not that bad.” Samara quickly noticed her older brother tugging at one of the belt loops on his jeans—his “lying stim,” as she called it. “The only thing I have to complain about is that those two won’t stop picking on me about it.” He glanced at his siblings at the last part, Peyton childishly sticking their tongue out at him in response.

If Cansu was hesitant to believe her son, she didn’t show it, only sighing as she ruffled OJ’s hair. “Alright, if you say so. Just as long as you promise to tell me or your father if they worsen.” She smiled once she saw OJ nod in response, turning on her heel as she began descending the stairs. “Make sure you head off to bed soon, okay, kids? I know it’s summer break, but you know how your father gets when you sleep so late…”

“We will,” the three teens chorused. “Night!”

Cansu chuckled, bidding her three children goodnight as she headed down the stairs. Samara grunted slightly as she moved to sit on her knees, waiting until she heard the library door close behind her “aunt” before she whipped her head around sharply, staring at OJ accusingly. “Why’d you lie to Aunt Cansu?”

OJ blinked, glancing down at his sister. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Bull-fucking-shit, OJ.” Peyton closed their sketchbook, the sound echoing through the library. “I saw you tugging on your belt loop. You only do that when you’re lying.”

“I…” OJ trailed off, inhaling sharply. “Look, I get that you two are probably worried, but I’m fine. Like I told Mom, they’re not that bad…”

“Then why’d you take three Naproxens when you got home from bowling?” Samara asked.

OJ opened his mouth, then closed it, realizing he didn’t have a rebuttal. He chose to fiddle with his glasses instead, avoiding eye contact as he rubbed at the rims of his golden frames.

“OJ.” Samara watched as Peyton stood up and walked over to their brother, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I know Sam and I rag on you about your headaches and stuff, but…we didn’t know they were getting worse, man.”

“It’s not—”

“Bup bup bup.” Peyton slapped their hand over their brother’s mouth. “We don’t wanna hear it, little bro.”

“Peyton, I’m older—”

“Nope!” Peyton interrupted, raising their voice. “We may pick on you for being a nerd and call you an old man and tease you whenever you’re acting like the total gaywad you are—”

“Sam’s a lesbian, and you’re dating a girl,” OJ interrupted again. “And you’re both under the trans umbrella. Technically speaking, you two are gayer than I am.”

“True, but we’re your super-gay siblings,” Samara piped up.

“And these super-gay siblings care about you, bro,” Peyton added, patting OJ’s shoulder. “We’re not saying that we’re gonna narc on ya to Mom and Dad, but—”

“Take care of yourself, dumbass!” Samara shouted, leaping up and pointing “accusingly” at her brother. “Or we’ll blab on you!”

“Well, I was gonna phrase it differently, but yeah.”

OJ shoved Peyton away, but he couldn’t help but smile. “Okay, okay, I get it. I’ll tell Mom and Dad the truth if they get any worse, alright?”

“You better!” Samara exclaimed, having gotten closer without OJ realizing it. “Or I’ll sic Luna’s crab on ya!”

OJ chuckled. “Sis, crabs can’t do that.”

“Then I’ll train ‘em to pinch you on command! And then I’ll put him in your bed in the middle of the night, and before you know it—PINCHBUSH!” Samara leaped onto OJ, pretending to pinch at him. “Peyton, c’mon, give me a hand!”

“Pfft, c’mon, you guys—woah!” OJ cried out in surprise, laughing as his siblings playfully tackled him to the library floor. “Get offa me, you crabs!”

“NEVER! THE CRAB REVOLUTION HAS BEGUN!!”