Chapter 5 Five

Chapter 5: Scars and Laughter

St. Jude's wasn't perfect-some days were loud and confusing, some kids weren't super friendly-but for me, it was kind of a miracle. Nobody shouted at me for breathing too loud. Nobody locked me in a room because I forgot to clean something. I didn't have to pretend to be invisible. I could actually just... be.

I still jumped when someone raised their voice too fast or moved suddenly near me. I still kept my distance around new people. Habits like that don't just disappear overnight. But around Liam and Chloe, those defenses-the ones I'd built like armor over the years-started to loosen. Slowly. Quietly. Like how snow melts in the sun without making a big deal out of it.

The three of us were together pretty much all the time. Ms. Reed made sure we were enrolled at the local high school, and even though I was nervous at first, it wasn't too bad. In class, I found it easy to focus. Learning felt like something I could control, something that couldn't be taken away. I devoured books like I used to devour secret candy bars-fast and secretly under covers. Especially history and literature. They gave me a place to escape, even when I was already somewhere safe.

Liam was insanely good at math and science, always drawing weird diagrams in the margins of his notebooks or messing with little gadgets he'd find lying around. Sometimes, he'd explain stuff to me and Chloe-even though half the time she'd zone out and start doodling planets with smiley faces. She was super artsy, and even if her grades weren't amazing, she had this way of making people feel better just by being around.

Evenings at the Haven were my favorite. We'd curl up in the common room, the carpet all lumpy and old but warm somehow, and just talk. Sometimes we'd pass around comic books and make fun of the bad dialogue. Other times, Liam would pull out this beat-up guitar he'd found in the storage closet, and he'd play these slow, sad songs that made everything feel kind of soft and quiet. Chloe would try to sing along, totally off-key, and we'd all laugh. Not because she was bad, but because it was real and funny and perfect.

Then came the storm.

It was one of those cold, rainy Tuesdays where everything outside looked gray and shivery. Around dinner time, the lights suddenly went out. There was this weird moment of silence, like the house was holding its breath, and then all the younger kids started freaking out. Someone screamed. A few started crying. But Ms. Reed, being the absolute legend she is, calmly lit a bunch of candles and turned the place into what felt like a magical fort. The whole common room glowed like a scene from a movie.

Liam, Chloe, and I grabbed a corner by the windows. The rain smacked against the glass like it was trying to tell us a secret. Liam sat cross-legged with his guitar, the flickering candlelight making him look almost mysterious. Chloe leaned against a pillow, her curls extra wild from the humidity.

"Remember that time the lights went out at your old place, Chloe?" Liam said with this tiny smirk, strumming a soft chord. "You totally thought it was a ghost."

Chloe gasped, swatting his arm. "I knew you were gonna bring that up! It was creepy! And you were the one who hid under the table!"

"Strategic hiding," Liam muttered, but he was smiling.

I laughed a little, just listening. They were talking about old memories-silly ones. The kind of stories you tell when you feel safe. The kind of stuff I never really had. Then Chloe turned to me, eyes glowing from the candlelight.

"What about you, Elara?" she asked gently. "Any crazy power outage stories?"

My laugh died in my throat.

The truth? When the lights went out in my old house, it didn't mean storytelling and flashlights. It meant Brenda yelling and blaming me, or Arthur drinking more, getting meaner. It meant cold dinners-if any-and silence so heavy it made me feel like I was being crushed.

"Not... exactly," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "Our power went out a lot. It usually made things worse."

Liam's guitar strings went quiet. Chloe's smile faded, replaced by something softer. She didn't say "oh no" or "that's awful." She didn't ask questions. She just reached over and squeezed my hand.

It was such a small thing, but it felt massive. Like someone saying you're not alone without having to say anything.

Liam cleared his throat and started strumming again, this time something peppy and ridiculous. "Okay," he said. "Enough of the gloom and doom. Time for the worst joke competition."

Chloe lit up. "Ooh! I got one. Knock knock."

We groaned in unison, and she laughed.

"Knock knock."

"Who's there?" Liam and I said together.

"Lettuce."

"Lettuce who?"

"Lettuce in, it's cold out here!"

I groaned so loudly that one of the little kids looked over. Liam made a face like he'd just eaten a lemon.

Then he told one that was even worse. Something about a time-traveling banana. I didn't even get it, but we all ended up laughing, probably more at how dumb it was than the joke itself.

And then... somehow... I told one too.

It was this old riddle from a book I read once. Not really a joke, but I delivered it like it was, and when Chloe laughed, it made me feel like maybe, just maybe, I could belong in this little group. Like I had something to give, even if it was just a dusty punchline.

Later that night, we shared peanut butter sandwiches and apples in the candlelight. It felt like a weird little picnic in the middle of a thunderstorm. Chloe started talking about her past-something she didn't do often. She said her parents left her when she was nine. Not with cruelty. Just... left. Like she was luggage they forgot to take home.

"They said they weren't ready to be parents," she said softly, staring at her sandwich. "I think I stopped being surprised when they didn't come back."

Her voice cracked just a little. I wanted to hug her, but I didn't know how. So I just stayed close.

Then Liam told us about his foster homes. A bunch of them. Some okay, some really bad. He said he'd learned to pack fast, sleep light, and never expect people to keep their promises.

"I kind of raised myself," he said. "Guess I still am."

I didn't talk right away. I wasn't sure if I could. But something about the candlelight, the quiet, the way they looked at me without pity-it made the words come.

I told them a little. Not everything. But enough. About Arthur's anger. About Brenda's coldness. About how I was always scared. How I never felt wanted. How I'd lay in bed and pretend the sound of my own breathing was the ocean, just to forget where I was.

When I finished, the room was still.

Chloe didn't cry, but her eyes looked glassy. She took my hand again. "That's... that's messed up, Elara. I'm so sorry."

Liam looked straight at me. "You're safe now," he said, voice softer than I'd ever heard it. "You're with us."

I nodded, a lump in my throat. And when Chloe told another ridiculous joke to break the tension-and Liam groaned like it physically hurt him-I laughed. Really laughed.

And in that moment, sitting there in the glow of candles and friendship, I realized something:

I still had scars. But now, I also had laughter.

And maybe, just maybe, I wasn't broken. I was healing.