Chapter 1B: The Weight of Expectation

“Danielle, time to get up...!” Mom’s chipper, matter-of-fact voice rang out downstairs, slicing through my fleeting comfort.

Harper’s ears twitched at her call. He stretched luxuriously, paws extended like he had no idea what a stressful day meant. Then, as if sensing my reluctance, he nudged my arm with his cold, wet nose.

“Alright, alright..., I’m up,” I groaned, tossing the covers aside. Harper wagged his tail, clearly satisfied with his contribution to my morning. He trotted to the door with an enthusiasm I could only wish I had.

Dragging myself to the bathroom, I caught my reflection in the mirror—bedhead, puffy eyes, and a face that seemed to ask, why does this day exist that I have to act friendly around others in the family? I splashed cold water on my face, hoping it would wash away the unease that had clung to me all night. But the anxiety was like a stubborn stain—it didn’t budge.

By the time I trudged into the kitchen, the smell of coffee and toast filled the air. Mom stood by the counter, sipping from her favorite mug—”Coffee First, Questions Later”—and smiled at me like nothing was wrong.

“Morning, kiddo. Did you sleep okay?” she asked her voice almost too bright.

I shrugged, reaching for a piece of toast. “Not really.”

She slid the plate closer to me. “Eat up. We’ve got a bit of a drive.”

At the table, Dad looked up from his phone, grinning like today was the best thing ever. “There’s my girl...! Ready to see my cousins...?”

I forced a smile. “Sure.”

The truth...? I wasn’t ready. Not even close. The thought of Aunt Melissa and her casual, probing comments about school—or worse, the Mailgirl Program—already made my stomach twist. I wasn’t sure I could handle it.

After breakfast, we loaded the car. Harper hopped into the backseat, curling up on his usual blanket. I climbed in beside him, grateful for his quiet companionship. Mom and Dad took the front, and soon we were on our way.

The drive was quiet, the engines hum blending with soft radio music. I stared out the window as the familiar streets of our neighborhood gave way to sprawling fields and bare trees. Harper rested his head on my lap, his warmth steady and grounding against the anxious coil in my stomach.

“You’re quiet back there,” Dad said, glancing at me in the rearview mirror...”Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” I lied, keeping my gaze fixed on the frost-dusted fields blurring past.

Mom turned slightly in her seat. “It’s just family, Danielle. No one’s expecting anything from you except to show up and be yourself.”

Her words were meant to reassure me, but they only made my chest feel tighter. Be myself. What did that even mean anymore? Lately, “I” felt like a moving target—especially with the Mailgirl Program casting its long, suffocating shadow over everything. I kept replaying snippets of what I’d overheard at school: hushed conversations about what it would mean horror stories about people who’d been selected, and whispered fears of who might be next. It was impossible to escape the weight of it.

The drive felt paradoxical—too long yet not long enough. Before I was ready, Dad pulled into my relatives’ driveway. Through the living room window, Sarah’s face lit up as she spotted us, her smile annoyingly enthusiastic. Harper perked up, his tail wagging in overdrive as the car came to a stop.

“You’ll be fine, sweetie,” Mom said, reaching back to pat my knee. “One moment at a time, okay?”

I nodded, swallowing hard. Harper barked, as if to say, you’ve got this. But I wasn’t sure I did.

The crisp winter air hit me as I stepped out of the car slightly lifting my blouse, sending a shiver through me. I tugged my sweater tighter, but the icy breeze wasn’t what made my skin crawl. It was the intrusive thought that wouldn’t let go—the image of myself as a mailgirl. I imagined the cold biting into my bare skin, with no barriers between me and the world’s judgment. The thought made my stomach churn.

Harper leaped out of the car, oblivious to my spiraling thoughts. His excitement was infectious, pulling me out of my head for just a moment as he bounded toward Sarah, who had come down the steps to greet us.

“Dani!” she called, enveloping me in a quick, perfumed hug. “It’s been forever! How’s life at the academy?”

“Busy,” I replied, my smile as thin as the layer of frost on the driveway.

Inside, the house buzzed with holiday energy. Aunt Melissa swooped in with her usual dramatic flair, Uncle Greg’s laugh echoed through the room, and Grandma wasted no time pinching my cheeks. I nodded, smiled, and said the right things at the right times. But the tightness in my chest never loosened.

Later, Sarah cornered me in the kitchen. She perched on a stool, her expression casual, but her tone sharp with curiosity.

“So,” she began, “is it true your school’s doing selections for the Mailgirl Program soon, as I believe it could be you being an eighth grader? She got up from her chair to look at me from head to toe stating glad we do not have ... that...”

I stiffened, my heart sinking. Of course, Sarah would bring it up. She always latched onto anything unusual, and this was practically a goldmine for her.

“Yeah,” I said, focusing on a bowl of pretzels on the counter. I grabbed one, crunching it loudly to avoid saying more, as she sat back down after I gave her an angry look.

“Okay, but...” Her voice dropped conspiratorially. “They’re naked? Like, all the time?”

I shrugged, trying to keep my voice even. “That’s the deal.”

She stared at me like I’d just told her people lived on the moon. “That’s insane. Do you know anyone who’s been picked?”

Her eyes sparkled, and she launched into a detailed play-by-play of her last game. I nodded along, pretending to care. All the while, the tight knot in my stomach refused to untangle.

By the time we left, I felt drained, my thoughts still tangled in Sarah’s questions and my fears. As we drove home, I leaned against the window, Harper pressed against my side. His quiet, steady presence was the only thing keeping me from unraveling completely.

“You okay, sweetheart?” Mom asked, glancing at me in the rearview mirror.

“Yeah,” I murmured, running my fingers through Harper’s fur. But it wasn’t true. None of it was true. The anxiety had become a permanent fixture, a weight I didn’t know how to shake.

I stared out at the darkening sky, wondering how much longer I could pretend everything was fine.

Thanksgiving morning arrived too quickly—the kind of day you dread but can’t avoid. I woke to the soft rhythm of Harper’s snoring, his warm body curled at my feet. Golden sunlight filtered through the curtains, painting faint shadows across the walls. For a moment, I stayed motionless under the blankets, pretending time had frozen, wishing it had.

I stared out at the darkening sky, wondering how much longer I could pretend everything was fine.