Chapter 87 Shades of Blue and Brown
Chapter 87 Shades of Blue and Brown
The heavy yellow school bus grinds to a halt at the corner of Melissa’s street, its brakes letting out a long, mechanical sigh that mirrors her own exhaustion. Melissa steps down onto the asphalt, the cool evening air instantly biting through her thin hoodie. She pulls her beanie lower, her sneakers scraping against the pavement as she walks the final block toward her house. The neighbourhood is quiet, blanketed in the eerie, domestic peace of suburban dusk.
When she unlocks the front door, the silence of the empty house rushes to meet her. As she climbs the stairs to her bedroom, she looks at the grandfather's digital clock in the hall: 5:40 PM. Her parents will not be home from their respective demanding jobs for another thirty minutes, or so.
Melissa drops her heavy backpack on the floor with a dull thud, feeling as though she is shedding a layer of lead. Walking to her vanity, she stands before the mirror and stares at her reflection. With practised, mechanical movements, she brings her fingers to her eyes and pinches out the brown contact lenses, dropping them into their case. The striking, bright blue eyes of her true identity stare back at her, looking wide and haunted. Next, she pulls off the oversized beanie, letting her hair fall freely around her shoulders.
She looks like the girl from the California photograph, the girl Jeremy confronts her about in the library carrels.
Her hands shake slightly as she washes her face with cold water. The image of Jeremy’s piercing gaze demanding answers flashes through her mind, closely followed by the chilling memory of Georgia’s calculating stare in the gymnasium.
"Just half an hour," she whispers to the empty room, gripping the edges of the vanity. She needs to construct her walls again. She needs to become the unremarkable, perfectly blended transfer student from Austin, Texas, before her parents walk through that door.
Across town, the music in Marcus's car finally fades to a murmur as he pulls up to the curb in front of Maya’s house. The engine idles smoothly, the headlights cutting through the growing dusk.
Maya doesn't move to open the door immediately. Her mind is still anchored to Marcus's heavy question, the memories of Chase's apologetic glances and his sudden, protective intervention against Tyler playing on a loop in her head.
"Thanks for the ride, Marcus," Maya says quietly, breaking the silence. "And... thanks for asking. Most people just gossip. It's nice to actually talk about it."
Marcus offers a warm, grounded smile, his hands resting lightly on the steering wheel. "Anytime, Maya. Just don't let the past dictate your present. You're doing great in the play. Keep that focus."
"I will," Maya promises, flashing a genuine smile as she grabs her script and steps out into the cool evening air. She walks up her driveway, then knocks on the front door before opening it with her keys, that's their code when she gets home after school. The moment Maya steps in, the smell of garlic and simmering tomato sauce hits her. Her younger siblings are arguing over a video game in the living room.
Maya tosses her jacket over a chair and pulls a stool up to the kitchen island, where her mother is chopping vegetables.
"You're quiet tonight," her mother observes, not looking up from the cutting board. "Everything okay at rehearsal?"
"Yeah, theatre is great," Maya says, picking up a slice of bell pepper. She hesitates, Marcus's heavy question about Chase still echoing in her ears. She shakes her head slightly, trying to clear the image of Chase stepping in to defend Melissa from Tyler. "Just a lot on my mind, Ma."
"Well, wash your hands and help me set the table," her mother says gently, sensing the boundary her daughter is drawing. "The noise will clear your head."
A few miles away, the heavy tyres of a black Audi crunch over the gravel driveway of the Black estate. Jeremy kills the engine, the powerful roar fading into the quiet luxury of the neighbourhood. He sits in the leather interior for a long moment, staring at the grand brick facade of his house. The image of Melissa fleeing the library, the frantic tremor in her wrist and the sheer panic in her eyes, stabs at his mind. He rubs his face with both hands, trying to shake the frustration before grabbing his gym bag.
Jeremy parks his car and enters the house, just on time Elenore and Richard are descending the stairs. The grand foyer echoes with the soft rustle of his mother’s silk blouse. Eleonore smiles brightly at the sight of her son, her expression softening the cold, architectural perfection of the hallway. Sensing the familiar, rigid posture of her husband, she nudges Richard sharply in the ribs, a silent command to be nice.
Richard clears his throat, adjusting the cuffs of his tailored suit jacket. "Good practice, son?" he asks, his voice carrying the heavy weight of expectations rather than genuine curiosity.
"It was fine," Jeremy replies flatly, keeping his tone perfectly neutral as he sets his bag down.
Elenore steps forward, brushing a stray lock of hair from Jeremy's forehead with a warm, maternal hand. "You look exhausted, Jeremy. Wash up for dinner. Your father and I have a few things to discuss regarding the upcoming country club gala, but we want to hear about your day."
Jeremy suppresses a grimace, nodding politely before heading toward the stairs. The word Capstone sends a cold jolt through his chest, bringing him right back to the girl with the blue eyes and the web of lies she is spinning.
At the Montenegro household, the heavy click of the front door lock signals the end of Melissa's thirty minutes of freedom. She is already back in her uniform: the brown contact lenses are firmly in place, and her hair is tucked safely beneath her beanie.
Maria Montenegro walks in first, her face pale with the exhaustion of a long day at the hospital, followed closely by Liam, who is carrying his briefcase and takeout containers for their dinner. The tension they carry from their day instantly shifts into a hyper-vigilant focus the moment they see their daughter.
"Sweetheart," Maria says, rushing forward to wrap her daughter in a tight, protective embrace. She pulls back, her medical eyes scanning Melissa's face for any hint of distress, any sign of a relapse. "How was your day? Did you have a good afternoon?"
"It was good, Mom," Melissa lies smoothly, offering a practised, reassuring smile.
"Why didn't you reply to my text?" Maria asks
"I was about to," Melissa says, keeping her voice perfectly steady, "but then the bell rang and I had to rush to class."
Maria nods, accepting the answer, before she and Liam go upstairs for a shower before dinner.
Left alone in the quiet kitchen, Melissa allows her shoulders to drop. The heavy burden of her double life presses down again, suffocating her brief moment of relief. She opens the takeout containers, setting three plates across the counter. Every movement feels numb as she prepares to act the part of a normal teenager for dinner.