Summer has started.
School's out, and in a few months, we'll be seventh graders.
There isn't much to do over break.
There are barely any wealthy families in ■■■■■■, so most people don't go anywhere. No vacations, no trips, nothing like that.
Everyone just… stays.
Factory 24 is more active than ever because of it.
At almost any point in the day, there are at least fifteen people there. Sometimes more. People coming and going, groups forming and breaking apart, constant noise filling the space.
From the outside, everything looks normal.
Better than normal, even.
Alive.
But I can't feel that anymore.
All I feel is this constant, quiet dread sitting in the back of my head.
Ever since the memory, something's been off.
I've been anxious.
Not the normal kind either.
Not the kind that fades when you distract yourself.
The kind that sticks.
The kind that waits.
I know something is going to happen.
Something that made me change in that memory.
So I need to stop it before it gets to that point.
But the more I think like that…
The more I start changing anyway.
I'm at Factory 24 almost all day now.
Not because I want to be.
Because I feel like I have to be.
I watch everything.
Everyone.
Too closely.
It's exhausting.
And I hate it.
The high schoolers are the worst.
There were only a few of them before. Freshmen, maybe a couple sophomores. People I'd known since elementary school, just older.
Now there are way more.
All the eighth graders moved up.
Now they're here too.
And every time one of them walks in, I tense up.
Even if I recognize them.
Even if I've known them for years.
I catch myself thinking—
Are they the reason?
Are they the problem?
Are they what I was trying to stop?
Most of the time, they're not doing anything.
That's the worst part.
They just walk in laughing.
Grab a ball.
Sit by the garden.
Talk like normal people.
And I still watch them.
Analyze them.
Break them down in my head.
Reckless.
Quiet.
Loud.
Aggressive.
Leader.
Follower.
Threat.
Not a threat.
I hate it.
I hate that my brain works like this now.
Sometimes I sit by the office window and just observe.
The younger kids stay near the hoop or the shelves.
The regular middle schoolers move between groups like they belong everywhere.
The high schoolers stay near the edges.
Near the walls.
Near the office.
Near the places that matter.
Maybe they've always done that.
Maybe I just never noticed.
Now I notice everything.
Who talks to who.
Who stays too long.
Who gets comfortable.
Who acts like they own the place.
I don't want to think like this.
I don't want to be like this.
I just want to live a normal life.
The best one I can.
But this memory—
This fucking memory—
Those fucking rules—
They won't leave me alone.
I haven't been sleeping well.
Every time I try to relax, my mind starts looping again.
Why would I do that?
Why would I do that?
Why would I do that?
Over and over.
It doesn't stop.
It doesn't slow down.
It just keeps going until I can't think about anything else.
I've been quieter too.
People have noticed.
Of course they have.
Especially Liam.
It's like I'm trying to shrink myself.
To disappear into the background.
"If I stay in the background, I won't become that version of myself."
That's what I keep telling myself.
So I hold back.
When arguments start, I wait.
When someone asks a question, I let Leo answer.
When someone needs help, I pretend I didn't see.
That might be the worst part of all this.
I'm not trying to be better.
I'm trying to be less.
Liam noticed first.
Of course he did.
One afternoon, I was sitting near the office while some kids were dragging chairs around for whatever game George was trying to force into existence.
Liam walked up next to me and just stood there.
Didn't say anything at first.
He never does.
I noticed him immediately.
He probably noticed that too.
"You've been acting weird," he said.
Straight to it.
"No, I haven't."
"Yes, you have."
I didn't answer.
He looked out at the factory floor instead of at me.
"You keep staring at people."
"I'm not staring at anyone."
"You are."
That pissed me off more than it should have.
He sees too much.
He always has.
It's like nothing slips past him, and I hate that.
Especially because I still hold a grudge against him.
Damn snitch.
I can't explain any of this to him.
He already knows about the "stroke," so hopefully he'll just blame it on that and move on.
But he didn't.
"Is it because of the hospital thing?" he asked.
I looked at him.
There it was.
That careful tone.
Like he already knew the answer.
Like he was just waiting to see if I'd lie.
"Maybe."
He nodded once.
Like that confirmed everything.
Then he left.
Didn't push.
Didn't question further.
That annoyed me more than anything he could've said.
Everyone knows about the stroke now.
The whole town.
Of course they do.
"You hear about that kid who had a stroke in the middle of class?"
Yes.
They did.
Everyone did.
A ten-year-old having a stroke is weird.
But still.
It's not that interesting.
And it wasn't even a stroke.
If they knew what actually happened…
No.
They can't know.
I've tried to rationalize it.
I really have.
But I can't.
It doesn't make sense.
None of it does.
What am I supposed to do?
What if it was the right choice?
What if those rules mattered?
What if I'm the one messing things up by trying to avoid them?
No.
There's no way.
This isn't random.
Whatever is causing this—
Fate.
Chance.
Something else—
It's doing it on purpose.
It's setting something up.
I'm sure of it.
My past self knew something.
He had to.
You don't change like that for no reason.
You don't lock things down, push people away, and take full control unless something forced you to.
So what was it?
And why don't I know?
I've started thinking about doing the same thing.
Just in case.
Making the factory safer.
Stricter.
More controlled.
Preparing for something I don't fully understand.
But then I remember how I looked in the memory.
Cold.
Sharp.
Certain.
Like nothing else mattered except control.
I don't want that.
I don't want to look at my friends and see responsibilities instead of people.
I don't want to become that version of myself.
But what if that version was right?
What if I'm the one being stupid?
What if trying to stay normal is exactly what ruins everything?
That thought doesn't scream like the others.
It just sits there.
Quiet.
Heavy.
Waiting.
Leo and Mel have noticed.
They're trying to be subtle about it, but they're not subtle.
Not to me.
"Are you feeling okay?"
"Does your head still hurt?"
"Is something on your mind?"
They ask like it's nothing.
Like they're just checking in.
But I know what they're doing.
A few days ago, George was yelling at some younger kids about their shooting form—missing every shot while doing it.
Mel had a book open, but she wasn't reading.
Leo was flipping through papers in the office.
I was standing near the doorway, watching the gate.
"You've been weird lately," Leo said.
Didn't even look at me.
I didn't answer.
Mel glanced up.
"Is your head okay?"
"It's fine."
"That's not what I asked," Leo said.
I looked at him.
He finally looked back.
That annoyed me.
They planned this.
Not a confrontation.
Just enough pressure.
Just enough to make me talk.
"It was one hospital trip," I said. "I'm over it."
Mel didn't believe me.
"You don't act over it."
"I'm fine."
Leo exhaled.
Not a laugh.
Not frustration.
Just… disappointment.
That hit harder than anything else.
At home, Melanie's noticed too.
She's in high school now, but there's no way she's involved in any of this.
No way.
She keeps pushing.
"At first I thought it was the stroke, but you've been weird for weeks now."
"The tests came back normal. Something's wrong."
"I'm fine."
"No, you're not. You know you can talk to me."
"Please."
That last part was quiet.
Not angry.
Not annoyed.
Worried.
That made it worse.
You can't help me.
No one can.
I wanted to say it.
Instead, I just looked away.
She noticed that too.
Of course she did.
Fuck me.