Liberty's POV

Spring break is coming up, and for once, people are actually excited about it.

Not the fake excited where everyone says we should do something and then nothing happens. Real plans. Real ideas. The kind that get scribbled in the margins of notebooks and argued over at lunch.

We're all crowded around one of the tables outside, jackets half-on, sun finally warm enough to pretend winter didn't wreck us. Someone mentions getting out of town. Someone else says cabins. Chase suggests camping like it's casual, like he didn't clearly think about it before saying it out loud.

"Out of cell service," Skye adds immediately. "Like, actually out."

"That sounds either amazing or a terrible idea," Ella says.

"Both," Skye replies. "That's the point."

I smile, but I'm quieter than usual.

Because the whole time they're talking, there's a name hanging in the air no one's saying yet.

Tuck.

Rocky's the one who finally does. "If he gets out in time," he says carefully, "he could come too."

Everyone goes still for half a second. Not awkward. Hopeful.

"That would be perfect," Ella says. "Low pressure. No crowds. Just us."

Skye nods hard. "He'd love that. Being outside. No noise."

I swallow.

I'm trying not to imagine it too vividly—Tuck sitting by a fire, hoodie pulled tight, laughing quietly at something dumb Chase says. Trying not to let myself want it too much in case it doesn't happen.

"We can keep it flexible," Chase says. "No pressure. If he can't, we still go. If he can..." He shrugs. "Then he's there."

I nod slowly. "That matters."

They all look at me.

"I mean," I continue, choosing my words, "it can't feel like an expectation. He's worked too hard for us to turn spring break into another thing he has to live up to."

Rocky gives a small nod. "Agreed."

"But," Skye adds, grinning, "we can still hope."

That does it.

Hope slips in anyway, warm and dangerous and impossible to ignore.

I pull my phone out and stare at it for a second, thumb hovering over his name. I don't text. I don't want to jinx anything. Not yet.

Still, as everyone keeps talking—who's bringing food, who's driving, how far out of town we can realistically go—I let myself imagine it just a little.

Spring air.
Trees.
Quiet nights.
Tuck sitting with us not because he needs watching, not because he's fragile—but because he belongs there.

I don't know yet if he'll be out in time.

But for the first time since he went in, we're making space for him in the future.

And that feels like something worth holding onto.

We're still talking about spring break when Skye suddenly tilts her head at me.

"So," she says, casual in that not-casual way she has. "What about Sparky?"

I blink. "What about him?"

She shrugs, like she's just thinking out loud. "I don't know. You've been quiet when his name comes up. And ever since he saved Zuma's stepsister, it feels like everyone's... reassessing."

That catches me off guard. Not because she's wrong—but because she said it out loud.

"I think we are," I admit slowly. "Trying to reassess, I mean."

Skye studies my face. "You think he's different?"

"I think he's better," I say. The words feel careful, deliberate. "Or at least... trying to be. That matters."

Ella nods from across the table. "People don't change overnight."

"No," I agree. "But they don't stay frozen either."

Skye leans back, arms crossed. "Your dad would know, though."

My jaw tightens instantly.

"He doesn't talk to me about patients," I say, a little sharper than I mean to. "Not Sparky. Not anyone. Not even Tuck."

Skye's expression softens. "Even Tuck?"

"Especially Tuck," I say quietly. "I get that he's a doctor. I get confidentiality. I really do. But sometimes it feels like there's this wall between what I know as his daughter and what I'm not allowed to know as... someone who cares."

Ella watches me carefully. "That has to be hard."

"It is," I admit. "Because I see these people at school. I hear the rumors. I see the changes. And I'm not allowed to ask the one person who actually knows what's real."

Skye frowns. "That would drive me insane."

"It does," I say with a small, tired laugh. "I just want to know if they're okay. Not details. Not diagnoses. Just... okay."

I look down at my hands. "And I hate that I don't even get that."

There's a quiet moment after that.

Then Skye reaches over and bumps my knee with hers. "For what it's worth," she says, "you're still allowed to form your own opinion. Doctor dad or not."

I smile faintly. "I know."

And I do.

Because even without my dad saying a word, I can see it—people trying, people failing, people getting back up anyway. Sparky. Tuck. All of them.

I just wish caring didn't come with so many locked doors.

Skye's question kind of opens the door, and once it's open, no one really tries to close it again.

"So," Chase says slowly, kicking at the leg of the table, "if Sparky came back to school... how would we actually feel about that?"

There's a beat of silence. Not awkward. Careful.

"I'd be nervous," Ella admits first. She doesn't sugarcoat it. "Not because I think he's evil or anything. Just because... history doesn't disappear. I'd need time."

No one argues with that.

"That's fair," Rocky says. "I wouldn't freak out, but I'd be watching. Not in a paranoid way—just aware."

Skye tilts her head. "See, I think I'd be loud about it." She shrugs. "If he's trying, I'd rather make it clear that messing with him isn't okay anymore. People deserve room to change."

Chase nods. "I don't think I'd avoid him. I wouldn't be close, but I wouldn't want him isolated either. That's how stuff gets worse."

All of them look at me.

I take a breath. "I think... I'd want him to be treated like a person. Not a project. Not a threat. Just—someone who messed up and is trying not to again."

Skye studies me. "You sound sure."

"I'm not," I admit. "But I've seen what happens when people decide someone is permanently broken. And I don't think that helps anyone."

Ella nods slowly. "I don't think forgiveness has to be instant to be real."

"Exactly," I say. "And acceptance doesn't mean forgetting."

Rocky leans back. "If he comes back, the biggest thing is boundaries. Clear ones. But also... not punishing him forever."

The table goes quiet again, but this time it feels settled.

Skye breaks it with a small grin. "Okay, wow. Look at us. Mature. Thoughtful. Who are we?"

I laugh, even though my chest feels tight.

I think about Sparky sitting in that common room. About Tuck sitting beside him. About how complicated it all is.

"I just hope," I say quietly, "that if he comes back, the story doesn't get written for him before he even opens his mouth."

No one disagrees.

And sitting there, with spring warming the air and plans forming for the future, it hits me how much we've all changed.

Not softer.

Zuma shows up halfway through the conversation, hair still damp, towel slung over his shoulder, smelling like chlorine and that clean-after-swimming air that somehow makes everything feel more normal. He drops into the empty seat like he's been there the whole time.

"What'd I miss?" he asks.

Skye grins. "Group therapy, apparently."

Zuma snorts. "Figures."

I don't let it drift. I look straight at him. "Can I ask you something?"

He catches the shift in my tone immediately. "Yeah. What's up?"

I hesitate for half a second, then say it. "If Sparky came back to school... how would you feel?"

The table goes quiet again, but it's different this time. Everyone watches Zuma. Not because he's loud or opinionated—because his opinion matters.

Zuma runs a hand through his wet hair and exhales slowly. "Honestly?"

I nod. "Yeah."

"I'd be cautious," he says. "Not scared. Not angry. Just... cautious." He glances at me. "What he did still matters. What he went through after matters too."

Ella relaxes a little at that.

"And," Zuma continues, voice steady, "I don't think pretending he didn't save my stepsister helps anyone. He didn't have to do that. He chose to."

Skye raises an eyebrow. "So... you're not writing him off."

"No," Zuma says firmly. "I'm not writing anyone off forever. That's how people stop trying."

I feel something in my chest ease. "That's kind of how I feel."

Zuma looks at me then, really looks. "I figured."

Chase nods. "So boundaries, not exile."

"Exactly," Zuma says. "And accountability without humiliation."

Rocky lets out a low whistle. "Okay, that should be a poster."

Zuma shrugs. "I just know what it feels like to have someone decide who you are based on your worst moment."

The words hang there.

Skye breaks the tension by bumping his shoulder. "You're annoyingly reasonable."

"I've been told," he says dryly.

I smile, even though part of me still aches—for Tuck, for Sparky, for how complicated loving people can be.

"Thanks," I tell Zuma quietly.

He nods once. "Anytime."

And as the bell rings and we start packing up, I realize something important.

None of us are pretending the past didn't happen.

But we're also not letting it be the only future anyone gets

Just... more careful with each other.

As everyone starts to split off, Ella lingers beside me. She doesn't look dramatic or upset—just tired in a way that goes deeper than school stress.

"Lib," she says quietly, "can you ask your dad about Tuck?"

I stop walking.

I already know what she means.

"About... how he's doing?" I ask.

She shakes her head. "No. I mean—about home."

That makes my chest tighten.

"It's not the same without him," she says, and this time her voice wavers just enough to give her away. "At all. The house is too quiet. His room's just... there. Mom keeps cooking like he's coming down any minute, and then she remembers."

I swallow hard.

"I miss him," Ella says plainly. No embarrassment. No apology. "And I know he needs to be where he is right now. I get that. But I need to know he's okay enough that this—" She gestures vaguely, like she doesn't have words for the ache. "—is worth it."

I nod immediately. "I'll ask."

She lets out a slow breath. "I know your dad probably won't say much."

"He probably won't," I admit. "But I can ask if he's... steady. If he's close."

Ella's eyes flicker with hope she's clearly trying to keep contained. "That would help."

"I'm really sorry," I say quietly. "I didn't even think about what it must be like at home."

She shrugs, but it's the kind that tries and fails to make it smaller. "Everyone's worried about him in there. I'm worried about him out here too. About how he'll feel coming back to a house that had to learn how to function without him."

That hits hard.

"I'll talk to my dad," I promise again. "No pushing. Just... enough to know if he's okay."

Ella nods. "That's all I'm asking."

We stand there for a second longer, the noise of the hallway rushing around us, and I realize how different this is for her than for the rest of us.

We miss Tuck.

She's missing her brother.

And suddenly spring break plans, school gossip, everything else feels secondary to one simple truth:

Home isn't the same without him — and it won't be until he walks back through the door.