OCTOBER 2021 — NEW YORK

It's one of those rare, golden october mornings in upstate new york, the kind that feels as though it was designed in a dream. the air is sharp and sweet, maple trees with leaves in reds and oranges so vivid it hurts to look at them too long. theadora stands at the edge of a narrow road, arms wrapped around herself, hair unbrushed for the scene, eyes down, waiting for taylor to call action. her costar dylan o'brien stands beside her, kicking a small stone with the toe of his boot. "you good, kid?" he asks gently. thea nods once but her jaw is tight.

taylor appears between them like a storm and sunlight at once. she's wearing a hoodie and oversized scarf, clipboard in hand, hair twisted up into a messy knot. she looks at thea the way no director ever had. not like she was a child, or a risk — like she was a weapon. a storyteller, a girl with far too much inside to keep quiet. "are you ready?" taylor asks.

theadora swallows. her breath fogs in the cold. "yeah," she says. "i'm ready."

they film in order — scene by scene, from the first spark of young love to the hollow unraveling. in the early shots, its easy. thea lets herself play, runs  through the woods with dylan and laughs in diner booths. dancing barefoot in a kitchen she'd never been in, playing make-believe with someone twice her age who made it feel like home.

but then comes the shift.

the dinner party scene is shot on day two. thea wears a cream sweater borrowed from taylor and its far too big in the sleeves. she sits beside dylan while grown-ups laugh around her; sound is deafening. under the table, her hands tremble. she didn't have to act much to look like she didn't belong.

she knows what its like to be one she but feel far older. she's sixteen but has felt thirty for st least five years now. she knows how it feels to smile through a room of people who can't see her, to sit beside someone she adores and feel them drift further away each second.

taylor didn't call cut for a long time, but when she finally does dylan reaches over and gives theas wrist a gentle squeeze. "that was brutal," he whispers.

next, they film the fight scene in one take.

theadora slams the car door so hard the crew flinches. dylan chases after her, voice rising, hands flying. thea turns on him, wild-eyed and fire-bright. she doesn't remember her lines but she doesn't need to — the words spill out like blood. "you dropped my fucking hand!" she screams. "do you even realize how that made me feel? you made me feel like i was nothing!"

silence fell like snow when taylor finally whispers, "cut." no one moves for a full ten seconds.

then: dylan nods slowly. "jesus, she's terrifying." thea blinks, shaking. her hands are still clenched in fists.

"holy shit," says taylor. "that's it. that's the performance."

⸻

Between takes, thea keeps to herself. not in a diva kind of way, but more in a self-preservation kind of way. she sits on the porch steps of the lakehouse in her coat, headphones in, listening to the ten minute version of all too well on loop. she'd grown up on the five-minute version, but this one feels older, sadder. more true.

taylor sits down beside her as the sun lowers, sipping tea from a paper cup. she reaches over and takes her hand. "you're doing beautiful work," she says. "you're not just acting, you're honoring every girl who's ever had to love someone who made her feel small."

theadora blinks fast, biting the inside of her cheek. "that's kind of a big responsibility."

"yeah," taylor chuckles softly. "but you're the only one I trusted with it." thea didn't say anything back but knew this to be true — taylor had written the script with only her in mind for the role. it was an honor theadora would wallow in forever.

⸻

NOVEMBER 2021 — NEW YORK

The short film drops in november and blew up instantly — trending number one on youtube, twitter, everywhere. swifties dissect every frame, every expression. theadoras fight scene is viral within hours — people write entire essays about the way she said you dropped my fucking hand!

thea doesn't look at any of it for days. then, one night, she watches the whole thing alone in her bedroom and when the final shot fades out and the credits roll, she sits frozen in the dark, heart pounding, throat tight.

she doesn't sleep much that night. instead, she lays in bed, earbuds tangled, all too well ten minute version still looping quietly through the static. her phone buzzes beside her every ten seconds — texts from friends, castmates, strangers with verified checkmarks and usernames like swiftnation13 and filmnerdsunite.

she ignores all of it until taylor's name pops up.
tay: proud of you. come by after the premiere tomorrow if you can. i have something for you.

⸻

Held at the amc lincoln square in new york, the red carpet at the premiere is rolled out just past sundown, flashbulbs lit the sidewalk like lightning. theadora arrives in a red silk dress she'd only seen in a garment bag that morning. it'd been a quiet gift from taylor's stylist, no note included, just a whisper from someone on her team: "Miss Swift wanted you to feel like a star tonight."
but she already did

thea walks the carpet with dylan but keeps her eyes on the theater lights above that screams ALL TOO WELL: THE SHORT FILM in blazing red letters against the night sky.

"feels a little intense for ten minutes," dylan whispers from her right as they enter the theater.

inside taylor introduces the film to a packed crowd — friends, family, critics, diehard fans who'd lined up for hours. thea takes her seat between her and dylan, and when the lights dim and the first shot hits the screen, a hush falls over the room like snowfall. thea doesn't breathe for the full ten minutes.

but when she appears on screen dancing barefoot in that kitchen, holding someone's gaze like its the only warm thing in the world — the applause is instant. and when she yells in the driveway, red-faced and shaking with fury, a woman in the back gasps.

when the lights come up, a woman from the new yorker pulls her aside and says: "that wasn't just good acting, that was a portrait. a whole lifetime in ten minutes."

⸻

Theadora doesn't go to the afterparty for long. she smiles, waves, stands for photos with fans who'd waited hours to meet her. she does her best to be gracious — she was gracious.

but her throat felt too tight and her skin two sizes too small, so she slipped away and walked the six blocks to taylor's apartment alone, hair still done in loose waves. she doesn't knock — she'd been told not to.

taylor greets her in sweatpants and no makeup, a mug in one hand and something tucked under her other arm. she smiles, stepped aside. "you came."
theadora doesn't say anything, just steps into the hallway and hugs her. it lasts longer than either of them expected, and when they finally break apart, taylor is holding a small, rectangular box wrapped in red velvet ribbon.

thea quirks an eyebrow. "what is this?"

"open it."

inside is a first-edition copy of wuthering heights, its pages yellowed and edges soft. tucked inside the front cover sits a polaroid of the two of them, taken on set the day they wrapped. taylor had scrawled across the margin: For T.J. — a wild, furious, brilliant girl with too much story to stay quiet. thank you for telling mine. love always, T.

theadora stares down at the gift, blinking fast as taylor watches quietly. "was it too much?" she asks finally. "putting you in the middle of all this?"

"no," thea says softly. "it was exactly right."

taylor smiles. "you were exactly right."

⸻

NOVEMBER 2021 – NEW YORK

Theadora falls asleep in the guest bedroom with her phone still clutched in her hand and the glitter from her premiere dress smudged faintly on the pillowcase. she hasn't meant to stay — just to sit for a minute, maybe take off her boots — but her body had other plans and she'd been too tired to wash her face but too proud to ask taylor to stay, even though all she'd wanted for months now was to be left alone.

the all too well premiere had gone late, the after-party even later, and it was already close to two by the time she finally made it back to taylor's, still humming with adrenaline and stolen champagne-sips and the subtle ache of something she couldn't name.

yellowjackets is set to premiere in just two days. gabriella's fire and fear and sharp tounge and fearfulyl would soon belong to the world, not just to her anymore. its terrifying and thrilling and so much bigger than anything she'd felt before. and somewhere within that swirl of feelings theadora had wanted her mother to call, just this once. maybe she'd say, "i'm proud of you, thea. look how far you made it." but anne didn't call, and she hadn't in weeks.

the excitement and anxious anticipation buzzed deep into her bones, almost fighting against her need for sleep. still, thea hadn't taken off the gold bracelets she'd borrowed from taylor's closet. they clink softly now as she shifts in bed, feeling almost like a secret only the two them know, like armor.

the apartment is still and dark. one of taylor's three cats, benji, is curled at the foot of the bed, tail flicking gently with each of thea's restless movements. outside, the city lights flicker like a faraway campfires. this place, her space, is the closest thing to a home theadora had ever known.
because she feels safe where taylor is, and safety has always been rare.

it's not until a soft knock comes at her door — then another, more hesitant one — that thea stirs, half-asleep, sitting upright with a slow blink. the hallway light pours in when the door cracks open, revealing taylor, all silhouetted and small like she'd shrunk inside herself. her voice barely makes it across the room. "thea," she says. "can i come in?"

something in the way she asked makes thea nod instantly, scooting over without question. taylor steps inside and shut the door behind her, its latch clicking softly. she doesn't sit right away, instead stands for a second wringing her hands, like the right words might magically appear if she just held still long enough.

thea looks up at her, concern dawning slowly on her face. "tay? what's wrong?"

taylor sits down on the edge of the bed, breath hitching. that's when thea feels her stomach drop; in all the years she's known the singer, not once had she ever been at a loss for words. taylor's voice cracks. "that was my mom who called."

the room tilts but thea doesn't know why, not yet. her bones seem to already know — maybe they'd been waiting. maybe they'd always known this moment was coming.

taylor is quiet for a long moment before she speaks again. "thea," she says softly, "it's your mom—it's anne." she corrects herself immediately, not stumbling.

thea doesn't say anything.

"she overdosed," taylor says finally. "they found her a few hours ago. i'm so sorry."

the silence that follows isn't loud, exactly. it's more hollow, like all the sound has been scraped out of the room.

thea blinks. her first thought isn't anything she can say out loud. it was i knew this was coming. It was I was waiting for it. it was finally, and god, not like this. it was this is still my mother and I don't know how to feel. it was I feel everything and nothing all at once.

but she doesn't say any of it. instead, she whispers, "she's dead?"

taylor nods and her eyes are already glassy. "yes."

thea's hands are cold. her arms start to shake, though she didn't notice until the bracelets start to rattle softly against her wrist. "are you sure?"

taylor gives the tiniest nod. "i am."

then theadora chokes on something that isn't quite a sob and nor a breath. "but i was here. i was—taylor, i was here and she was—" her voice wavers and taylor catches her before she can collapse forward. she pulls her close, arms firm around the girl who'd long ago stopped believing anyone would hold her. for a long time, neither of them moves. the air between them buzzes with the things they didn't say, with every broken piece of the complicated, sharp-edged love thea had for a mother who had never really been able to love her back in the way she needed.

eventually thea pulls back, eyes red and face pale. "what happens now?"

taylor smoothes the hair out of her face. "whatever you need. if you want to go to tennessee, i'll come with you. if you want to stay here, you stay. if you want to scream into a pillow for three days, i'll scream with you."

thea nods, voice barely above a whisper. "i don't think i want a funeral."

"you don't have to have one."

"she doesn't deserve one."

taylor says nothing to that, just holds her gaze, and lets the sentence stand as thea lays back down, curling into taylors side like she used to when she was eight and hiding from thunderstorms. it's the same kind of fear now, just older and louder and not the kind of storm you can wait out.

taylor stays with her until morning. when benji finally stirs and hops down from the bed, the sun is just beginning to rise outside.

anne james is dead. and theadora james, sixteen and on the brink of her biggest career moment thus far, had never felt so impossibly small.