I bounce a ball against the alley wall next to Lily's house, feeling the chill of late November nip at my fingers, the sun just barely beginning to rise. It's Thanksgiving, there's no school today or tomorrow, and I'm just… here. Alone with my thoughts and the steady thump, thump of the ball. Bounce, it squeaks, and then comes to a halt in my hands. Occasionally, I miss it, and it either bounces back from the wall behind me or just rolls uselessly on the ground.

Can't sleep. Something becoming increasingly common.

Life's been a weird mix of the mundane and the extraordinary. School's the same as ever, I guess, but not really. I walk down the halls and feel eyes on me, whispers fluttering around like moths to a flame. "That's her, the girl who got attacked by a supervillain," they murmur, assuming it was random pique and not a targeted hit on me, specifically.

I've gotten extremely used to talking with my lips folded over my teeth, to the point where it feels more natural to do that… but the other day, Jordan got me some, like, tooth cap things to snap over them, sort of like the fake clip-on teeth you use as vampire fangs at Halloween. And that's solved that for the long term, I think. But I still do the lip thing. Just force of habit.

Jordan and I hang out after school in the music hall, always taking two different routes, always changing it up, keeping an eye out for stalkers. A cozy mess of scavenged equipment and takeout boxes. They're so deep into this investigation, eyes all lit up when they talk about leads and theories. I try to keep up, but sometimes it feels like they're speaking another language, one that's all shadows and secrets, totally out of my league. I like to hope I'm absorbing things through osmosis, but I'm sure that's just wishful thinking.

And then there's Jamila. She's… amazing. We've been spending time together, mostly in her room, talking about everything and nothing. Ignoring her parents, except during meals. Sometimes we just sit in comfortable silence, her hand in mine, and I think this might be what happiness feels like. Sometimes we listen to her music, and I think I can get behind the middle ground between what she calls 'dad rock' and her, uh, aggressive music style. Sometimes… Never mind. Not thinking about that.

Bounce.

But back in school, it's like I'm walking through a different world. I'm the girl who survived a T-Rex attack, which sounds way cooler than it felt. Some kids give me this wide berth, like I'm a ticking time bomb, while others look at me with something like awe, or maybe something like pity. I don't know which is weirder. And then there's this group of kids who've sort of appointed themselves my unofficial fan club. They don't exactly follow me around, and their names are all blurs in the muck, but I recognize their faces.

People seem to be under the impression that I'm the school's resident bully-hunter. I guess I'm not doing anything to dissuade that notion, because I'm by far and away the most muscular girl in the school, enough that you can tell without me even really needing to flex. And I've gotten used to baring my teeth, so even with the fake caps on, when I scowl at someone, they feel it. People come to me asking for help, to act as their muscle, whether that's lifting shit or just backing them up when they need to confront lunch money thieves.

It's not interesting enough to linger on, but it's there. Sam Small. The meanest freshman around. Wearing lots of Jamila's slightly oversized, extremely black clothes hasn't deterred my growing reputation any, either.

Even with all this going on, I can't escape the mundane. Homework, exams, trying to keep my grades up - it's like a balancing act. Between being Bloodhound, a student, and just… Sam. I escape with high Cs and low Bs. I was never exactly an A Plus student but the tiny version of my mom implanted in my head chastises me whenever I get anything worse than my usual B Plus, which is every test nowadays. Compared to the life I live outside of school hours, it all seems just kind of pointless.

The ball slips from my grasp, bouncing away down the alley. I chase after it, my thoughts trailing behind me. It's been a hell of a few weeks, and I know there's more to come. But right now, it's Thanksgiving, and I've got a brief respite from the chaos. A chance to just be Sam for a day, even if it's just in this quiet alley with a bouncing ball and my scattered thoughts.

I try not to think about the man blooming into a flower. Every day it's getting harder to think about, like the mental wound is festering. Not healing. Not regenerating. Oozing.

I grab the ball. I'm sometimes Bloodhound, sometimes the vigilante Big Bad Wolf, but lately, it's been more about laying low than howling at the moon. The Kingdom knows who I am, where I live. They've made it personal, which means going out there, either in mask or hoodie, is like walking with a target on my back. I bounce the ball against the wall and feel rubber smack against my palm in return.

Liberty Belle's training has been a relentless storm. She's pushing me, harder than ever, and I get why. She's running out of time and trying to cram a lifetime of lessons into what little she has left. Every session is intense, a whirlwind of combat training, detective work, and spycraft. She's like a machine, a force of nature, driven by a frenetic energy that's both awe-inspiring and a little terrifying. It's like she's trying to pour everything she knows into me, and I'm struggling to keep up, to absorb it all.

Fighting techniques, how to read a room, the art of tailing someone without getting noticed, it's all there. And I'm learning, growing, but it's overwhelming. Every bruise, every late-night training session, it's her way of leaving a part of herself with me. And I can't help but feel the weight of it, the responsibility of being her legacy.

But then there's the investigation into the Kingdom. It's like this big, tangled web, and I'm caught in the middle, wriggling like a cocooned fly, about to be eaten. The adults - the 'real' heroes - they're all over it, and they keep telling me to stay out of it. "You've done enough, let us handle it," they say. But it gnaws at me, this feeling of being sidelined, of being told I'm too young, too inexperienced.

I almost have to laugh, thinking about my reluctance all those months ago. Even if I didn't have a duty to help people because that's what superheroes do, I think once I got my powers, it was over. I was cursed. There was no way I could live a normal life. I think I would've ended up stumbling into this world even if I didn't want to.

But I do want to.

I understand the risks, I do. The Kingdom isn't some street gang; they're a full-blown criminal empire with eyes and ears everywhere. And they're dangerous, the kind of dangerous that gets you shot, not the kind that gets you bullied. But it's hard - sitting back, trying to be a normal teenager when I know there's a war going on in the city's dark places, the alleyways I walk by at night.

I keep playing wall-ball, the rhythmic thumping calming me down when my heartrate starts spiking on its own. I remember the night they came to my house, the fear in my parents' eyes. Seeing my dad with a gun for the first time. Telling them to leave. It's not just about me anymore. It's about protecting them, my friends, the city. Now, I'm being caged like a feral dog when all I want to do is chase intruders.

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I think Liberty Belle sees it. I don't know if she's focusing specifically on me or if she's running everyone ragged, but the bone conditioning and Liberty Belle's extra training has left me ragged. Even if I can't go out and chase the leads for her, I get the feeling that she's sharpening me, like a knife. Like a sword.

I glance up at the sky, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows between the buildings. I feel like I'm standing at the edge of something huge, a precipice with no clear view of the bottom. A deeper pit than anything I've ever known.

I bounce the ball against the ground. I pocket it, and head inside to get ready for Thanksgiving.

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Lily's house on Almond Street isn't what you'd call spacious, but it's got something special about it, like a secret tucked in the corners of its worn walls and creaky floors. It's a snug two-floor rowhome, the kind that's seen better days, but filled with enough love and laughter to make you forget about the peeling paint and the occasional draft. I've been crashing on their fold-out futon in the living room, which is pretty much my space now, even though there's nothing of mine that's really permanent here. A mattress topper does wonders for my back, trust me.

Thanksgiving morning has a kind of buzz to it, the air tingling with anticipation and the mouth-watering scents of cooking that I've come to associate with… home - or at least, what passes for it these days. Mei and Jiang, Lily's parents, are usually swamped at their restaurant, but today they're here, making sure I get the full Thanksgiving experience. It's pretty cool of them, considering they're not from around here and Jiang doesn't even speak English. I've picked up a few phrases here and there, mostly stuff like 'ni hao' and 'xie xie', and his approving nods when I get it right are like mini gold stars.

Thanksgiving at Lily's is different from what I'm used to. I'm expected to help with some of the food, or at the very least the cleaning, but here, the two parents are just working around Lily and I. Lily is sleeping - Liberty Belle's been running her ragged, too - and I'm too buzzed up on my own thoughts to sleep.

Jiang bustles around the living room, his rapid Mandarin filling the small space with an energetic buzz. I've picked up bits and pieces of the language since staying here, but mostly I just get the gist of what he's saying--things like "Hungry?" or "Sit, sit!" He's got this way of making even the simplest phrases sound like an invitation to a grand feast.

Mei, meanwhile, is a whirlwind in the kitchenette, which is really more like a glorified closet. She's juggling pots and pans, her movements fluid and confident. Every now and then, she glances over at me and smiles, as if to reassure me that everything's under control.

"Mei, you want some help?" I ask, half-rising from the futon. I'm not much of a cook, but I feel like I should at least offer.

Mei just waves me off, her smile widening. "No, no, you relax. It's far too crowded here." She gestures to the tiny kitchen, and I can't argue with that. There's barely enough room for her and Jiang, let alone anyone else.

So, I settle back on the edge of the futon, which has kind of become my default spot in the house. It's not officially my space, but it feels like it. There's some stuff, some tzotchkes that my parents mailed to us from the shore, sitting on the tables surrounding me. And there's my laptop, which is still alive, somehow. Lily and I spend most of the day napping and watching anime together. It's not anything particularly interesting, but the time passes anyway.

As dinner time rolls around, the small fold-out table in the living room starts to overflow with dishes--a mix of traditional Chinese food and a few nods to classic Thanksgiving dishes, presumably for my comfort. Jiang and Mei are determined to give me the full holiday experience, even if it's a little different from what I'm used to.

Jiang, with his limited English, tries to make conversation. He's been picking up bits and pieces from me, I guess because I'm the only one in the house that regularly speaks in it. "Hello! Good?" He grins, pointing at the dishes with a proud look.

"Yeah, looks amazing," I reply, nodding enthusiastically. Even if I can't talk to him properly, I hope he gets that I appreciate all this.

Mei chimes in, her English fluent but tinged with a slight accent. "He - we hope you like it."

I smile, touched by their effort. "It's perfect, really. Thank you."

The dinner table is a cozy affair, laden with an eclectic mix of dishes that somehow blend together harmoniously. Mei and Jiang sit at either end, like benevolent rulers of this feast, while Lily and I are flanked on either side. There's a steaming plate of zongzi, their sticky rice snugly wrapped in bamboo leaves, sitting next to a dish of roast turkey that's been cut into neat slices, the skin golden and crisp. A bowl of stir-fried bok choy brushes shoulders with mashed potatoes, and a small dish of cranberry sauce adds a pop of color.

Lily, fully awake after a day of napping, looking a bit more alive, chatters away in Mandarin with her parents. I catch a word here and there but mostly just smile and nod. I've learned that nodding and smiling gets me through most conversations I don't fully understand. Mei occasionally translates for me, her voice warm and inclusive.

"Lily says she's grateful for your help with her training," Mei translates after a particularly animated exchange. I look at Lily, who's grinning at me.

"Yeah, thanks for not letting me slack off," Lily says in English, her tone teasing. I shrug, a smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth.

"It's what teammates do," I say, my gaze flicking to the steaming food.

Jiang, with a flourish, places the final dish on the table and claps his hands together, beaming at us all. "Eat, eat!" he insists, his enthusiasm infectious.

We settle around the small table, the four of us squeezed in cozily. The conversation is a mishmash of Mandarin and English, with Mei and Lily occasionally acting as translators. I can't help but feel a bit like an outsider in their family dynamic, yet there's this warmth that makes it feel almost like I belong.

As we start to eat, the laptop on the futon begins to sing and buzz, signaling the incoming call from my family. My heart leaps a bit, a cocktail of excitement and nerves swirling inside me. Mei, noticing the call, insists, "Answer, answer! Let's meet your family!"

I hit the accept button, and there they are - my mom, dad, and Pop-Pop, sitting in Pop-Pop's living room in Ventnor, NJ. The familiar backdrop of Pop-Pop's house, with its dated wallpaper and the well-worn recliner, is almost comforting. They're all smiling, but there's a hint of worry in their eyes that they can't quite hide.

"Hi, everyone!" I greet them, trying to keep my voice steady.

"Sammy!" my mom exclaims, her face lighting up. "Oh, it's so good to see you. How are you?"

I grin, "I'm good, Mom. Really, I am."

My dad chimes in, his eyes scanning the screen, "Is that where you've been staying? It looks cozy."

Lily leans into view, waving. "Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Small, Pop-Pop! I'm Lily, Sam's been staying with us."

My mom beams at her, "Hello, Lily! It's so nice to finally meet you. We've heard so much about you."

"Thank you for taking care of our Sam," Dad adds.

Lily nods, her smile genuine. "Of course, it's no trouble at all. She's been great company."

Mei, seizing the moment, leans towards the laptop screen with a warm smile. "Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Small, and Pop-Pop. I'm Mei, Lily's mother, we've spoken over the phone. And this is my husband, Jiang." She gestures towards Jiang, who gives a friendly nod and a slightly shy wave.

My mom's expression is a mix of gratitude and curiosity. "It's wonderful to meet you both. Sam has mentioned how kind you've been to her."

Jiang just smiles and waves at them.

Dad chuckles softly, "Nice to meet you too, Jiang. It looks like you've prepared quite a feast there."

"Yes, we wanted Sam to experience a traditional Chinese Thanksgiving with us," Mei replies, chuckling under her breath and glancing away from the screen. I'm… I'm not sure if Thanksgiving is a Chinese thing. I don't think it is, but I don't know enough about Chinese things to know, and I don't want to embarass myself by asking, so I just chuckle along like I understood the joke.

"And we're very grateful for that," Mom says. "It must be quite different from our usual Thanksgiving, right, Sam?"

I nod, "Yeah, it's different, but really amazing."

Pop-Pop leans into the camera, squinting slightly. "That's a mighty feast you've got there. Looks like our usual Christmas dinner to me!"

Jiang nods along vigorously. I get the distinct feeling that he's aware of the long-held synchronicity between the Jewish immigrants and the Chinese immigrants. I bet business for his place goes ballistic on Christmas.

My dad, attempting to bridge the cultural gap, points to their table, laden with turkey, mashed potatoes, and, of course, knishes. "We've got the traditional spread here. And knishes, per Morris's demands."

"That's Dad to you, boychik," Pop-Pop teases, ruffling my dad's hair. He seems extremely embarassed.