“And not to mention, she hasn’t even done her science homework! Did you see her report card? She barely passed it last term! How will she ever realize what she’s truly capable of if she doesn’t even try?! How will she go to Harvard like me!?” Casey’s mom went on, but not before her eyes glazed over, and her head went into the automatic “yes Mom” and “I’m sorry, Dad” that her brain had installed after the 6th grade. Casey was now in 9th grade, and she had learned that tuning out the noise did nothing to soften the ache of anxiety in her stomach, but did give her head a chance to stop spinning with nasty comebacks that she wouldn’t dare say aloud.

Sitting across from her, her seven year old brother, Henry, hid a smirk as he fixed his eyes on their parents, nodding like he agreed and was important enough to be in the conversation. He was a perfect replica of their father, with shaggy blond hair, and green eyes, yet was rather short for his age. Casey stared daggers at him, that, with any chance, would cripple him like the force in Star Wars. She bit her lip and sat on her hands to prevent herself from reaching across her plate to smash his head in the potatoes when he said “I think that Casey needs to realize that we all have potential.” Her parents nodded, impressed, but Casey knew he had learned at least two of those words from her dad’s lawsuit proposal, which he had read outloud to them yesterday. Casey wished that Kayla, her older sister had been at the table. Surely she would take her side. But as usual, her big sister was out with friends, leaving her barely afloat in a sinking, tattered lifeboat, as hungry sharks circled underneath, daring her to make a wrong move.

“You know what, Casey?’ her mom asked, jolting her awake, “I think it's time for you to go to bed.”

“Fine!” she screamed in reply, “I wouldn’t want to sit with you a second longer! I doubt your parents were this hard on you about school! You say you want me to stand up to my true potential, but I can’t with you guys always on my back! Just for once, would you lay off me?” Casey yelled in a mixture of annoyance and anguish. “Ugh! I wish I wasn’t even in this family!” Ignoring her mom’s startled expression, like Casey had slapped her, Casey ran up to her bedroom, spun on her heel, and slammed the door so hard she was sure it would fall off its hinges. It didn’t. “God!”

Casey changed out of her CAL tank top and jean shorts, crawled into her favorite oversize T shirt, and threw herself on to her bed. Her anger gave her momentum, and she barely dodged the wall, her foot knocking something off her side table, which cracked on the floor. Casey picked up the picture frame, fingering the web of broken glass the floor had shattered. She remembered the day it was taken. It was back when it was just she was the baby of the family, the days when her mom would stay home with her while her dad and brother were at school and work. “Girls’ days,” her mom had called them, and Casey had loved how it was just the two of them. On the day in question, her mom had taken her for ice cream. She had gotten vanilla, and had insisted to her mom that she could eat it in a cone. When, as predicted, five year old Casey dropped her treat, her mom gave her hers to avoid catastrophe. In the frame, Casey sat in her mom’s lap, cheesing for the camera as her mom tried desperately to clean her off. While the picture normally calmed Casey down, she didn’t feel any better. She shoved the frame in her drawer, and felt a slight sting. Casey lifted her finger and saw blood seeping from a piece of the picture’s glass. Casey wanted to cry, wanted to yell and throw a fit. She wanted to climb into that photo, and sit in her mom’s lap.

Instead, she drew a deep breath, sucking all her emotions back up inside of her, and walked to her window. The dark night made the glass pane a mirror, speckling Casey with tiny stars, from near away planets. She frowned at herself, running a hand through her long natural auburn hair. Squinted at her green eyes, seemingly too deep for a 14 year old, until her long velvet eyelashes blocked her vision. Her skin was white as the brightest star, giving her that girl next door aura. She then looked past the reflection, and into the speckled sky. Nevermind a different family, Casey thought, How about a different time? Then she flicked off the light, and climbed into bed.

Casey was falling. The dreaming when your legs turn into air, and your body is weightless, no longer held back by the blankets. A warm whisper of wind brushed her cheek, and her vision was tinted pink from the light outside her eyelids. Knowing it was nighttime no more, Casey moaned and greeted the day, opening her eyes at last.

Then Casey screamed. Her body had not been eluding her, hadn’t been giving her false sensations after all. She thrust her hands out, moving them in circles in rapid succession. Casey was soaring towards the ground, flying past wisps of clouds as the small dots below her turned into blocks which turned into...buildings?! As Casey plummeted towards the town, she allowed herself a sigh of relief as she registered that she was inclining towards a small pond, surrounded by a clustering of trees. Then she resumed screaming when she realized that the dots in the pond were, in fact, dozens of people, unaware as to what was going to be the biggest splash in their day. Casey fell twenty feet, then fifteen, until just ten. She filled her lungs with air, and pinched her pixie nose, preparing for the water’s unwelcoming smack that would surely follow. One last glance lead her to believe it would be any second now, so she closed her eyes before parting the water into the depths of the big blue.

“Whoa, are you okay? How did you even get that much air--that was totally far-out!” A guy’s laid back voice startled Casey, and her eyes fluttered open. She glanced around, then snapped her eyes shut. Was this for real?! She opened them again. Yes, she was correct, Casey concluded, she must be dead.

“Umm, hello?” The voice cooed again. “Oh, shoot. Not an English speaker? Umm, Hablaste Espanol? No? Est-ce que tu parles francais?”  Casey must have hit her head -- whoever was talking to her didn’t even sound like they were speaking English! She jumped to the most logical explanation she could think of.

“God? Is that you? Did I really end up in heaven? Wow, go me! I really thought I’d be Middle Place at best, like in The Good Place. I guess it’s cause I never actually murdered Henry, just threatened to-err, I mean...I like to do things for charity!” Casey exclaimed, and took “God” in.

The boy was around 16, with shaggy dirty blond hair that stretched down almost to his shoulders. He brushed his long bangs off his forehead, and gave her a half smile, half did you just call me God look. He was crouched down next to where she was lying, on a small sandy patch next to the pond. He had the strangest sense of style, his bell bottom jeans and tie dye reminding her of a picture she’d come across when rifling through her mother’s old scrapbooks. She deep down knew that he wasn’t necessarily God, per say, but when she met his sparkly gold-speckled hazel eyes that sparkled from the pond’s reflection, Casey seemed to have lost her voice. He, however, didn’t.

“Um, hi.  My parents make me do community service, if that counts. I don’t know what religion you are, but I’m nowhere near God-level––I mean, I’m Thomas. Thomas Daniels.”

Casey felt her head beginning to spin again when she heard her dad’s name. What were the odds, she thought, that this guy would have the same name, and share her dad’s features, like his one dimpled smile, and his nose with the bump on the end.

“Look man, I don’t mean to be rude, but I’ve got a date tonight, Vanessa, and I really don’t want to be late. So, how about I give you a quick wellness quiz?” Casey nodded. “Okay...number one. What’s your name?”

“Casey,” she responded.

“Well, Casey, what’s 14 plus 957?”

“971––that’s a pretty tough question for someone who might have some brain damage, you know.”

“Haha, I know. My parents make me go to tutoring four times a week, so I guess the torture paid off. I’m still never making my own kids do it, though.” Casey thought of how her own dad never made her take extra help, and nodded.

He cleared his throat. “Okay...seems good… I guess, that is. I don’t really do this everyday.” He laughed, but Casey didn’t. What a dad joke...Oh God! Casey’s mind began to piece things together, even though she didn’t want to face the reality that this guy WAS HER DAD.

“Yoohoo, Casey!” he snapped his fingers in front of her face. “Last question; What is the date?”

She blinked. “October 3rd, 2018.”

He stared at her, then shook his head. “Well....I mean you’re halfway there, you only got the year wrong-–it’s 1978, man.”

“Well, since I’m running short on time, and you’re only 30 years off, I’ll give you a pass. Why don’t you go rest up?” he asked, standing up. “Oh, and Casey?” He spun around. “How do I look?”

Casey thought of her mom, Vanessa, the fashion icon she was today, and how she said she always hated how men dressed in the 70’s.

“I’d lose the tie dye, and get some khakis. I know it's short notice, but the long dreads aren’t doing you any good. Cutting it short would mean less of a hassle, too! Dress to impress, you know?” She gave him a peace sign, a move she’d learned from Scooby Doo.

He smiled and flashed a peace sign right back. “Thanks, Casey. You’re the man. I gotta book, though. Catcha on the flip side!” Then Casey’s future dad left before she could ask what book? and the flip side of what?

Casey knew her mom had lived at 66 Yellow Bridge Road, because her family had torn down the childhood home and built a new one on the large plot of land.

But when Casey climbed up the front steps, the house didn’t seem welcoming like hers was. In fact, it seemed to know who she was, and was telling her to go away.

“You have no idea how much I’d like to, house.” She informed it, right as the door opened. It was her mom, of course, or at least the younger version of her. She wore a tight black leather mini skirt, and a puffy white blouse, the first  button undone. Her copper perm––Casey almost guffawed at her mom’s curly bird’s nest atop her head––was skillfully spun up in a half up-half down. A ruby red scarf was draped over her shoulders, matching her lipstick. “You’re not Thomas,” she said, frowning at her. Then a light sparked in her eyes. “Are you that girl from school who asked me for a makeover?!”

Casey paused, then shrugged. “Sure, let’s go with that!”

As her mom, Vanessa (Casey was still very weirded out by the fact her parents treated her like kids their age) lead her inside, Casey glanced in a mirror and said a silent prayer for her shiny, limpened locks. They passed rooms which had wood paneled walls painted shades of avocado green and sickly orange. Almost every flat surface was carpeted, though the shades of cream did range from oat to egg nog. She stopped in front of a boxy object with a foggy screen she assumed was some sort of technology. It was, of course, cream, and had a pair of wires sticking out of the top.

“Isn’t our TV so cool? My dad’s the head designer at his office, so he got us this high tech one. Look at this screen, its almost a foot wide!” Casey nodded politely, not wanting to point out her family owned a 70 foot flat screen Google TV.

“Yeah, so then I was like, “Nikki, I don’t care what you’ve got in your bank account, your wardrobe’s what matters!” Vanessa burst out laughing, and continued to babble about the latest high school drama.

Casey was seated on a plush velvet stool in front of a decked out vanity. Bottles of nail polish sat, color coordinated, along one shelf, and a pink basket was filled to the brim with mascara, lip gloss, and eyeshadow, all labeled with creative names, like “Banana Beach Bonanza”, a tanning bronzer, and “Pink Plumpifying Passionfruit” Casey’s favorite lipgloss. She held a glass of a terrible orange substance called “Tang,”which her mother had insisted was high in Vitamin C, so every now and then she sipped it through a paper straw. Casey saw a queen-sized bed with fluffy pink covers along one wall, and a fuzzy rug tickled her feet when she walked in. She glanced at her mom in the vanity’s lit-up mirror, covered in pictures of friends and admirers. She told Casey all about her favorite classes and how her parents always nagged at her to do her homework and yelled at her for bad grades. “I’ll never treat my kids like that,” Vanessa promised, “They should be able to have fun with their friends and live a little, ya know? Ooh, there’s my new lip gloss!”

Casey wondered how she ever got into Harvard, but the straight A’s that scattered her desk lead Casey to believe that this girl had layers, like an-

“Onion!” Vanessa squealed, holding up a white kitten. “This is my cat, Onion. Onion, say hi to…Oh My God, I’m so sorry! I’ve already forgotten your name!”

“Casey” Casey said, petting the mewling cat.

“That’s like, such a pretty name, by the way,” Her mom said, brushing Casey’s hair. “If I ever have kids, I’m like, sooo naming my daughter Casey. She’ll like, totally be my favorite,” She wiggled her shoulders and winked a mascara coated eye at Casey, who bit back a hard laugh.

“Totally,” Casey said, sarcasm dripping from her voice. But maybe sarcasm hadn’t been invented yet, because her future mom smiled and looked out the window.

“Thomas is here! OMG, look at his hair! Look at his outfit!” Casey got up and looked with her. “Look at that car!” she gasped, looking past her dad’s collared shirt and newly styled short hair, and at his red Cadillac convertible. Vanessa laughed and stepped back from the window.

“Gotta book, but I’m, like, going to a party later. I should see you there, bestie. Be there or be square!” Then she flounced out the door, pulling on a pair of cherry red stilettos.

Casey paused in the same silver mirror on the way out, and gawked at her puffy curls, piled sky high. She decided to walk through the downstairs, since Vanessa never told her she had to leave right away. “Besides,” Casey reasoned with herself, “If someone catches me, I’ll be able to prove that I’m family!” Then Casey realized that DNA tests probably weren’t invented yet either, and silently tiptoed into the kitchen.

Photos of her mom and grandparents lined the countertop, Vanessa smiling brightly as her parents gave the photographer a tight lipped smile. Casey wondered why Grandpa and Nonnie looked so grumpy, but a whiteboard on the wall caught her eye.

“Vanessa,” it read, “We know you have a date tonight, but we saw you only got a 90 on your history of Mongolia assessment. Are you trying to get us to die due to heart failure? You should celebrate if you have something to be proud of. Therefore, you are allowed to go to that party when you get into Harvard. We will see you soon. Strictly, Mother and Father.”

Casey cringed at the sting of the meer words, astounded to how cruel her grandparents had been. Had her real Nonnie and Grandpa actually died of heart failure, like the note suggested, and her mother had gotten new ones? Unlikely. As Casey wasn’t in the mood to test the “God” card again, she figured that her grandparents really had only been fulfilled once their daughter made ivy leagues.

“Poor mom!” Casey whispered, and suddenly, she felt anger overcome her like a tsunami. She grabbed the board and wiped off the message. “Let her have one more fun night,” Casey said, “And I’m so not eating Nonnie’s apple pie anymore! That’ll show her!” She turned, feeling better, though rather hungry. The only thing she had eaten in the last 24 hours was some Tang, and it wasn’t sitting well on its own. She walked towards the fridge, but stopped when she saw something on the window. She inched towards it, like a cat stalking her prey. “Well...maybe just one more time!” Casey concluded, and grabbed the warm pie from the window sill.

Casey lay in the dark living room, feeling bloated for having gorged herself on desert. “I never even got to try pizza pockets!” she moaned, wishing she had room for her dad’s favorite 70’s dish. She felt as though she’d never move again, when she heard a key rattling in the door jam. Voices drifted into the room, followed by her grandpa’s signature laugh. “RUN!” She whisper-screamed to Onion, and bolted upstairs, just as the door opened beneath her. Casey recovered from freezing behind a column, and continued to sneak forward. She was so close to her mom’s old room now, just a few...more...creeaaak! Casey pulled her foot back, certain she was about to be caught.

“Onion!” her grandmother yelled. “Hank, I told you to fix that walkway. That darned cat keeps scaring the life right out of me!”

“Wouldn’t that be a bad thing,” Her grandfather muttered, “A little silence around here, for once.”

“I heard that!” she screamed back. Casey felt safe to move, and quickly flew into the room, slamming the door shut….Oh no! Casey heard her grandpa yell, “Who’s there?” and her grandma shout, “Get'm Hankie!” as Casey backed up to the window. Her grandfather was now on the other side of the door, yelling what he thought would be threatening to a robber. While Casey wasn’t exactly sure what it meant to be convicted of tax fraudery, and didn’t think her grandfather was capable of a roundhouse––even in his prime––she still didn’t want to be around when the man worked up his courage to charge the room. But when hen her grandfather finally pulled the door open, all he found was Onion, sitting peacefully on the open window sill.

“Darn cat” he muttered, and slammed the door shut again.

Casey could feel her fingers slipping, her knuckles turning white as they gripped the edge of the window. She knew that soon they would give way, and she would plummet the two story drop. Her legs hung limp beneath her, tingling with anxiety and fright. Down below thorny rose bushes waited, and a gravel driveway promised pain either way. She hoped she would lose consciousness when she fell, as that would give her time to find answers to questions that would surely be asked. Casey shot a glance behind her, and saw a little boy peering out of a window across the street, his mouth agape. Casey mustered a friendly grimace, and the boy broke from his trance.

“Robber,” she heard him say, and she shook her head at him violently. He shook his head right back. “Robber!” he yelled louder. Casey glared at him. “ROBBER!!!!” he hollered, over and over.

“SHHHH!” she yelled right back, twisting to try and face him. She realized he couldn’t hear her, and removed one hand from the window to hold a finger to her lips…

“Uh oh!” Sure enough, her hand buckled and gave way. But she never felt the hard impact of the ground,or the scratching of thorns, as it all gave way and Casey shot down into a rainbow, seemingly endless void, with no idea where the end of the tunnel was. Seeing the Alice in Wonderland reference, she lifted her arms above her head, and screamed as she closed her eyes.

“Casey,” a soft voice, familiar, like a warm hug, broke her trance. “Casey?” Her eyes flitted open, but all Casey could see was shadows. She didn’t want another confusing day on a strange planet. “Casey!” groaning, Casey sat up, rubbing her eyes. Her mom was leaning over Casey, her copper hair askew, though no longer curly. Her dad was standing in the doorway, a plate of pancakes in his hand. Henry stood next to him, though not for Casey’s sake, but for the warm breakfast just out of his reach.

“Henry,” her dad warned, and her little brother disappeared. Casey turned back to her mom, who wore an apologetic look on her face. “I was too hard on you,” her mom sighed. “I promised myself I wouldn’t treat you like my parents treated me, but I just wanted you to succeed, Case. I didn’t realize that meant that you couldn’t have your happiness, too. I’m sorry.”

Casey finally smiled. “Me too, mom. But I’m still going to need some of those-”

“PANCAKES!” her little brother screamed. Casey and her parents were jolted out of their ammendful moment as Henry bolted down the hall towards them. With a tremendous leap, he smacked the plate out of their father’s hands. He missed his descent, however, and tripped while the plate went flying into Casey’s room, which crashed into the wall above her side table. Casey sat in shock as maple syrup dripped down her face and hair, only partly registering her family’s laughter. She picked up the syrup-soaked frame from the table as her mom sat down next to her.

“Ouch!” Her mom jumped right back up, and held out a sharp piece of glass to her daughter. “Do you know where this is from? You really should clean up your room, Case.” Casey snatched the glass from her mother’s hand, and held it next to the shattered screen. Just as she’s thought, a match. It clicked into place, and Baby Casey’s smiling face was whole once again. Casey jumped up, and showed her mother.

“That’s me! I was the missing piece!”

Her mom smiled uncertainly. “Well, yes, that is you. Didn’t you know what the picture was?” Casey nodded, and looked around at her sticky, sheepish little brother. Her dad who was still chuckling as he began unsticking pancakes from the sealing. Her mom, completely oblivious to the scraps of breakfast in her hair. And her older sister, who stood puzzled in the doorway.

They weren’t perfect, Casey knew that to be certain. But she fit in with them. They were perfect for her.