Chapter Four - Bitter Betties

"Hey, Aura? Have you seen my lucky scrunchie? It's navy blue—I think I left it—Oh."

Harriet's voice faltered as she stepped into the kitchen, eyes immediately locking onto an unexpected figure seated at the breakfast table.

Harper.

She was slouched in one of the high-backed chairs, dressed in oversized, faded pink pyjamas, one knee pulled up to her chest. A half-eaten bowl of cereal sat forgotten in front of her, the spoon lazily swirling the last bits of milk. Her face was expressionless—flat and unreadable—eyes fixed somewhere beyond the room. She didn't speak. Didn't acknowledge Harriet's presence. Just a cold, heavy silence.

Harriet's breath caught. Seeing Harper like this—the exhaustion etched deep into her pale skin, the dark circles under her eyes—was like looking at a shadow of the sister she once knew.

"I was gonna say hi properly last night.." Harriet began hesitantly, trying to bridge the distance, "but you were already asleep by the time I got home."

Harper didn't respond. The silence stretched out, thick and uncomfortable, wrapping around them like a cold fog. Harriet shifted awkwardly, tugging at the strap of her sports bag, desperate to find something—anything—that might break the tension.

They hadn't spoken properly in years, the chasm between them widened by a past neither wanted to revisit. Harriet had always convinced herself Harper's bitterness came from jealousy—jealousy of her grades, her friends, the easy way she navigated the world. But Harper's silence and icy stare told a different story. Harper didn't just resent her. She hated her.

"I'm looking for my scrunchie.." Harriet said softly, almost whispering now. "The lucky one. I wear it on game day. I think I left it here." She looked up, hope flickering. "You haven't seen it, have you?"

Still no reply. Harper slowly lifted the bowl and drank the last of the milk straight from the rim, eyes never meeting Harriet's. She gave a small shrug, heavy with indifference.

"Right... okay. Thanks anyway." Harriet mumbled, biting her lip as she turned toward the stairs.

The ache in her chest was sharp and sudden, like shards of glass. Today was important—her first home game as cheer captain—and she needed that stupid scrunchie, her talisman, to feel steady.

As Harriet's footsteps faded upstairs, Harper's gaze dropped to her wrist. There, concealed beneath the sleeve of her pajama top, was the navy-blue scrunchie, snug and familiar.

A bitter smile tugged at her lips.

Lucky, she thought, so naïve.

Harper rubbed at her tired eyes, the exhaustion of months in Warren weighing down every movement. Her mood was darkened further by the push and pull of returning home—comfort mixed with an undeniable sense of alienation. The sterile hospital walls had been safer in their own way; here, the memories and family ghosts crowded in.

The siblings teased her mercilessly—calling her "Grandma Harper" because she loved her naps and constantly complained about aches and pains no one else seemed to notice. She hated it, but sometimes even she joked about how much sleep she needed just to keep the shadows at bay.

Just then, Aura breezed into the kitchen, her bright presence almost a shock against the quiet heaviness in the room. Her green eyes immediately found Harper's face.

"Hey! You coming to the game today?" Aura asked, brushing a strand of chocolate hair behind her older sister's ear.

Harper snorted softly, leaning against the counter, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "You think I wanna watch Harriet prance around in a glittery blue skirt? No."

Aura rolled her eyes but didn't push. Instead, she stepped closer, catching Harper's arm gently and spinning her around to face her.

"Come on. We don't have to watch HER—we can just chill, watch the boys play, maybe meet your future soccer-player boyfriend?" she teased with a grin. "Plus, Millie's performing. You know she's been buzzing about you coming home."

Harper paused. Millie—the one person who had shown her kindness and understanding when no one else did. The one who had visited her in hospital with books, gifts, and warm hugs. The older sister Harper wished she'd always had. Not Harriet.

Her lips twitched into a reluctant smile, fleeting but real.

Aura's smile faltered as her eyes dropped to Harper's wrist. "Seriously?" she muttered, plucking the scrunchie away.

Harper didn't stop her.

Aura shook her head, playful disapproval clear in her voice. Then she called out upstairs, "Harriet! I Found it! It was in the kitchen drawer!"

Harriet came thundering down the stairs, energy and relief flooding her voice.

"Oh my god, thank you! I was about to lose it—literally." she said, grabbing the scrunchie and wrapping it tightly around her high ponytail. "Are you two coming later? I'll try and save you good seats!"

Aura nodded eagerly. "Yeah, we'll be there. Probably just hanging out a bit."

"Cool! Thanks again! Okay, I'm late! Bye!" Harriet disappeared out the door in a blur of pom-poms and perfume, leaving behind the fragile, simmering tension that still hung thick between the sisters.

Harper sighed deeply and rubbed her temples, the weight of her exhaustion settling heavier now that the noise of the morning had burst in. Being home was a strange mix of relief and unrest—and she wasn't sure which feeling was stronger.

The late afternoon sun spilled golden light across the soccer field, warming the metal bleachers that gleamed with a dull shimmer. Harper sat slouched in the third row, her knees pulled tightly to her chest, chin resting heavily on them. Beside her, Aura lounged with effortless grace, her chocolate-brown hair catching the sunlight as she brushed it behind her ear. The contrast between them was stark: Aura's soft smile and easy warmth against Harper's guarded, brooding presence.

Harper's shoes dug uncomfortably into the bench beneath her, every movement stiff and reluctant. She stared out at the field, half-listening to the crowd's roar, the referee's shrill whistles, and the rhythmic chants from the cheer squad led by Harriet — radiant in her glittering blue uniform.

Aura nudged Harper gently. "You're going to miss the whole game if you keep staring off like that."

Harper let out a dry laugh, more bitter than amused. "I'm only here because you dragged me along. And because Millie promised ice cream afterward."

Aura grinned. "Classic bribe. Works every time."

The crowd's energy pulsed around them, but Harper felt insulated in a bubble of exhaustion. She was known as the 'grumpy grandma' of the family — forever complaining about how early everything started, how tight her boots felt, how much she wanted to be asleep instead of awake. She'd earned the nickname not because she was actually old, but because she loved sleep and sulked with all the energy of a curmudgeon twice her age.

"Is this seat taken then?" a voice called out suddenly, breaking Harper's half-formed thoughts.

Harper blinked, turning toward the newcomer — a girl with an effortless brightness, her blonde hair pulled back neatly by a navy headband that glinted in the sun. She carried a drink in one hand and a bag of popcorn in the other, beaming like a spotlight in the otherwise gritty bleachers.

Aura smiled warmly. "Sit down. It's a free seat."

Vivienne wasted no time, settling in beside Harper with a graceful plop. "Thanks! I'm out for the season because of an ankle injury." she said, holding up her bandaged foot slightly. "So I'm stuck here, living vicariously through the rest of the squad."

Harper gave a half-smirk, folding her arms tightly across her chest as if to shield herself from the warmth around her. "Yeah, watching your team while you can't play — that sucks." she muttered, her voice low and edged with bitterness.

Vivienne's laugh bubbled up, light and carefree, cutting through Harper's mood like sunlight breaking through a cloud. "Exactly! It's the worst. But our captain, Harriet, is keeping spirits high. You know her?"

Harper's expression tightened just a fraction—so slight it might have gone unnoticed by anyone else. Her eyes flicked toward the field where Harriet stood, head held high, her confident ponytail whipping like a banner behind her as she led the cheerleaders. The way Harriet commanded the squad with fierce precision was almost magnetic. 

"Harriet Baldwin is our older sister." Harper said quietly, voice low but firm.

Vivienne's smile didn't falter for a second. Instead, it grew warmer, more knowing. "No way! That explains why you looked so familiar. I mean, it's hard not to notice the Baldwin name around here."

Harper let out a sarcastic snort, shaking her head as if to shrug off the weight of that legacy. "Yeah, I'm the 'fun' sibling. The one who ruins the family photos and can't keep her mouth shut."

Aura, sitting beside Harper, elbowed her gently and grinned. "You're more like a grumpy old grandma, honestly. She sleeps all the time and complain like you've got arthritis."

Harper shot Aura a tired, almost pleading glare, but couldn't suppress a reluctant smile. 

Vivienne's eyes sparkled with curiosity and genuine interest. "So, what brings you here then? Morale support for your superstar sister?"

Harper sighed deeply, the exhaustion pulling at her features as her mood dipped once more. "Sitting through Harriet flailing around in a glittery skirt isn't exactly my idea of a good time."

Vivienne grinned unabashedly, her cheerfulness unshaken by the jab. "Ouch. That's harsh. But I get it—not everyone loves glitter pom-poms and routines."

Vivienne nudged Harper's shoulder playfully, the motion light but filled with encouragement. "I think you're funny already. We should hang out soon."

Harper turned to look at Vivienne, really looked, and saw something she hadn't expected—a sincere, unforced kindness that stood out sharply against the usual layers of fake smiles and forced niceties she was used to. Vivienne wasn't just cheerful. She was real.

"Maybe." Harper said softly, the harsh edge in her voice smoothing into something tentative but hopeful. "Maybe I'll take you up on that."

The crowd around them suddenly erupted into a fresh wave of cheers. Harriet's voice rose above the noise, fierce and radiant as she led the squad in triumphant chants. Harper felt the tension in her shoulders loosen just a bit. Maybe, for once, this game — this moment — wasn't so unbearable after all.