Hanukkah
Mika walked through the lightly frosted streets of Seattle, her breath visible in the air. A few holiday decorations still hung from the lampposts, and the faint hum of distant carollers echoed off the brick walls of the city. Her hands were buried deep in the pockets of her coat, clutching the red notebook she had grown so attached to. The question loomed in her thoughts, circling like a carousel she couldn’t get off.
What do I want for Christmas?
The thought wouldn’t leave her. It wasn’t as simple as wishing for something material, like a new coat or a book. This felt different. Her footsteps slowed as she passed a shop window glowing with warm lights and festive displays.
What do I want for Christmas? I want to get to know you, Notebook Girl. I want to understand why you hate this season when all it’s ever done is make me feel alive. I want to see the city the way you see it, through your eyes, through your heart. Take me somewhere special, someplace in the city that feels like you. Let me know who you are—not just the words on these pages, but the real person behind them.
Mika paused in her steps, pulling the notebook from her pocket and staring at its cover. She held it tightly, as if by holding on, she could grasp more of the girl who’d written in it.
The most me isn’t a place, Mika. It’s a time.
Jules sat on her windowsill, the early morning light casting pale streaks across her room. The city outside her window was still waking, the sounds of distant traffic growing louder by the minute. She leaned her head back against the cool glass, her lips quirking into a soft smile as she thought of the next clue she’d left in the notebook.
Be inside King Street Station before the first train arrives. I know it’s early, but I promise... it’s worth it. There are a few moments where you can find stillness in the middle of the city, where you can enjoy the heart of Seattle without the crush of people. Where you can have a moment’s peace and the company of your own thoughts.
Jules had spent many mornings at the station, watching the light seep through the grand arched windows, the faint hum of the city just beyond its walls. It was her favourite time—quiet, serene, unhurried. The world slowed down just enough for her to feel like she could breathe.
She imagined Mika standing there, taking it all in, and wondered what she’d think. Would she find the same beauty Jules saw in those fleeting moments? Would she feel the calm Jules so often sought in the chaos of life?
Tell me what you see.
Enjoy it while it lasts. People ruin everything.
Mika stood at the edge of her block, the notebook clutched in her hands. She had read the latest message over and over, the words spinning in her mind.
King Street Station. Before the first train.
Her curiosity burned. She had never been there that early—never thought to find stillness in a place built for movement. But something about the way the girl described it, the way she promised it was worth it, made Mika’s heart ache to see it.
"What do I want for Christmas?" Mika thought again, her breath visible in the air.
I want to find you, Notebook Girl. I want to see the world the way you see it. I want to know if your stillness could ever feel like mine.
Mika stepped into the vast, echoing expanse of King Street Station, her boots clicking softly against the polished floor. The air inside was cool, the kind that makes you breathe in just a little deeper. Her eyes widened as she looked up, taking in the ornate details of the ceiling—a perfect blend of history and artistry.
The station was nearly empty, save for the distant rustle of a janitor’s broom and the occasional hum of machinery. It was a stark contrast to the bustling chaos she had always associated with the space. Here, in the stillness before the first train arrived, the station seemed alive in a different way, like it was waiting for her to notice its secrets.
She wandered toward the middle of the room, her hands stuffed into her coat pockets for warmth. Her gaze landed on the chandelier hanging proudly from the ceiling, its light casting intricate shadows on the walls.
I see the chandelier in the middle of the room. It’s still dark outside. But in here, the sky is lit up with constellations. The world feels big and small and... all mine.
Mika tilted her head back further, her eyes tracing the patterns on the ceiling. For a moment, she felt like she was staring into an alternate universe, where the stars were just close enough to touch. The thought sent a shiver through her, not from the cold, but from a strange and wonderful sense of belonging.
She stood there, surrounded by the soft glow of the lights, and called out impulsively, “Hello!”
The word echoed through the cavernous space, bouncing off the walls and travelling back to her, faint but unmistakable. Mika grinned, her breath catching as she heard her own voice fill the room.
“Hello!” she shouted again, louder this time.
The echo answered her once more, carrying her words to corners she couldn’t see. She laughed, a sound that felt lighter than it had in weeks, and spun slowly in place, her arms spreading out as if to embrace the emptiness around her.
Her eyes caught on a departure board at the far end of the station, its rows of destinations blank for the moment. She stared at it, imagining all the places it would soon list, all the people it would carry away and bring home. The world felt vast yet close, a reminder that it was full of people—and she was one of them.
Her fingers brushed the notebook tucked inside her coat pocket. You were right, she thought, smiling to herself. This place is special.
Mika turned back toward the chandelier, her grin softening into a look of awe. She let herself linger in the moment, a quiet part of the city’s rhythm, as though the station was holding its breath just for her.
The thought hovered in Jules’ mind as she stood in line at King Street Station, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. The serenity of the early morning had already been punctured by the sound of someone’s obnoxious ringtone and the click-clack of hurried heels. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, tapping her fingers against her arm impatiently.
The guy in front of her was glued to his phone, oblivious to the world around him. The line inched forward, but he didn’t move. Jules sighed loudly, loud enough for him to hear, but he didn’t even flinch.
“It’s your turn,” she said, irritation creeping into her voice.
No response. The guy kept scrolling, his thumbs moving rapidly.
“Hey, dude, look up.” Her tone was sharper now, cutting through the quiet murmur of the station.
Finally, he glanced up, realised he was holding up the line, and shuffled forward with a mumble. Jules rolled her eyes, muttering something under her breath about people being incapable of basic awareness.
The person ahead of her at the counter stepped away, and Jules took their place, sliding up to the man behind the desk. He wore a crisp uniform and gave her a polite nod before reaching under the counter and handing her a familiar red notebook.
Jules took it carefully, clutching it against her chest for a moment. “Thanks,” she said, her tone softer now.
The man smiled but didn’t say anything, already turning his attention to the next person in line. Jules stepped to the side, moving out of the flow of foot traffic. Her fingers itched to open the notebook, and she didn’t wait.
She flipped it open to the newest entry, scanning Mika’s handwriting. Her lips curved upward slightly as she read, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at her usually guarded expression.
Now, I know you like stillness, but you don’t have to get up so early to find it. You just need a lesson from my cousin in Discovery Park.
Jules stood a few paces away from the man Mika had sent her to meet, watching him in disbelief. He stood in a pose on a weathered patch of grass in Discovery Park, surrounded by the distant sounds of joggers, dog walkers, and children’s laughter. His expression was serene, his eyes closed as if the world had melted away.
“A zen master,” she thought, almost rolling her eyes. Great.
The notebook in her hand felt heavier than usual as she flipped back to reread Mika’s instructions:
If you can last ten minutes doing what he does, leave the notebook and your next dare with him, and our dare can continue.
And one more thing: It’s time I knew your name. Fair is fair.
Jules’ lips twitched into a small smile. Not yet, Mika. Not until you’ve earned it.
She sighed, shoving the notebook into her bag. “Ten minutes,” she muttered under her breath. “I can do anything for ten minutes.”
Still, she hesitated, watching him. His calm felt almost contagious, like he existed in a bubble that the noise of the park couldn’t penetrate. Jules wondered briefly if this was some kind of joke. Maybe Mika was testing her patience—or her ability to make a fool of herself.
Taking a deep breath, Jules walked over to the man and stood beside him, mirroring his pose. She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, but his face didn’t so much as twitch. Jules sighed again and closed her eyes, trying to block out the noise of the park.
At first, it was almost unbearable. The wind rustled the leaves, a dog barked somewhere nearby, and kids’ voices rose and fell in bursts of laughter and shouts. She clenched her jaw, willing herself to stay still.
Then it happened. A group of kids approached, giggling and whispering. Jules opened her eyes slightly to see one of them leaning in toward the zen master, clapping his hands loudly just inches from the man’s face. He didn’t flinch.
The kids turned their attention to Jules. One clapped his hands near her ear, while another waved a hand in front of her face, laughing. Her jaw tightened, but she didn’t move.
Stay composed, she told herself. You’ve dealt with worse. You can handle this.
The kids eventually gave up, running off to find another source of entertainment. Jules let out a slow breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding.
She shifted slightly, settling deeper into the pose. Despite the noise and the distractions, there was something oddly comforting about the stillness Mika had asked her to find. She could almost hear Mika’s laughter in her mind, teasing her for taking this dare so seriously.
And, surprisingly, Jules didn’t mind.
Mika approached the man in the park, her heart skipping a little when she saw the small silver bucket beside him. She bent down, her fingers brushing against the cool metal as she retrieved the red notebook.
As she stood, she opened it immediately, her eyes scanning the familiar handwriting.
Dear Mika, I value fairness, but I can't give you my name. It's too... particular. It'd be way too easy to figure out who I am. But I will give you a clue. My name is Disney princess-like.
Mika couldn’t help the grin spreading across her face. She looked up at the man, who still sat in serene silence, seemingly impervious to the world around him. When their eyes met, he gave her a knowing wink, as if he understood far more about her day than he let on.
“Thank you,” she murmured, though she wasn’t sure he could even hear her.
As Mika walked away, her smile lingered. She glanced down at the notebook, eager to read more.
Now that I am starving from trying not to punch preteens, let’s get a snack. Find the cart on 15th Avenue NE, and ask for Lot’s Wife.
Mika chuckled softly under her breath. She could picture Notebook Girl—her Mystery Girl—sitting stiffly while children clapped and laughed in her face. The image was somehow both hilarious and endearing.
Her footsteps quickened as she read the instructions again. Lot’s wife, she thought. Sounds intriguing. I hope it’s something good. I could definitely use a snack.
As she left the park, the buzz of the city surrounded her once more, but the notebook in her hand felt like a thread tying her to something—or someone—special. And she couldn’t wait to pull on that thread and see where it led.
A few moments later, she was handed a pretzel with the most amount of salt that she had ever seen.
“Oh my God,” she said, staring at the pretzel. “I’m supposed to eat this thing?”
She managed a few more bites, each one just as salty as the last, before she surrendered. The empty water bottle dangled from her hand as she made her way to a nearby bench.
Okay, was that my punishment for asking your name? Because you can be as salty as you want. I’m not giving up.
Mika leaned back, the faint taste of salt still lingering on her tongue. She looked down at the notebook in her lap, smirking.
So, a Disney princess-like name. Is your name ‘Mulan’? Or maybe ‘Cinderella’? Cindy? Yeah, I’m going to call you Cindy.
The smirk turned into a full smile as she imagined her Mystery Girl rolling her eyes at the nickname.
So, Cindy, your favourite treats are salty. Mine, on the other hand, are very sweet.
With a newfound determination, Mika stood and approached the vendor again, handing back the notebook with a quiet “Thanks.”
As she walked away, her steps felt lighter despite the lingering thirst. She couldn’t wait to see what “Cindy” had in store for her next.
The café was a cosy haven, tucked into a corner of the bustling city. Strings of soft white lights draped across the windows, their glow reflecting off the frosted glass panes. A gentle hum of chatter surrounded Jules, punctuated by the hiss of the espresso machine and the faint notes of a jazzy Christmas tune playing over the speakers.
Jules sat alone at a small table by the window, her fingers drumming idly on its wooden surface. She wasn’t one for holiday cheer, but even she couldn’t deny the warmth of the atmosphere around her. The faint aroma of cinnamon and nutmeg mixed with freshly brewed coffee wafted through the air, a scent that felt oddly comforting despite herself.
A server approached, placing a plate in front of her with a small smile. On it sat two delicate cannoli, their golden shells dusted lightly with powdered sugar.
I know you claim to hate Christmas, but to me, it's the sweetest time of the year. So, enjoy some Christmas cannoli and tell me about your best Christmas. I know even you have one.
Jules let out a soft scoff, leaning back in her chair. Her best Christmas? The question almost made her laugh. Did she even have the best Christmas? Her fingers trailed along the edge of the plate, her thoughts spinning.
The café seemed to blur around her as her mind drifted back. There was the one Christmas when she was eight, and her dad—back when he was still around—had taken her sledding on the biggest hill in their town. She’d laughed so hard when they’d crashed into a snowbank that her sides ached for hours afterward.
There was another Christmas, a quieter one, when her mom had been too busy working late shifts to decorate. Jules had surprised her by setting up the tree herself, carefully hanging every ornament they had. They’d ended up sitting on the couch that night, eating Chinese takeout and watching a cheesy holiday movie.
She picked up one of the cannoli, staring at it as if it held the answer to her lingering question. Her best Christmas? Did she even believe in “best” anything anymore? And yet…
As she bit into the cannoli, the sweet, creamy filling mingling with the crisp shell, something softened in her. She looked around the café, taking in the warmth, the life. She hadn’t thought about those moments in years, but here they were, resurfacing like long-forgotten treasures.
First things first, I am very much not a Cindy. Cindy’s are annoying, gullible, and indiscriminate in their taste. Cindy would never have found you next to Franny and Zooey. So let’s settle that debate right here and now.
As for your dare, I was ten years old. My mom and dad told me that I was going to have two Christmases that year. Two trees, two sets of presents. I was so excited, over-the-moon, joyous-kid-type excited. And then they told me they were getting divorced.
Jules paused, tapping the pen against her lips before continuing.
That year, I only asked Santa for one thing: for my parents to get back together. Obviously, that didn’t happen. Look, I survived, but my ‘best Christmas’ turned out to be the last time I believed in Santa. Or miracles. Or parents who tell you the truth.
She set the pen down for a moment, leaning back in her chair. That memory felt distant now, like a faded photograph, but the sting of it lingered. She didn’t miss her parents being together—they were happier apart. But she missed the belief that things could be fixed so easily, that life could be fair.
Jules glanced at the family again, the little girl now smearing whipped cream across her nose and making her parents laugh harder. She smiled faintly, shaking her head.
Enough about me.
Misery loves company, Miks. Tell me about your worst Christmas. I know even you have at least one.
The café bell jingled softly as Mika stepped inside, the warmth of the room washing over her. The faint hum of conversation mixed with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and cinnamon. She scanned the room quickly, her eyes landing on a familiar sight—the red notebook lying in the centre of a small, wooden table near the window.
Mika’s heart fluttered as she walked over, sliding into the same seat Jules had vacated not long before. She reached out and traced the edge of the notebook, her fingers lingering for a moment before she opened it.
The words jumped out at her, their blunt honesty catching her off guard.
"First things first, I am very much not a Cindy."
Mika let out a laugh, startling a couple at a nearby table. She muffled it quickly with her hand, biting her lip as she read on. Jules’s story unfolded before her, and Mika felt a pang of sympathy. She could picture it—the hope, the excitement, the crushing disappointment.
Mika ran her thumb along the edge of the page, her thoughts swirling. Jules had laid a piece of herself bare, something raw and painful. It felt intimate, like peeling back a layer of someone’s guarded exterior.
Mika set the notebook down for a moment, staring out the window. The street outside was bustling with last-minute shoppers and bundled-up families, their faces lit by the glow of string lights. She couldn’t help but feel a small, nagging guilt. Jules had given her honesty, and now Mika felt like she had to do the same.
She picked up the pen and started to write, the words flowing easily at first.
Worst Christmas? Try this year. My parents are in Fiji; my grandpa is in Florida. He says he goes there for the oranges, but he’s really visiting his beach blonde girlfriend. Don’t get me started. So, I’d like to say my worst Christmas is this one.
Mika pressed the pen a little harder into the page than she intended, the words growing messy. She set it down on the table with a sharp tap, leaning back in her chair. Her jaw clenched as she stared at the notebook.
She reached out to close it, hesitated, and then picked the pen back up.
Except that would be a lie. You told me something personal, something that hurt. So, I guess I owe you the same.
The next words came slower, her handwriting careful as if the act of writing them was delicate.
My worst Christmas was the year of the friendship bracelet in middle school. I begged my parents to let me go to the winter dance. I've always loved making things. I make my own clothes. As my great aunt, Mrs. Basil E, says, 'Your clothes are your inside on your outside, and you shouldn't leave that to mass manufacturers.' So I made friendship bracelets as a Christmas present for everyone at the dance. I, uh, chose the neglected fabrics in the back of the store. The ones no one was picking. I figured I could relate.
Mika sat back in her chair, gripping the pen tighter as the memory played in her mind. She could almost feel the old, scratchy fabric of her middle school sweater against her skin, hear the murmur of conversations as she handed out her homemade bracelets, her heart thumping with a mix of nerves and excitement.
This girl, I’ll call her 'T,' never talked to me before. I mean, my dream journal was filled with conversations I hoped we’d have one day. I had such a crush on her. Everybody did. And here she was, demanding one of my creations. All her friends were watching, and I thought, ‘This is my moment. This is when it all comes together.’
Mika walked through the dimly lit school hallways, the afterglow of the winter dance fading into silence. Her arms were crossed tightly around herself, the faint sound of sneakers squeaking on tile behind her.
It was then that she saw them. The bracelets.
They were scattered across the floor like discarded candy wrappers, trampled and dirtied. The bright fabrics she’d chosen with so much care now dulled with scuff marks.
Mika’s stomach twisted, her pulse quickening as she knelt to pick one up.
"Did you see her face?" a voice carried from around the corner. Mika froze.
"She’s so weird," T said, her voice dripping with amusement.
The laughter that followed stung worse than anything Mika had felt before.
Until that moment, I honestly thought I’d fit in. All I had to do was be me. After that, I started to feel like Alice in Wonderland, like school was full of all these rules that didn’t make sense. Like, if you want people to like you, don’t be yourself. I just… wasn’t good at that, I guess.
Mika stopped writing for a moment, looking out the café window. She hadn’t thought about that night in years, but the memory felt as raw as if it had happened yesterday. She sighed, pressing her lips together before continuing.
And okay, being myself hasn’t won me giant parties full of friends. I don’t really go to parties or get invited to them. What I do, apparently, is unload embarrassing childhood traumas to a stranger in a notebook. I guess admitting these things is easier to someone you’ve never met. Maybe I’ve scared you off, but, if not—and I hope not—leave your next dare in Discovery Park… next to the lighthouse.
The wind whipped through Jules’s hair as she walked along the shoreline of Discovery Park, the faint outline of the lighthouse ahead. She gripped the notebook in one hand, her other shoved deep into her coat pocket.
She approached the lighthouse, crouching down to place the notebook beside it, its red cover gleaming against the rocky ground. But as she straightened up and looked around, her thoughts wavered.
Jules hesitated, glancing down at the notebook again. With a soft sigh, she picked it back up, tucking it under her arm.
Jules sat in the corner booth of the pizza parlour, her legs stretched out under the table as she ripped a paper napkin into smaller and smaller pieces. Across from her, Lucas leaned forward, his elbows resting on the sticky surface of the table, an eyebrow raised in amusement.
"Honestly," Jules began, brushing her hands together to get rid of the torn bits of napkin, "the first thing I wrote in the notebook was how I wanted to go back in time and just end the evil little twerp who called her weird."
Lucas tilted his head, intrigued. "Oh? Full-on vigilante fantasy? Go on."
Jules smirked despite herself, gesturing vaguely with her hands. "I described the whole thing, you know, exactly how I’d do it. It involved a time machine. I had this whole plan, complete with diagrams in my head. It’s a bit stupid thinking about it now, but yeah, I was ready to rewrite history."
Lucas grinned. "You’re so cute when you’re protective over your paper girlfriend."
Jules shot him a glare, the kind that was half serious and half teasing. "She’s not my girlfriend."
Lucas leaned back in the booth, crossing his arms as his grin grew wider. "She’s kind of your girlfriend, though, isn’t she?"
"No, she’s not!" Jules insisted, her tone sharper this time.
"Jules," Lucas said, rolling his eyes like he was explaining something obvious to a child, "you’re literally trading heartfelt childhood traumas and writing love notes disguised as dares with a complete stranger. If that’s not the beginning of a very quirky indie movie romance, I don’t know what is."
Jules shook her head, exasperated. "It’s just a game. A weird, addictive game. That’s all."
Lucas gave her a knowing look. "Uh-huh. Sure."
Before Jules could argue further, the door to the pizza parlour opened with a jingle of bells, and two friends they knew from the local music scene strolled in, bundled up in scarves and beanies.
"Jules!" one of them called out as they approached. "You coming tonight?"
Jules furrowed her brows. "Coming to what?"
"The secret show," the other said with a grin. "Seventh night of Hanukkah. We’re playing at Morris’s garage. Starts in an hour."
Her eyes widened. "That’s tonight?"
"Yeah," one of them replied, sliding their scarf off. "You in?"
Jules didn’t hesitate. She slid out of the booth, grabbing her coat and the red notebook from the table. "I need it," she said, her tone decisive.
“So, are you coming?”
“No,” she said, walking out the door.
Mika squinted against the breeze as she walked along the path by the lighthouse. She had expected to see the notebook immediately, perched in plain sight. But it wasn’t there.
She circled around, her boots crunching over the gravel, scanning every crevice and corner. She sighed, half-convinced that Jules had changed her mind. But then, tucked behind a stack of driftwood, she spotted it—the red notebook, slightly weathered from the damp sea air.
Mika’s heart skipped as she reached for it, brushing off a speck of sand. She opened it eagerly, flipping to the newest page.
Weird is cool, Mika, and I am going to prove it. Happy Hanukkah.
Mika smiled, clutching the notebook close to her chest as the breeze tangled her hair. "Weird is cool," she repeated under her breath, feeling a strange mix of warmth and anticipation.
Mika sat cross-legged on her bed, the notebook balanced on her knees as Chloe walked into the room with a cup of tea.
“It’s a punk show,” Mika said, holding the notebook up like evidence of her plight.
Chloe arched an eyebrow. “A Jewish punk show? Jewcore? I love Seattle.”
Mika groaned, setting the notebook aside. “Help me get out of it. I could say I’m sick—or maybe I was bitten by a spider?”
Chloe took a sip of her tea. “Or you could just go.”
Mika shook her head quickly. “I can’t.”
“Why not?”
Mika hesitated, biting her lip. “It’s at 2 a.m.,” she finally said, the excuse falling flat even to her ears.
Chloe stared at her, unimpressed. “Sounds like just another excuse to me.”
Mika sighed, resting her head in her hands. “I’ll do something stupid and embarrassing, and then she’ll realise I’m not the girl she thinks I am. She’ll stop writing to me.”
Chloe perched on the edge of the bed, setting her tea down. “Mika, you’ve done all these dares already. What’s so different about this one?”
Mika shrugged, her cheeks turning pink. “I guess… I’m sort of starting to like her.” She let out a soft chuckle. “What if I ruin everything?”
Before Chloe could respond, Bradley walked into the room, yawning and rubbing his eyes. “Why are we still awake? Chloe, are you coming to the roof or what?”
“Not yet,” Chloe said. “We’re dealing with Mika’s punk show crisis.”
Bradley looked at Mika, bemused. “A punk show? You?”
Mika folded her arms defensively. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Bradley smirked. “You’ve never been clubbing, have you?”
Mika shook her head, her embarrassment evident.
“Well, what do you do for fun?” Bradley asked, genuinely curious.
“She sews her own clothes,” Chloe said with a grin. “And plays board games.”
Bradley rolled his eyes. “Mika, you’re not going to survive a punk show without my help. It’s all about the clothes.”
Chloe’s eyes lit up. “Wait, I have the perfect thing!” She darted to Mika’s closet, rummaging through her sewing projects before pulling out a blue dress.
Mika’s eyes widened. “I couldn’t. I wouldn’t.”
Mika stood in front of the mirror, the blue dress clinging to her awkwardly as she adjusted the hem. In her imagination, she walked into the party, her heartbeat thundering in her ears.
All eyes turned to her. People whispered and laughed behind their hands.
Notebook Girl was there, wearing a mask but unmistakable by the way she tilted her head. "You?" the masked girl said, her voice dripping with disdain. "No."
Mika stammered, trying to find her voice.
The girl laughed cruelly, pointing. "Go play board games with your grandpa. You don’t belong here."
The room erupted in laughter.
Mika jolted awake, her chest heaving as the nightmare dissolved into the dim glow of her bedside lamp. The red notebook rested against her chest, its edges softened from her grip.
She checked the clock. 1 a.m.
Sighing, she sat up and stared at her closet. "Okay," she muttered to herself, throwing back the covers. "I can do this."
This night is going to change your life. Come on. Trust me.
Mika approached the building, her breath visible in the cold night air. The bass from the music inside thrummed through the walls. She hesitated at the entrance, unsure what to do.
If you're staring at challah, congratulations, you made it. Go get weird, Mika.
A drag queen with dazzling makeup and a sequined dress blocked her path. “What’s your drag?” she said, tilting her head dramatically.
“My drag?” Mika repeated nervously.
“Something raw. Something sad. Impress me, baby,” the drag queen said, crossing her arms.
Mika swallowed hard, her cheeks flushed. “I’ve never been kissed,” she offered.
The drag queen stared at her for a moment before a wide grin broke across her face. “Honey, that’s raw and sad enough. You’re in.”
Mika stepped into the dimly lit venue, the sound of punk music vibrating through her chest. The smell of sweat, spilt beer, and baked goods wafted through the air as she cautiously navigated through the crowd.
She bumped into someone hard, their drink sloshing over the front of her dress.
“Hey! Watch it!” the person snapped, shaking their now-empty cup.
Mika stammered an apology, her face burning with embarrassment. She turned quickly, weaving her way toward the nearest door, her heart pounding as she pushed into the bathroom.
The bathroom was cramped, dimly lit, and buzzing with fluorescent lights. Mika ignored the indignant protests of the line outside as she locked the door behind her.
Leaning over the sink, she grabbed some paper towels and started dabbing at the spill on her dress. Her hands trembled as tears pricked her eyes.
A loud banging on the door jolted her. “Come on, lady, you’re not the only one here!”
She looked at herself in the grimy mirror. Her reflection stared back—flushed cheeks, damp streaks down her dress, and watery eyes. She hated how small and out of place she felt.
Then, as her gaze dropped and rose again, she noticed something she hadn’t before. Written in bold blue pen across the mirror:
"Get back out there, Mika. :)"
Mika froze, her breath catching. Her lips parted into a small, disbelieving smile. It wasn’t hard to figure out who had written it. Notebook Girl, as she still thought of her—had left this message, just for her.
She laughed softly, wiping her eyes. Her fingers reached instinctively for her bag. She pulled out a pen and uncapped it, hesitating for a moment.
Mika stood there for a moment longer, her eyes locked on the words in the mirror, feeling her chest swell with something she hadn’t felt in a long time: a fragile, tentative sense of belonging. It was strange how something as small as a scribbled message could pull her out of the spiralling pit of self-doubt she’d been tumbling into ever since she walked through the door of this chaotic, loud venue.
The moment she had stepped into the crowd, she had felt like an alien beamed into the middle of a planet she didn’t understand. Everyone else moved with an ease and confidence she didn’t possess, laughing loudly, shouting over the music, their bodies swaying like they were born to exist in this space. And then there was her—a girl in a dress that didn’t feel quite hers, navigating a room that felt like it belonged to someone else, with drinks spilling and insults flying.
She had been so sure, in that first dizzying moment, that she had made a mistake. That she didn’t belong here, not in this dress, not in this crowd, not in this strange dare that had started as fun but now felt too much like exposing parts of herself she wasn’t ready to share.
Yet, as she stared at the pen scrawled on the mirror, the corners of her lips twitched upward, and she couldn’t help but think about how Notebook Girl had anticipated this. Somehow, this stranger knew her well enough to leave this note, to remind her that she was meant to be here, that she was seen and, more importantly, not judged.
It was comforting in a way Mika hadn’t expected, like someone reaching through the noise and chaos just to steady her when she was about to topple over. She thought about Notebook Girl, this mysterious, sarcastic, and kind person who somehow managed to understand her better than most people in her life, and wondered again how she’d gotten here—both literally and metaphorically. Was it foolish to feel connected to someone you’d never met? Maybe. But that didn’t stop her heart from warming at the thought.
Mika took a deep breath, the kind that felt like filling every corner of her being with something brave, and told herself that she didn’t need to be perfect, or confident, or even totally sure of herself. She just needed to try. After all, she had come this far, hadn’t she? A grin spread across her face as she picked up her pen, scrawling her response beneath Jules’s message.
With one last glance in the mirror, she decided that she wasn’t going to let fear win tonight. Jules believed in her, and for the first time in a long time, Mika thought maybe she could believe in herself too.
The band started up a random, chaotic tune, the kind that seemed to push everyone’s spirits higher. Mika stood near the edge of the dance floor, her body hesitant, but her mind replayed Notebook Girl’s words like a mantra: "Go get weird, Mika." She clenched her fists, closed her eyes for a second, and let out a deep breath. When she opened them again, she felt something shift inside her. Her feet started to move, first a small sway, then a bold step into the crowd.
The music wrapped around her like a warm, wild hug, and suddenly, Mika was dancing. Not the kind of dancing that tried to fit in or look cool—no, she was all flailing arms and spinning steps, completely letting loose. People turned to look, first out of curiosity, then with smiles spreading across their faces. Someone let out a cheer, and soon, others joined in, clapping to the beat.
Mika’s grin widened as she threw herself into the moment, her heart pounding with a mix of exhilaration and nervousness. She grabbed the hand of a stranger nearby and twirled them before darting forward, pulling them along. Others latched on, and soon Mika led a growing line of people snaking through the bar, laughter and cheers following them. She let out a breathless laugh as the line dissolved, and she found herself in the middle of the room. The crowd formed a circle around her, chanting and cheering her on.
Her body felt weightless, her heart soaring. For a moment, Mika thought, This is it. This is what it feels like to just let go.
Then someone stepped into the circle, clapping slowly as they approached. Mika stopped, her breath catching in her throat as she saw the familiar face.
“Mika?” the girl said, tilting her head, her voice dripping with casual surprise. “I knew it was you. It’s so random seeing you here. Dope moves, though.”
“T-Taryn?” Mika stammered, the rush of the moment evaporating like steam. “You saw all that?”
“Oh, yeah. Hard to miss,” Taryn replied, her tone teetering between impressed and amused. Her gaze shifted, and her brows furrowed slightly as she noticed what Mika was clutching in her hands. “Wait. Is that a... notebook?”
Mika froze, the red notebook suddenly feeling heavier in her grip. “Uh, yeah?” she said weakly, tucking it closer to her side.
Taryn let out a laugh, shaking her head. “Seriously? You brought a notebook to a club? You are so weird, Mika.”
The words hit her like a slap, sharper than she could have imagined. Taryn laughed again, the sound echoing painfully in Mika’s ears. All the exhilaration from a moment ago drained away, leaving behind a pit of cold, hollow embarrassment.
The band’s music was still ringing in Mika’s ears as she bolted out of the club, her face hot with embarrassment and tears stinging her eyes. Her legs carried her as fast as they could, but she barely saw where she was going. All she could think about was Taryn’s laughter, her voice echoing in her head: “You are so weird.” It was the same thing all over again: the middle school hallways, the bracelets on the floor, the crushing realisation that being herself would never be enough for people like Taryn. For anyone, really. When she stumbled and fell, her red boot skidding away, she barely even noticed. It wasn’t until she heard her name being called that she registered anything beyond her own swirling, humiliating thoughts.
Taryn’s voice reached her again, softer this time, almost concerned, but Mika couldn’t bear to turn around. The sight of her was too much. She scrambled into the waiting cab, her fingers fumbling to pull the door shut. She didn’t even look back as the cab drove off, Taryn fading into the night behind her.
I failed you, Notebook Girl. I failed Hanukkah. I failed myself. I didn’t stand up to my oppressor. I didn’t own the moment. I didn’t leave the notebook behind. I didn’t do anything right tonight. I let her get to me again, just like before. And now, how are you supposed to find me? You’re not, that’s how. And... and you shouldn’t. Because I’m not who you think I am. I’m not the brave girl who takes every dare. I’m not the one who dances in the middle of a crowd and starts a conga line. I’m not the girl you wrote that message for. I’m just... me. The weird girl. The loser.
Mika stepped out of the cab, her face streaked with tears, her heart still pounding in her chest. She walked up to the door of her family’s apartment building, her mind replaying every moment of the night in vivid, painful detail. She reached for her keys but stopped short when she noticed the door to the apartment was slightly ajar. Her breath caught. It was 4 a.m. Who could be inside? Her stomach clenched at the thought of someone breaking in, hurting Chloe, or worse. She pushed the door open cautiously, stepping inside and reaching for her phone to call for help.
The apartment was eerily quiet, but she could see faint movement near the kitchen. Her heart raced as she tiptoed further in, her socked feet barely making a sound against the floor. She was behind the table when her hip accidentally bumped a chair, sending a basket of something tumbling to the ground with a soft thump thump thump.
“Oranges?” she whispered, confused, as the citrus fruits rolled across the floor. Then she heard the familiar gruff voice that made her freeze.
Her grandpa’s face appeared from around the corner, his expression a mix of sternness and affection. Relief washed over her like a tidal wave, her knees almost giving out.
“Grandpa. You’re home,” she said softly, a tear escaping her eye that had nothing to do with Taryn or the night’s events.
“And you’re sneaking in at 4 a.m. like some hooligan,” he said, shaking his head. “You’re grounded. Forever!”
Mika’s thoughts spiralled again as she stood there, taking in the absurdity of the moment. Technically, she couldn’t be grounded—she was an adult, for crying out loud—but the weight of the night pressed heavily on her anyway. It wasn’t just about sneaking back in late or the fact that she’d humiliated herself in front of an entire club. It was about all of it—Taryn, the notebook, and Notebook Girl. She thought she could handle this game, this exchange of dares, this opening up to someone who didn’t even know her. But tonight had proved that she wasn’t ready for any of it.
She was still just the girl who made bracelets from forgotten fabrics, who dreamed about belonging but never quite fit in. Even standing here, in the apartment she grew up in, with her grandpa watching her like she was a wayward teenager, she didn’t feel like she belonged. The one place she’d hoped to feel safe tonight was the one place she’d failed to leave the notebook behind. How could she face Notebook Girl now?
Somewhere out there, Jules was waiting for a reply she might never get. Mika felt tears pricking at her eyes again, but this time she wiped them away.