Third-Person Limited – Kendra
Saturday morning came with gray skies, cold air, and the rare luxury of sleeping in.
Kendra didn't.
Her brain wouldn't let her.
She lay on her back, staring at the faint pattern on the ceiling, listening to the quiet sounds of the house—the heater humming, someone in the kitchen clinking dishes, Sofia humming off-key to some pop song through the wall.
Spring Glow had been two nights ago.
Her feet had finally stopped hurting.
Her cheeks still warmed when she thought about Dominic's face when he'd seen her in the dress.
But underneath the glow of the dance, something heavier had settled.
The year was almost over.
The exchange program too.
The question she'd been dodging all semester sat on her chest like a sandbag.
Are you staying?
Or are you coming home?
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand.
She glanced over.
Mummy
Her heart twisted.
She grabbed the phone and swiped to answer.
"Morning," she said, voice still rough with sleep.
"Tch. Morning?" her mother replied. "Is nearly eleven o'clock there, Kendra. You become big foreign woman now, can't wake up early?"
Kendra smiled despite herself. "Nice to hear your voice too," she said.
Her mother snorted. "How you sleeping?" she asked. "You sound tired."
"I'm fine," Kendra said. "We had a school thing Thursday night. Dance. Culture night. It went late."
"A dance?" her mother repeated. "So you out there wuk up yourself in people gym?"
"Mummy," Kendra groaned, covering her face with her free hand. "Please don't say things like that."
Her mother laughed, the sound warm and familiar even through the cheap speaker.
"So," she said after a moment. "Tell me. How it was. You enjoy yourself?"
Kendra thought of the lights. The food. Her friends. Dominic's hand on her waist. The way she'd felt… okay. Not invisible. Not a joke.
"Yeah," she said softly. "I did."
"Good," her mother said. "You don't call enough, you know. I have to hear 'bout you from your aunt friend who on Facebook, see some picture from the school page. 'Look, is Kendra! In one nice dress!'"
Kendra winced. "They posted those?" she asked.
"Nothing bad," her mother said. "You look… grown. Happy." There was something like relief in her voice, quickly hidden. "Your father see it too. Him pretend him too busy to look, but him look."
Kendra's throat felt tight.
"How are you guys?" she asked. "How's… everything?"
Her mother sighed. "Same old," she said. "Light bill high. Water cut off two time last month. Your father still cuss the government every morning. Church people still loud."
Kendra could picture it so clearly—her father reading the paper, muttering under his breath; her mother stirring something on the stove; the neighbors shouting across the road.
Part of her ached for it.
"But we manage," her mother added. "We always manage."
Kendra hesitated.
"And… you?" her mother asked, softer this time. "This school. The town. People treating you good?"
Kendra thought of slime, pranks, broken wrists, detention.
She thought of wolves, of pack, of Dominic carrying her backpack and tying her laces and learning how to apologize properly.
"It's been… a lot," she said honestly. "Some good. Some bad. Some crazy."
Her mother made a little sound. "I hear," she said carefully, "there are… special people there. Not just regular humans."
Kendra closed her eyes. Of course news about the town's population had traveled back somehow.
"They're just people, Mum," she said. "Mostly. Some with extra sharp teeth."
"You not scared?" her mother asked.
"Sometimes," Kendra admitted. "At first. Not as much now."
Silence hummed for a moment.
"And this boy?" her mother said eventually, words careful. "The one who call here before Christmas, asking me when your birthday is, as if I would just tell anybody that."
Kendra flushed. "You talked to him?"
"Yes," her mother said. "You think I wouldn't? He call my phone, talking 'bout 'Ma'am, I just want to do something nice for your daughter.' You know how long nobody ask me permission to do something nice for you?" Her voice softened on that last part.
Kendra's chest squeezed.
"What did you think of him?" she asked, quietly.
"He sound… nervous," her mother said. "Polite. Too polished. But when I ask him what him want with my daughter, him didn't stutter. He say, 'I care about her. I want to take care of her. I know she don't need anyone to fight her battles, but I'd like to stand beside her anyway.'"
Kendra swallowed hard.
That sounded like him.
"That didn't make you hang up?" she asked.
"I nearly did," her mother said briskly. "But then him make me laugh. I don't even remember what he say. Something 'bout your temper. And then he say, 'I know you don't know me. I know I don't deserve your trust yet. But I'm trying.'"
Kendra bit her lip.
"He say anything to you?" her mother asked. "About… what he is?"
Her fingers tightened around the phone.
"Yeah," she said. "He did."
"And you?" her mother pressed. "You see him… that way?"
"Yeah," Kendra said. "I saw."
Her mother waited.
"Did you scream and run?" she asked bluntly.
"No," Kendra said. "I… believed him. I mean, I already knew about people like him. Everybody here does. But seeing it for myself… it was… strange. But he was still him. Just… different on the outside."
"Hm," her mother said, unreadable.
"It's not… like in the movies," Kendra added. "No cursed bite. No secret lair. They go to school. Pay taxes. Argue about exams. They just also sometimes grow claws."
"You very calm about claws," her mother said. "Must be all the fighting you do at school."
"Mum," Kendra groaned.
"I get call from the principal too, you know," her mother said. "'Bout you breaking your two wrist and threatening to break all of somebody's bones."
Kendra covered her eyes. "They told you that?"
"You think they wouldn't?" her mother said. "My daughter in another country, hands in cast, ready to fight. Of course they call me."
"I'm okay now," Kendra said quickly. "My wrists are fine. Strong. I learned my lesson."
"Did you?" her mother asked.
"Mostly," Kendra said. "I'm still me. I still won't let anybody walk all over me. But I… think before I swing. Sometimes."
"Progress," her mother said. "I am glad you okay. I am glad somebody there take responsibility for helping you while you couldn't use your hands. The principal told me that too."
Kendra thought of Dominic tying her shoes, washing her hair, holding cups to her mouth when her fingers couldn't grip properly.
"Yeah," she said softly. "Somebody did."
Her mother was quiet for a moment.
"I know you want to tell me more," she said. "About him. About all of it. When you ready, you will. I not going push that part right now." She took a breath. "But we have to talk about something else."
Kendra's stomach dipped.
Here it came.
"The program finish in a few months," her mother said. "Your aunt send me email them send to her too. They need to know by when you going back. Or if you plan to… apply for something else. Stay longer."
Kendra rolled over onto her side, staring at the wall.
She'd seen that email too.
She hadn't opened it yet.
"I know," she said quietly.
"So," her mother said, voice careful. "What you thinking?"
Kendra wanted to joke.
Wanted to deflect.
Instead, she took a deep breath.
"I don't know," she said honestly. "Part of me misses home so much I feel sick sometimes. I miss you. Dad. The noise. The food. The heat. Talking and not feeling like the odd one out in every room."
"I miss you too," her mother said, voice softening.
"But…" Kendra stared at the faint crack in the paint by the corner. "I also… like it here. More than I thought I would. I like my friends. My teacher who actually listen when I talk. The fact that I can walk down the street and not see the same three people every day."
"And him," her mother said.
Kendra's chest tightened. "Yeah," she said. "And him."
Silence.
"Is he good to you?" her mother asked. "Honest. Even when him make mistake?"
"Yes," Kendra said. "He messed up a lot at the beginning. Badly. But he's changed. He… tries. He listens when I say 'no.' He says sorry like it's a real word, not just something to get out of trouble. He looks at me like I'm… not a joke." Her voice wavered.
"A girl could do worse," her mother said dryly.
Kendra huffed out a laugh that was half a sob.
"I am not going tell you what to do," her mother continued. "I can't decide for you. You are not a little girl anymore. You have to live in the life you choose, not me."
"I know," Kendra whispered.
"But I need you to understand something," her mother added. "If you decide to stay—apply for school there, stay with… him, with that town—we will miss you. We will feel it. But we will not hate you. I will not cuss you for picking what make you happy. You understand?"
Tears burned behind Kendra's eyes.
"Yeah," she managed. "I do."
"And if you decide to come home," her mother said, "we will make space. Somehow. We always do. It go be tight and noisy and stressful, same way as before. But you will have a bed. You will have food. You will have us."
Kendra pressed her knuckles gently under her eyes.
"I don't want to disappoint you," she said, voice small.
"You can't escape that," her mother said bluntly. "All children disappoint their parents at some point. Is part of the job. Just don't disappoint yourself first."
Kendra let out a wet laugh.
"I'm scared," she admitted.
"Good," her mother said. "Mean you taking it serious."
They sat in silence for a few seconds, just breathing together across two countries.
"I don't need your answer today," her mother said. "Or tomorrow. But the email say you have to answer them by when?"
"I haven't opened it yet," Kendra confessed.
Her mother sucked her teeth. "Girl. Go open the email."
"I will," Kendra said. "After this call."
"Good," her mother replied. "We talk again soon. Think about what you want. Not just what other people expect. Not what look good on paper. What you can wake up with every day and not feel like you betray yourself."
"Okay," Kendra whispered.
"Kendra?"
"Yeah?"
"No matter where you are next year," her mother said, "remember you still mine. That don't change because you cross water."
Tears slipped out then.
"I know," Kendra said.
"Good," her mother said briskly, covering the softness. "Now go eat. I know you didn't eat yet. And tell your friends I say hello. The loud one especially."
"Sofia?" Kendra asked, laughing.
"Yes. That one," her mother said.
They said goodbye.
The call ended.
The room went quiet again.
This time, it felt different.
Heavier.
But not in a hopeless way.
Just… real.
The email was waiting for her in her school account.
Subject: Exchange Program – End-of-Year Planning & Status Confirmation
She sat at the desk, fingers hovering over the trackpad, heart thudding.
"Just open it," she muttered to herself.
She clicked.
Dear Students,
As we approach the final months of the exchange year, we need to confirm your end-of-year plans so we can coordinate travel, housing, and any extension applications.
Please respond by April 15 indicating whether you:
Will return to your home country at the end of the school year as scheduled.Intend to apply for an academic extension or transfer to a local institution.
If choosing option 2, please be aware this involves additional paperwork, visa considerations, and approval from both schools and guardians.
We look forward to supporting you through the remainder of your exchange experience.
There it was.
A date.
A line in the sand.
April 15.
She checked the calendar on her wall.
Not far.
Not close enough to pretend it didn't exist.
She let herself fall back onto the bed, and phone on her chest.
When she looked up again, Sofia was in the doorway, leaning on the frame.
"You look like someone told you Christmas is canceled," Sofia said.
"Close," Kendra replied. "Apparently the world wants to know what I'm doing with my life."
"Email?" Sofia guessed.
"Email," Kendra confirmed.
Sofia came in and sat on the edge of the bed. "Your mom called?" she asked.
"Yeah," Kendra said. "We talked."
"How mad is she that you're shacking up with the local wolf?" Sofia asked.
"She's not thrilled," Kendra said. "But she's… trying. She mostly wants me to not choose out of fear or guilt."
Sofia nodded. "Sounds like a mom," she said.
Kendra stared at the ceiling again.
"What do you want?" Sofia asked after a moment. "If nobody else got a say."
Kendra let the question hang there.
Images flickered in her mind.
Home.
This town.
Her parents' small kitchen.
Lila's crowded one.
Her bed is here.
Her bed back there.
Dominic's stupid, soft smile.
Her father's tired one.
"I don't know yet," she said eventually. "But I know I can't avoid knowing forever. Not with April 15 staring at me."
"Then don't decide yet," Sofia said. "But start… imagining. Both ways. Which one hurts less when you picture it?"
"That sounds awful," Kendra said.
"Yeah," Sofia said. "It kind of is. That's how you know it's a big choice."
Kendra huffed.
"You know," Sofia added, "whatever you choose, I'm still going to message you too much. You're stuck with me."
"Good," Kendra said quietly. "I'd be worried if you didn't."
Sofia nudged her foot. "Come downstairs," she said. "We're making pancakes. Bad ones. You can decide your entire future after breakfast."
Kendra swung her legs off the bed.
"Yeah," she said. "One crisis at a time."
Later that evening, when the house had quietened again and the smell of burned pancakes had faded, Kendra sat at her desk with a notebook open.
At the top of one page, she wrote: GO HOME.
At the top of the opposite page, she wrote: STAY.
Under each, she started making small lists.
Nothing final.
Just words.
Family. Money. Noise. Heat. Love. Pack. Freedom. Danger. Comfort. Growth.
She didn't finish the lists that night.
She didn't have to.
But for the first time, instead of letting the question chase her, she turned and faced it.
April 15 waited on the calendar.
She still didn't know what she'd say.
But she knew this much:
Whatever answer she gave, it would be hers.