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00 // introductions: the 'before'

        IF SHE COULD DESCRIBE HERSELF IN ONE WORD, Cadence Chan was, unquestionably, a hurricane. She was a whirlwind of inexplicably clashing emotions and personalities: often upset and elated simultaneously, ambitiously lazy, and calm in spite of the madness she called ‘an artist’s life’ (at least, this was what Cadence’s writefics.com profile claimed).

        It was 4:48AM on a Monday, and she was under her duvet covers, typing furiously on the laptop that Uncle Tomas-from-California had bought for her sixteenth birthday. This wasn’t strange behavior for Cadence, who was accustomed to, and thankful, for the strokes of artistic inspiration that arrived at the most ungodly hours.

        The stars were aligned – Cadence worked better during unconventional times. She didn’t have Ma on her back, constantly asking, “What are you doing?” (Ma had difficulty rolling the ‘r’s so it sounded like an ‘ah’ instead) nor did she have to open a new tab on her browser and lie, “Homework, Ma.” Ba usually left Cadence alone, considering he normally came home past dinnertime.        

        Backspace. Backspace. Enter. Her fingers danced across the keyboard confidently, pausing during pensive breaks and plowing through vividly imagined scenes.

        “Her eyes pleaded with him, and he almost changed his mind when she said, ‘Please stay, Rome.’” Cadence raised her voice by an octave to imitate her character, Julie, and then dropped it to a husky whisper. “‘I can’t, Jules,’ Rome sighed at last, shifting his camo-backpack higher unto his shoulder. ‘Goodbye.’”

        She smiled, satisfied with her impression of Rome (thank you, morning voice!), and finished adding the final touches to the chapter. Closing the lid of her laptop, Cadence slid it onto her desk quietly through one of those I’m forming a human bridge between my bed and desk because I’m too lazy to get out of bed maneuvers she perfected through years of practice. 

        With mind and heart racing, she stared at her ceiling – lined with its fading glow-in-the-dark constellations and planets – before drifting into a dreamless slumber for the remaining hours before call time.

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        Malory Levy was convinced that he was doomed to a life of failures, disappointment, and overall, shit luck. 

        It all began when his parents chose the name ‘Malory’ from the Baby Names 101 book. Apparently, the Levys didn’t think to read the subtitle ‘Forbidden Baby Names,’ because years later, when a bitter Malory was thumbing through the pages (for his never-born-sister, Paige), he found the translation for his name:

        Malory (french ♂/♀): the unlucky one, ill-fated.

        The event in question was one of those random moments he never forgot – he was perched on the master bed in his Superman onesies, sorting through family memorabilia that survived the move to the city. 

        Perhaps none of this mattered until Paige couldn’t become Paige. Sasha (Mrs. Levy refused to be called ‘Mom,’ ‘Mother,’ or any name that implied seniority) cried and Mr. Levy consoled her with a heavy heart, and Malory blamed himself. 

        In subsequent years, Malory had a series of mini calamities: in fifth grade, he shot the winning three-pointer for the wrong team; in seventh grade, he completely missed Jenny Carter’s lips during spin-the-bottle (she was his almost first kiss); and in eighth grade, he was forced to clean the gymnasium with Mr. Pac after senior prom under the accusation that he had spiked the punch bowl (no one spiked it – they were eighth graders for crying out loud).