I came downstairs, perfectly dressed and ready for my senior year—blazer all ironed, hair curled and not a strand out of place, shoes polished until they gleamed. Our house looked immaculate, almost unreal. It always did. Glossy wooden floors, cream-coloured walls, framed photos from vacations that screamed wealth and privilege—it all made me feel like I was living in a postcard. But of course, postcards are just pictures. They don't capture the chaos that hides behind the perfectly manicured lawns and gleaming counters.
Being the eldest Baldwin isn't just a title. It's a role I've been trained for my whole life. The perfect grades, perfect manners, perfect decisions...everything I do somehow reflects on the family name. My parents work endlessly and tirelessly, and I've always been expected to step up, to carry the Baldwin legacy while they...well, while they disappear into work. I've learned to smile, to just say "yes, of course." even when I'm exhausted or frustrated, even when my brothers and sisters are acting like children. I try not to let them see that it bothers me, I always keep my feelings in check.
"Good morning, Harriet!" came Mariah's calm voice from the kitchen. She was stacking dishes as usual, moving like a steady anchor in a house that could easily drown in its own noise.
Mariah has been with us almost forever. She arrived when Cody was just a baby, and somehow she became part of the rhythm of our lives—quiet but constant. She mostly managed Harper, Aura, and Jackson, keeping them from completely collapsing the house when Mom and Dad were gone.
Cody and I got our share of attention, but Mariah...she was the one who stayed. She noticed the little things—the furrowed brow when Aura was upset, the way Jackson's hair always looked like he'd wrestled a tornado, the stubborn silence Harper hid behind. She made sure we didn't get lost in the shuffle.
She's calm. Patient. Tireless. Somehow, even when the house was screaming in chaos, she never complained. She'd just smooth a stray curl off my forehead or hand Cody a clean sock like it was the most natural thing in the world. She's...well, she's the mother we don't really have. And no one knows it better than me. Not that I'd ever say it out loud, of course.
Mariah spoke, her voice calm and friendly as always. "Your parents left a note for you."
I turned and took it from her hands. The stationery was pristine, the kind that smelled faintly of the paper and a hint of their cologne—the smell of our home when it was empty but still impossibly...them. I unfolded it carefully, smoothing out the creases like a ritual, like if I handled it perfectly, maybe I could somehow make up for their absence.
'Had to rush off to work this morning. Have a wonderful first day of senior year! We're so proud of you. Kisses, Mom and Dad.'
I froze for a heartbeat, letting the words sink in. That was it. A note. Just a folded piece of paper, neatly penned, with all the love compressed into a few short lines. My chest tightened in a way I wasn't supposed to feel. I wanted—no, I needed—them here. To fuss over my blazer, to smooth a stray curl from my hair, to remind me one last time that yes, I would look perfect in the first-day photos.
But even as the little ache spread in my chest, I caught myself. Of course they're proud of me. They've always been proud. Every lacrosse game, every cheer competition, every parent-teacher meeting—they were there. They always cheered from the sidelines, clapped the loudest, never missed a single milestone. I was certain, absolutely certain, that somewhere in their private stash of memorabilia, they still had all my baby teeth locked away in tiny jars, catalogued and labeled like trophies.
So I folded the note back along its neat creases and forced an awkward smile. "They had to leave early." I murmured, more to myself than to Mariah.
"Important meetings...work stuff. You know what they're like. Workaholics."
Mariah watched me, quiet but steady, like she always did when I tried to rationalize the world. I didn't tell her how much I wanted them to be here today, to see me leave for my senior year.
"You'll be okay, Hattie." She said softly, breaking through the swirl of my chaotic thoughts. "Senior year is going to fly by. Just make sure to take moments for yourself."
I nodded, folding the note in my hands, tucking it into my blazer pocket. Maybe she was right.
I grabbed my bag and started up the stairs, ponytail bouncing slightly with each step. "Aura! Jackson! Cody! Move it! We gotta go! School starts in less than an hour!" I shouted, hoping my voice could cut through the early-morning chaos.
Aura's shoes squeaked against the polished floors as she came down, hair perfectly in place despite the rush. "Harriet! I am moving! You don't have to yell!" she called back, clearly annoyed.
Aura—my youngest sister, she's always been different. She's the star athlete of the family, the one who can outrun a storm, ace every trial, and still look flawless. Everything has to be precise, calculated and perfect. Sometimes I envy that, but mostly I just...tire of trying to keep up with her energy. She loves a challenge. But our parents don't really notice it much.
Jackson appeared behind her, his hair sticking up in all directions, and muttered.
"Why are you always in such a rush? It's not like school is going anywhere. Chill out. We have plenty of time."
Jackson—Aura's twin brother. The youngest and our little whirlwind, the said 'black sheep of the family' He doesn't do mornings. He doesn't do schedules. He doesn't do anything really. He just is, like a storm that blows through and leaves chaos in his wake. Every day I brace for it, every day I try to drag him along without getting sucked into the mess.
Cody, of course, was already halfway down the hall and by the front door, calmly putting on his shoes, the unshakable pillar among the chaos. He's the second oldest, and when our parents vanish into work, he steps up, quietly keeping the household together. He doesn't make a fuss, he doesn't shout and doesn't bicker. He just...does. He's the one I can rely on when everything else is spinning out of control.
And as I watched them shuffle, grumble, and trip over their own backpacks, I felt that familiar mix of pride and exasperation. They're mine, all of them. Messy, complicated, infuriating and somehow perfect in their own way—and somehow, somehow, it's my job to make sure the chaos doesn't consume us before the first bell rings.
Finally, after what felt like a million trips up and down the stairs for forgotten shoes, backpacks, and water bottles and goodbye's to Mariah, we finally spilled out the front door.
The Hamptons sun hit me like a spotlight, glaring off the perfectly manicured lawns and the white picket fences that made every house look like it belonged in a magazine. I took it all in and felt that familiar mix of awe and...something heavier, maybe nerves. It always looked perfect, but perfection never feels real when you're actually in it.
Cody strode to the car like he owned the driveway. Aura and Jackson were bickering in front of me, stepping on each other's words and toes.
"I call the front seat!" Aura snapped, as her hair bounced as she stomped toward the car.
"You did not! I called it first! Harriet, tell her!" Jackson shot back, slamming his hand on the hood of the car for emphasis.
"Ugh! You're both ridiculous! Rock paper scissors it! Hurry up." I shouted from the back.
Eventually, Cody shooed them into their seats, the mediator in a house full of noise. Aura shot me a glare as she slid into the back, muttering something about Jackson cheating, and Jackson just smirked, clearly pleased with himself as he slid into the passenger seat.
I rolled my eyes but couldn't help my smiling. The squabbles were predictable, comforting even, in their own weird way.
Once we were all buckled in, I leaned back and let myself breathe. Senior year. Last first day of high school. I repeated my usual little mental pep talk, because if I didn't, I knew my thoughts would spiral into every "what if" I could imagine.
You've got this. One step at a time. Smile at someone new. Be perfect, yes, but also...just be human. Show up. You belong here. And if you stumble, it's okay. You always get back up.
I glanced at my siblings without turning my head too much. Aura was fidgeting with the strap of her bag, clearly wound up —probably her first day nerves masquerading as bravado. Jackson then slouched, pretending not to care, but I noticed the tension in his jaw. Cody, as always, was calm, almost eerily so, quietly scanning the road while humming under his breath. I admired him for it, and maybe a tiny, guilty part of me envied him, too.
Outside, the Hamptons street sparkled in the morning sun. Kids piled into expensive cars, parents waved, some still hovering, others already gone. I noticed the perfect way a few girls laughed together, the confident stride of some boys, and felt that mix of excitement and dread bubbling in my chest. It was like stepping into a world where I was expected to be flawless, poised, perfect. And somehow, I had to make it look easy.
Aura muttered something under her breath about summer homework she hadn't done. Jackson grumbled about his sneakers being untied, and Cody hummed quietly, unbothered by anything but the road. And there I was, right in the middle of them, locked into my orbit of careful thought and affirmations, ready to face the chaos—and maybe even enjoy it.
Because today wasn't just any first day. It was my first day. And somehow, I had to make it count.