I'm just the same as i was Don't you understand

Daisy was reeling but hearing a familiar voice…and a familiar face made her calm down long enough to catch her breath and start calming her heartbeat. “Rose?” she asked, her voice hardly more than a whisper. She didn’t want to be wrong, that would destroy her. But then her name, her real name, dropped from the girl’s lips and Daisy felt a wave of relief. “Yes!” She tried not to yell, it was apparent Rose was a bit out of it and when Daisy’s eyes fell to the bottle in her hand it all made sense.

“It’s Daisy…but I’m not,” she glanced down at her body and back to Rose. “I think I’m in my mum’s body.” She didn’t think - she knew. This was Charlotte’s body which meant things were way more confusing than she had first thought. She glanced up slowly to Rose, a question on the tip of her tongue that would solidify everything. “Rose…what year is it?”

The fear was evident in the girls tone and it was something Rose wasn’t familiar with, but understood just the same. Daisy French was not one to easily crumble in the face of a challenge. Is that what she was calling this? a challenge? No. “I don’t have many answers, but, something has gone seriously wrong, I know that much.”

Rose took another sip of her drink before taking a deep breath, as if mustering up the courage to say it. “You must have come from a timeline before...” Rose didn’t want to say too much. Daisy had died. Her death had felt like a lifetime ago. The thought of Daisy and Trevor… of Charles, it had plagued her mind for years. Pain was a little easier to stomach after time. Rose had been given all the time in the world to mourn, to grieve and to remember those that they’d lost. Daisy had never been close with Rose- but she was family, in a deranged way that only the Whittemore kids understood. 

“It’s 1992 and I don’t know how or why, but you’ve been given a second chance.”

Karen’s face lit up at the prospect of a new student, hands coming together as she clapped awkwardly with the strap of her one heel dulling the sound. “Oh my god, it makes so much sense now. No wonder you were confused. Well, welcome to Whittemore! I’m Karen. Make sure you’re ready when they take your photo for the ID, it follows you like everywhere.” 

A giggle escaped her lips as the brunette went on, the thought of some sort of night monster infinitely amusing. “It truly is tragic,” she nodded, running the unoccupied hand through her curly hair, grimacing as she hit an unsurprising tangle. “What’s a text?” It wasn’t uncommon for Karen to ask what sounded like silly questions, ones she usually knew the answer to, but this word threw her off completely. She kept her facial expression rather uninterested, however, continuing to look around the room for the missing shoe.

The girl’s cheeky question caught her attention, and she laughed as she turned to meet the girl’s gaze. “Not that I can remember, no.” Pale shoulders lifted in a shrug, as the heel-free hand came to gesture to her head. “Then again, I’m not the best with all of…this.” What exactly she was referring to as she gestured in the general direction of her head could be left up to interpretation, intended word somewhere between remembering and thinking. “What about you? Partying from day one is pretty impressive, …Oh. I don’t know your name. Okay, let’s fix that real quick and then continue with the dish.”

Rose couldn’t help but laugh at the girls enthusiasm. Cute. She remembered the day her own ID photo was taken, bribing the lady to retake it twice before she found one she was happy with. Her theory back then was if she had a pretty face, the security guards would look pass the date of birth. She was sorely mistaken. It wasn’t long after though and Aiden had kindly made her a fake one, at a price of course.

As the girl questioned Rose’s slip up, she shrugged carelessly. She really needed to be more careful. “Sorry, i must still be a little drunk,” she lied. It felt unpleasant, misleading people to believe she was someone else entirely, but it wasn’t the first time- and it probably wouldn’t be her last. Instead of dwelling on this though, Rose continued to search for the shoe as the girl began to lose interest, beginning her harmless interrogation.

Rose wasn’t entirely certain of what the girl meant by not being the best at all of this. Was she referring to the new years festivities? Perhaps casual encounters with strangers? No, Rose got the sense it was a general feeling of ... everything and nothing at once. Rose had lived her whole life feeling a little overwhelmed up in that big bubbly head of hers. This was not easily shadowed by her outgoing personality, and yet it still lingered, craved to see the surface, a chaos waiting to be unleashed. “Well, if you stick by me next time, we’ll find you a party where you won’t even need to wear heels,” she said, a kind smile donning her features. “Oh, my bad, I’m Rose.”

Another unaccounted for face appearing from nowhere didn’t really make sense to her but she had no idea why anyone would lie to get into school. She’d rather lie to get out of it. “Yep, you know him?” It would make sense if she did, maybe he had a secret girlfriend nobody knew about. That’d be a lot more interesting than her current thoughts on him. “Orson must of forgot to tell the welcoming committee,” she mused, “I’m Sarah. Sarah Trent. The great, the wonderful, the legendary.”

“Know of him,” she lied, making certain not to stumble upon something she couldn’t explain away. Rose was about to elaborate- perhaps say that she heard some girl with red hair mention him in passing through the corridors, or maybe she had seen a photo of him gracing the walls and had questioned a bystander. But no. Instead she was met with a name she had not expected. The great. The wonderful. The legendary. It was almost ironic how true her words were. It broke her heart to put a face to the name, and the tragic demise that the girl would one day meet. “My exes mother was called Sarah. I hear she was pretty legendary too” she said, her voice breaking before she held her hand out. “I’m Rose.”

They always treated him like a kid, friends of Tyson, friends of Isabella - how could his own mother even consider these people her friends? How could he, when he remembered a bloody group of them at his home, tearing him away from his family? A child does not forget a murderer when he sees one, and Tyson King was a nightmare for him that caused his own breath to be trapped in his throat like a dead animal in a lion’s teeth. So Tristan remains on his spot, lingers by the wall, the features on his face uninviting. He did not trust Rose — he did not trust a whole lot of people, but those that attended Whittemore in the past and present he would always be terribly wary of.  

Catching the object that was tossed his way now he takes a better look: 1992. Very much out of his own interests he puts the Student ID in his own pocket. “Doubtful,” he cuts her off, voice cold like the press of marble to one’s cheek. “Only mother went to Whittemore and that was because of the Kings,” all feline grace, approaching to where she was seated. “You worried I will sleep with your mom?” Tristan had never been one for subtlety and had very little shame. Leaning one hand on the back-rest of the chair and the other hand on the table, he inclines his head marginally and bends closer. “I wouldn’t have too,” cheeky, but like most everything with him, it was delivered sharp. But his half-tried attempts to get into his teacher’s pants stops, once she mentions time-traveling, and what they should do next. It disgusts him the way they portray his uncle as a hero, a leader, their king.

“Really Rose, is that what you do, relying on someone else to save you?”

“Right, sorry,” she sighed. She forgot sometimes that the tragedies outside the realms of strange blood diseases and time-travelling nonsense were all to real and far too common for the families of Whittemore. Tristan had gone through his fair share of heartache, and she’d always wished that Diego could have given him the life he deserved. 

Rose cringed and let out a small scoff of laughter at the boys comment. “My Mother has standards, Tristan.” It felt for a moment as if they were just old friends. As though she was just having a bit of banter with someone from back in college.  “Actually, my parents never went to Whittemore,” she explained, shaking her head slightly. “So go for your life handsome, sleep with whoever you like.” The sarcasm was clear in her tone. Tristan was a smart kid, she knew this. He wasn’t about to jeopardize the lives of everyone they knew just to have some fun, was he? Her thoughts were soon interrupted by the boys evident flirting and Rose smiled at his lack of shame. “Not quite whoever.”

Tristan and Rose did not have a close relationship, per say, but that wasn’t due to lack of trying on Rose’s part. She always knew where she stood with him. Rose had been apart of TJ’s life, and that meant she was under no circumstances to be apart of Tristan’s. So they kept it at a happy medium. She would accept his brooding personality and occasional flirting, in exchange for as much effort as he was willing to give on the sports field.

She could hear the malice in his tone, displeased to hear that their fate lay in the hands of someone he loathed beyond all else. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed Tristan, but I teach sports. y’know, I hold a whistle, I write the plays- the students run in circles and say the lines. I’m not stupid but I can’t build a time machine.” Her words trailed off, sounding more defeated than angry. “- so for a lack of a better solution, yes, I am relying on someone else to save me this time.”

Throwing her hands in the air, she tried to reason with him. “Besides even if I understood how to build a time machine, it’s not like the technology today would be anywhere near what it was back in our time. We’d have to wait another twenty or thirty years before we could get to that point.” As the words left her mouth, Rose paused, letting what she’d said sink in. They would have to wait twenty or thirty years. What if TJ wasn’t out there trying to get them back? What if there was nobody to save them? “I have an idea,” she said, jumping back up from her seated position to face the boy head on. “What if we rewrite history, just a little.”

“Well if I am then nobody informed me. Unsurprising considering nobody seems to tell me anything,” the thought of showing a new student around Whittemore could not have been less appealing to him. He had barely paid attention to the girl until this point but briefly he looked at her wondering whether she was up to something. If she was it would make little difference to him. He unlatched his bag and pulled out a framed photograph, centred were himself and James. Walking over to the display cabinet he unlocked it and put it inside, “That’ll do,” he mused, “Or maybe it’ll look better in Dudley.”

He turned to her only then, the key twizzling around his index finger, “Look, I’m not the guy for tours, this school is basically a Victorian dream. Five houses, four are your run of the mill dorms, you seem to have found your way into this one already,” he rose an eyebrow at her considering how she had managed that and was yet so confused, “And then there’s the fifth house, where I live. It’s a great programme ran by my lovely Father to get some harder cases off the streets,” was she going to know anything about it? He left it there. “The rest is self explanatory around here.”

“The fifth house,” she said, her voice trailing as she looked around the room. “Right, yes, self explanatory. Thank you for that.” It seemed almost impossible for Rose to grasp anything even remotely familiar to her at that point- that was until she saw the photo.

It was Mr Trent. She remembered that photo. It hung in Dudley among the many photos of the previous years production of whichever play they’d been blessed with at the time. She remembered them fondly, noting that her role in Romeo & Juliet had shaped her love for theater, eventuating in her job as a theater assistant. To think though that both the men in the image had such a big influence on Rose’s future careers, was a strange revelation.

“Dudley,” she said, her voice soft. “Their display cabinet has much better lighting.” Wait. Clearing her throat, she chided herself for speaking so thoughtlessly. It’s fine. He’ll assume you’ve been to Dudley and think nothing more of it. 

“That’s a pretty impressive camera you’ve got there,” she said, avoiding questions from her previous misstep, looking for anything to change the subject. The camera lay carefully beside his book bag and Rose was genuinely intrigued by it. “You’re into photography then?”

He had never called Whittemore home - Tristan could not comprehend how anyone could consider school home. Especially a prison where one was trapped with their murderous manic uncle. Much longer and he had started a fire, watched the whole place ignite in beautiful horror and licked the chaos from his lips. Nevertheless, his suspicion had caused a pause in his plan and had led him here instead.

Arriving in a flash of blue light.

His first instinct had been to go to his room in Warwick (or what was supposed to be his room), but instead Tristan found a locked door, without his beloved photographs of automobile crashes, shocking headlines, and the big ‘FUCK OFF’ sticker that he once had pressed on his bedroom door —meant mostly for Harry. 

Unsure and certainly lost, his steps come to an unexpected halt when he took sight of a familiar face that he had initially only recognized from photographs with his ‘manic uncle.’ Lips curled into an uncertain half-grimace, once he heard her talk, he recognized her, even more. “You tell me. What the fuck is this Rose?” Never Mrs. Hammond. Never polite as he was raised to be. That polite boy was buried with the death of his adopted family. “Is there a younger TJ walking around here somewhere too, or am I saved from that horror?”

“Ms Hammond,” she said, her voice stern but unsure in this new body. It was purely out of habit that she found herself correcting the boy, even in these circumstances. Admittedly in this time line she really was just Rose. Some found it strange that she allowed the students to cuss, and was more concerned at her title. Rose had worked hard to get where she was. All she wanted was to be respected by her peers, to be loved. This was a particular design flaw that she couldn’t quite shake in any timeline.

“I doubt that Tyson was even thought of at this time,” she said, looking at the date on the card before throwing it to the boy. “Though if we give it a few weeks, he’ll probably be conceived soon enough.” Rose groaned as she pulled herself up on the table once more, her legs dangling lazily. “I can’t blame them, i bet there is nothing fun to do around here. No Facebook. No Netflix.” She shook her head, thinking of all the things she had to be wary of saying out of habit. A thought occurred to her and she gave the boy a stern glance. “-and don’t you even think about it young man, if you charm the pants off the wrong lady you might not ever be born.”

Rose sensed that this may be overwhelming for the boy and she took it down a notch, verging on the edge of Teacher Mode™. “This has happened before okay, not like this, but, time travel. It’s a thing. It was worst before, we didn’t know how it worked.” Did they now? “-but TJ will find a way to bring us back, we just need to hold tight and not screw anything up too royally while we wait.”

“Thank you,” Carrie replied, pressing her lips into a firmer, less comfortable smile. Sinclair, the name that her parents gave her and inevitably the name her son would carry in disguise as her own brother instead. How odd it was to still think about that way, that she would always be his mother but never be able to consider herself so. Maybe one day her other children would carry the same name and it would feel less significant if he was not the only one.

The girl’s reaction to the fifth house was an odd one. Carrie had always assumed she’d been put there because of a lack of space for transfers in late years, but perhaps there was more to it than that. “Sure, I guess. I’m not really sure I’d call it nice, but it’s another place to be.” She felt odd on the subject, something had always been off about it but she wasn’t yet sure just what, so she tried to beat around the bush. “So you’re a transfer, I take it?”

“A place is only as nice as the people in it, that’s what I always say,” Rose laughed, truthfully never having said that in her life, but wanting to seem nonchalant about the whole scenario. The fifth house in this time was clearly just accommodation for those that hadn’t otherwise been housed. She smiled fondly as she reminisced the time that her and Justin had attempted to break Tyson out of Whittemore’s personal dungeon. She had never been able to look at silly string the same way since. 

As the girls words brought Rose out of her trance, she shook her head quickly. “Yep, that’s me, a transfer.” She once prided herself on her ability to lie on the spot. It was only little white lies. Lying to her parents, to the teachers, but mostly to herself. “I always seem to find myself in new places at just the right time, but rarely stay long enough to make friends.”

With a gasp, Daisy’s eyes opened as she sat up in bed. Her vision was blurry at first before coming into focus. She was frozen. The last thing she remembered was a shot, a pain, and looking into TJ’s eyes before everything went dark. The girl moved slowly, pushing the blankets off of her and stepping out of bed. The floor was cold under her feet and it made her pull her foot back, the feeling was so foreign to her, the feeling of cold, of warmth…she stepped back down and got out of bed fully, walking towards the mirror on her wall, staring at herself to try and convince herself it was real. “Holy shit…” she whispered. Something was off. It looked like she was reflected in the mirror, but it wasn’t her.

Trying not to freak out, Daisy left her mother’s face in the mirror and ran out of the room. “Hello?” she called out, running down the hallway towards the stairs. Everything looked familiar…but nothing was right. She made it to the front door and into the cold and brisk air. “Hello?” she repeated, hoping someone was nearby who could help. She had no idea what was going on and there was bound to be someone with some answers. “Is anyone here?”

Rose held her coat tighter to her body as she looked across the schoolyard, wary of the fact that so few people were out and about the night after new years. Most were still sporting hangovers and filled with regrets. It was now her time to drink, but she wasn’t celebrating. The girls abrupt entrance did not startle her, but it certainly piqued her interest as she saw who it was.

“Okay, so help me out here, are you like Daisy but not actually Daisy, just kinda Daisy inside someone else,” she said, confusing herself with her own words but continuing, “-or maybe just Daisy, like straight up all over 100% Daisy,” her brows furrowed, thinking of any other options. “Unless you aren’t in fact Daisy at all, and you are someone else entirely, in which case i will look rather ridiculous,” Rose babbled, smiling lightly as she took a sip of the bottle she had stolen from the ventilation box next to her old room. She herself used it for storing alcohol back in her timeline. Someone was going to be very mad that she’d found their hiding spot. 

He just felt– different. It was like when the books on a shelf don’t perfectly line up, or when you try and draw two identical lines and one is clearly different than the other. Something just felt– off. He caught his reflection in a mirror. Had his face always been so sharply defined? He could’ve sworn his eyes were brown, but the eyes blinking back at him had specks of green hidden inside. They were hazel. 

“Hey,” he called out to the first person he could find in passing. “Question. Who do you think I am?”

Rose let out a gasp as someone called out to her. Not so much because someone had done it, more so at who had called out. “I have a feeling my guess will be wrong,” she said, her eyes searching his for the answer. Had Rose really not been the only one to arrive in this timeline as herself? or was it going to be a Jesse all over again. Just some doppelganger who had perhaps just had too much to drink on New Years and had forgotten who they were. 

“You look like a guy I used to know,” she said, testing the waters before saying too much. “I taught him how to dance once.” She knew this would be the ideal thing to say. Chase would undoubtedly turn red as beet at mention of the time they danced to toxic. 

Sarah sat across the table from the other person, green eyes barely flickering with interest or intent for the blank expression that she was receiving, the straw of her cup pressing against pink glossed lips momentarily, “I’m just saying if Vincent had just gone to that No Doubt concert with me I feel like it would of really altered his pessimistic outlook on life this year.”

Rose looked up at the mention of a familiar name. “Vincent... French?” she asked, her eyes wide. She wouldn’t admit it but it was more fear than shock that stunned her. “At least he has the whole year to rectify that outlook,” she said, her monotonous tone coming from a place she would soon rather forget. “Rose,” she said abruptly, pulling herself out of her momentary trance and nodding her head in acknowledgement. “Transfer student.”

Carrie was, unsurprisingly, rather unfocused on the conversation at hand when there were so many other topics swirling in her head. It wasn’t so much that she didn’t pay attention to everything that happened around her at Whittemore, in fact she probably paid too much attention, she just always found herself consumed by thoughts that lingered elsewhere. Her own past haunting her in a place where it could nearly not reach her anymore.

“Sinclair. Carrie Sinclair.” A small smile graced her lips, one that showed her own awkwardness in the situation of meeting someone new but reminding herself to be kind to people who are where she once was. “Yes, lovely to meet you too, Rose,” she mimicked without realizing. “Just visiting. I’m a fifth house resident.”

“Sinclair,” Rose nodded slowly, putting the pieces together and giving a shy smile. She looked so much like her daughter. “That’s a pretty name.” Rose kept her composure as she reciprocated her words, marveling at how similar she was to Ella. Was Rose this much like her own mother? She didn’t believe so.

Her eyebrows suddenly shot up at the mention of fifth house. “Wow,” she said, her mouth agape at the thought of being a permanent resident in the fifth house. What the hell did this girl do to get put there of all places. “Fifth house, yeah? I haven’t heard of that house, is it nice?” she said, wondering if it was still used as punishment in this timeline. 

It was almost concerning how little mess had been left after New Year’s Eve. There were a few plastic cups in the common areas of the residence buildings, but other than that, it was easy to forget that the night before had been anything more than just another night at Whittemore. Karen had slipped on a little red dress and some heels, hair loose around her face as she rang in the new year with some mini bottles of liquor and ABBA playing through her radio. It wasn’t enough to get drunk, not really, but she’d never been particularly good at holding her alcohol. Now she was making her rounds through all of the buildings, trying to locate a high heel she didn’t actually remember taking off. 

Kenilworth was the last stop on her list, and as she walked into the common area and noticed someone on the floor, she was happy to see that she wasn’t the only one who was remembering the night before. The weirdest part, however, was that she didn’t recognize the girl who addressed her. “It’s your student ID,” she shrugged, tilting her head at the stranger. “Well, actually, not yours, but still a student ID.” 

Rose nodded dumbly, as though that were the exact answer she was looking for. “Yes, well i actually don’t have one yet,” she said, the lie rolling off her tongue as she effortlessly formed the story in her head. “I’m an exchange student, uh, from a few towns away. Little town though, not many have heard of it.” 

Rose was flustered, hoping that the girl didn’t ask too many questions. Looking down she noticed the girl held one high heel in her hand. “Big night, Cinderella?” she laughed. The girl was in her clothes from the night before and had either just been interrupted on her walk of shame, or more likely on her quest to find the missing heel. “I couldn’t even tell you how many of my poor shoes have been held captive by the night monster,” she murmured, shaking her head as though it was a genuine issue. “It truly breaks my heart to see another one taken.”

Rose bent down to look beneath the table she so gracefully fell from, to find nothing but empty solo cups. “I usually get a text from someone saying i left it in there room the next day,” she said, turning to face the girl again. “There wouldn’t happen to be a lucky prince out there with an extra shoe would there?,” she questioned, a cheeky grin spreading across her face. “.. or a princess?”

He didn’t belong in Kenilworth. He didn’t care. Howard Cross went where Howard Cross damn well pleased. And at the time being, his feet had lead him to this particular corridor where he was studying the furniture in the room. Deep down he knew he was probably trying to avoid anyone that would want to talk to him. People were hyped up over the new year and he couldn’t care less himself – it had been a long week and he wasn’t sure he had the energy to force smiles and conversation with other students. It was what he was good at, pretending, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t tiring.

He bit back a sigh when he heard a voice, taking a moment to collect himself before he turned to face the girl. He wasn’t expecting to see the card in her hand which was, upon further inspection, what he had immediately thought. “That’s a student ID, love.” Not his, someone else’s. There was an undertone of sarcasm in his voice, but it could easily be mistaken for friendliness. A lot of things could be with the help of the right voice and a pet name. “You see,” he stepped forward, tapping the middle of the rectangular object with his index finger, “the name and the picture, that is how they identify the students. Hence the name student ID.”

“Thank you for that insight,” Rose said, her brows furrowing slightly at the interaction. She wasn’t sure what made her feel so uneasy about the boy, but she would just sum it up to being her uncertainty of this timeline.  Clearing her throat, she scuffed her shoe against the ground, “I’m Rose, by the way.”

His mannerisms were slow and calculated, a vast opposite to her often erratic movements and rash decisions. “So you must be a student here then?,” she queried, placing the card in her pocket before creating more space between the two. “Though judging from the looks you’re getting,” she paused, looking towards the few people that gathered in the kitchen, either staring at her or the boy in question. Probably both. “-you aren’t from kenilworth?” 

Carrie gave the card a glance-over, checking to see who had left their identification behind in the common room. She shrugged her shoulders lightly. “I guess someone left their ID lying around. I’d leave it, they’ll find it eventually.” She didn’t recognize the other girl, but she thought maybe she’d heard tell of some new transfers coming to Whittemore. It wasn’t unheard of, in fact, she herself had been one only two years ago. She held out her hand politely. “I’m Carrie, by the way.”

The answer Rose received did not satisfy her curiosity, only leaving her with more questions. She supposed though that in the girls circumstances, her question would seem rather stupid given time travel was simply a form of fictional nonsense to most. The woman was beautiful, her striking black hair and sharp features felt strangely familiar and yet Rose couldn’t put a finger on why. She placed the card on the table and read the date over once more. 

“Carrie...?” she repeated, letting the word linger in the air for a second, being mindful of the fact she didn’t give a last name. “Lovely to meet you, I’m Rose,” she said, a warm smile gracing her features as she offered her hand in greeting. “Are you a resident at Kenilworth or just visiting?”

                There wasn’t really anything he could do to go back where he really belonged unless somehow, Millie and Faye had been sent back in time with blueprints of a time machine, too. And well, Sam wanted to believe that he wasn’t the only one that had been displaced so he tried to look for people he knew — but when he found Rose, he wasn’t really sure whether to be relieved or scared for his chances of escaping this wrinkle in time. Good thing his car wasn’t sent back in time with him. Nonetheless, he immediately embraced her, thankful enough for the familiar face. “It’s me, Sam. But everyone here sees me as my dad,” he clarified before he pulled back and looked at the thing in her hand and gave her a confused look. “Uh, that’s an ID — I’m pretty sure we have those in our time, Rose.” 

She returned the embrace in kind, lingering for longer than necessary, just grateful to have someone she knew there. Why had Sam been sent back in a different body? Did this mean he took the place of his father now? Why was Rose just... Rose. She had so many questions, though she knew it had to be tougher on Sam and didn’t want to burden him with the troubles that undoubtedly already plagued his mind.

“I mean,” she sighed, shaking her head as she threw the card on the table, “We used fake ones in our time anyway, so can you blame me?” 

If it were possible, his nonchalance was almost calming. As long as she wasn’t the only one, she knew they’d be fine. Even if nobody was looking for her, she had hope that they would be looking for Sam. Whittemore had a way of bringing them together when they needed it most. “Cmon Sam, don’t be smart with me,” she teased, gesturing towards their surroundings. “It’s not the ID i am questioning, you know what i mean.”