#lainey.

jackie was everything that seawillow adored. she was popular, fearless and, most importantly, effortless. the kind of girl everyone assumed would leave town one day and never look back, destined for something bigger. compared to her sister, lainey felt like the other half of a coin that was left face down on the street. she learned early how to be careful. how to watch more than she spoke. how to keep people at a safe distance so they wouldn’t see the insecurity she worked so hard to hide. there was a quiet charm to her, soft-spoken and shy. the kind that didn’t demand attention but earned it anyway. it was that gentleness that earned her the nickname mouse through middle and high school.  within the group, lainey became the keeper: of memories, small details, secrets. the one who noticed everything, the one people turned to in moments of quiet panic, when everything felt like it was falling apart. she always seemed to know the right thing to say, and to avoid the wrong thing to do. she wasn’t the loudest voice in the room, always ready to show the power of serenity. she remembered, and caught glances, and heard the lies hidden beneath easy smiles. lainey grew up half in love with the ocean and half afraid of it. she was the girl who stayed close to the shoreline. the one content to walk the beach while others disappeared into the waves. the truth was a simple secret: lainey couldn’t swim. so instead, she listened; to the tide, to her friends, to the locals who lingered with their stories of the past. she learned about seawillow the way she learned about people—by watching, by listening, by keeping her feet in the sand. was that a half-lived life? what else she could have done besides accepting her fate? some people can't avoid tragedies, and others don't know how to escape from being one.