Chapter Five | The Strangest Picnic

Marblecake had never been to a picnic where everyone brought a secret.

It started when Petra announced, out of nowhere, “We should do something ordinary.”

“Ordinary is suspicious,” Milo had said.

“Exactly,” Petra grinned. “That’s why it works.”

So they packed mismatched baskets with snacks—sweet crackers, sparkling pear juice, leftover dumplings wrapped in wax paper—and met in the overgrown field near the old watchtower, where no one went anymore except bees and bored teenagers.

Marblecake wore her favorite shoes: the ones with stars painted on the toes. She also wore the strange necklace that came in the mail two days before—no return address, just a pendant shaped like an orbiting moon.

She hadn’t told anyone.

Not yet.

They spread out a gingham cloth that didn’t match anything and sat cross-legged in the sun.

Milo brought a loaf of bread he claimed to have baked himself (he hadn’t). Petra brought pickled something she refused to name. Marblecake brought a folded napkin with three glowing berries that weren’t from Earth—or, at least, not from the part of Earth anyone had charted.

“So,” Milo said after a while, chewing loudly, “we’re just pretending to be normal?”

Petra laughed. “I’m not pretending. I am normal. You two are the ones humming at odd frequencies and collecting sky-colored fruit.”

Marblecake looked down at her hands. The berries pulsed faintly. She wrapped them tighter in the napkin.

“I think I’m starting to remember things,” she said.

That quieted everyone.

She didn’t mean dramatic things. Not spaceships or home planets. Just… colors. Smells. A kind of music that existed more in feeling than in notes.

It made her chest ache and her fingers tremble.

Petra leaned over and gently bumped her shoulder. “You don’t have to figure it all out now.”

Milo added, “You don’t have to figure it out alone, either.”

They stayed there all afternoon, trading silly stories and secrets, some real and some made up. It was the kind of day that felt like it happened between time, like it wouldn't be listed on any calendar but still counted in the heart.

And when Marblecake walked home that evening, she looked up at the stars and whispered, “I’m still here.”

And maybe, somewhere, someone heard her.