Queen of the Flare

It was like any other day—at least, in the beginning.

Madison’s arms stretched upwards as she yawned and fumbled for her cell phone on the nightstand. "How many followers do I have today?"

The faint blue light reflected in her eyes.

"What?"

Frantically tapping apps, "Weird. Not cool."

More tapping. "Really not cool. This can't be happening."

Still clutching her phone, she pulled on her clothes, shoes clattering down the stairs. "Mom?"

Both her parents were staring out the window. Mom turned toward her. "Madison, come look."

The sky—a deep red, vibrant, lingering, surreal aurora.

Silent. Too silent. Not even the neighbor's dog was barking.

The hair on Madison's arm stood on end.

This was not like any other day.

Hugging her mom, mouth open and speechless. The soft, muffled thud of her phone hitting the grass went unnoticed.

One by one, neighbors drifted into their yards, heads tipped back, eyes fixed on the sky as if in a trance.

Madison slipped from her mom's arms and turned toward the house. The TV screen in the living room was filled with gray, restless static. "Mom, Dad," she whimpered, "I think my phone is dead?"

The next day, the steady clip-clop of hooves echoed. Old Mr. Burns sat astride Nelly, reins loose as the horse sauntered down their street.

Madison flashed on the memory of Mr. Burns lifting her onto Nelly for the first time. The image quickly faded.

Mr. Burns, toothpick in mouth, called, "Hey Madison, are your parents home?"

"Mr. Burns, what are you doing here?"

She knew his ranch was five miles away. He just never "dropped by."

"Good day, Mr. Burns," Madison's dad said, stepping onto the porch.

Mr. Burns held in a chuckle. "Good thing Madison knows how to ride. Y'all should have come with her."

"What is so funny, Mr. Burns?" Madison's dad asked. Her mom had come to stand beside him.

"Solar flares took out all satellites. All of 'em. Guess what?"

Madison and her parents stared at him. Nelly gave a brief snort.

Mr. Burns spat out the toothpick. "No phones, no internet, nothing. Welcome to 1859."

Three weeks later:

Madison approached the school cafeteria, normally not a cool place to hang out, but it was crawling with students. The smell of dried oregano filled the air. It was pizza day.

"Madison!" Jenny shouted, raising her hand. "We are here."

In a corner table close to the exit, Madison spotted them.

Madison plopped down and dropped her backpack. "I hate this!"

Jenny spoke through a mouthful of food, crumbs dotting her tray. "Me too."

Madison sulked. "Nobody even remembers I exist. This sucks."

Lisa, one of the cool girls, slid into a seat beside them. "Did you hear what Kyle did?"

Not waiting for an answer, she barreled on. "He, like, told his teacher he was clueless and left class. Totally cool."

Jenny rolled her eyes. "Everybody is clueless."

Madison, ignoring Lisa, said, "Nobody likes me."

Jenny wiped her mouth. "I like you, and so does oblivious," she added, looking at Lisa.

Lisa frowned. "What's up?"

Madison chewed her lip. "Guys, don't you miss it? I had—I have 40,010 followers. They just can't see me, but they're still there."

Lisa smirked. "I don't need followers. Kyle follows me."

"Spare me," Jenny muttered.

"This is serious! You guys don't get it." Madison pushed back her chair.

She slipped on her backpack, lifted her chin a little higher. "My followers await."

The idea was percolating, gaining momentum. Her pace quickened. She could do this.

Her house came into view, the red front door impossible to miss. She had forgotten how sweet and aromatic lilacs smelled. Breathing in the fragrance, her face relaxed into a smile.

During dinner, Madison's fork dangled in her hand, forgotten. "Dad, can you help me with a school project? Can you pleeeeese buy me a poster board?"

Her dad looked up, curious. "You know, that is a great idea. You're doing something practical. Of course I will help."

Madison cocked her head. "Yeah, totally practical."

Two days later, during lunch hour, hungry students lined up for a "nutritious" meal. Kyle scanned the cool table for Lisa. Instead, it was just Madison and a bright red poster on the wall behind her.

"Weird," he muttered to himself, then got back in line.

Balancing a loaded tray, Jenny slid onto the bench next to Madison.

"Hungry much?" Madison asked.

"I am a growing girl," Jenny said through a mouthful of food.

Madison suppressed a laugh, bit back a comment. Jenny's eyes moved to the poster. "'40K VIBES LOST BUT NOT FORGOTTEN 💔✨ #QueenOfTheFlare'," she read, the words arched across the top. "Wow."

But there was more.

Under "queenoftheflare," sheets were taped in neat rows, each one mimicking a TikTok frame with Madison's face frozen in a different pose.

Doodled emojis—fire, hearts, tears—filled the margins, with handwritten hashtags scattered between them (#PostFlareFit #NoFilterJustMe#).

Jenny stared, then turned to Madison. "Uh, what-the... So if I trace around this empty heart, that means I like it?"

Lisa scurried over. "My mouth has no words. Cool. I think."

"I can be liked again," Madison said, beaming. "People will see me."

Lisa flicked her hair back. "Duh. We are looking right at you."

Madison kept her gaze on the board. "What did you say…?"

At first, her "posts" drew stragglers. Lisa was the first to fill in a heart. Madison felt the same quiet rush she used to feel when her phone buzzed.

A student approached the board and studied one of the frames.

Madison recognized him from civics class. Brad… something. He never said much.

"You're a good drawer," Brad said.

Madison lit up, then paused. "Did you trace a heart?"

Brad shrugged. "I thought it looked cool."

Madison pointed to the hearts. "You're supposed to like it here."

The marker squeaked faintly as Brad traced the heart, then left.

Madison smiled, satisfied.

As the weeks ground on, students hardened to the "new normal": ration queues, blackouts, whispered rumors of distant cities gone dark.

Madison's beauty hacks felt frivolous next to "Found: kid's boot, east fence" or "Baseball scrimmage: bring gloves, 4pm field."

She noticed the shift: fewer traced hearts, classmates glancing but walking past, her corner shrinking as practical notices crept in from the edges.

Week 3: A bold "LOST DOG - reward" overlapped her OOTD sketch. Madison ripped it off, but two more appeared by lunchtime.

Week 6: Full takeover—her faded profile pic half-covered by "Looking for Math tutor? Take one." Slips of paper cut into strips tacked underneath.

Madison barely ate her lunch anymore and hovered around the board like a self-imposed hall monitor.

A girl stepped up, hesitated, then tore off a math-tutor slip.

Madison glared. The girl avoided her eyes and hurried away.

As Madison ripped down yet another intrusion of her space, a freshman paused, sympathy in his eyes. "They're moving on, like we all have to."

A new girl claimed the wall with similar performative posts—echoing Madison, but practical: ("Survived the sky fire? Rate my bunker hair 😩💇‍♀️").

The poster showed a messy bun sketch against a sparkly explosion.

Girls traced hearts; boys laughed/snarked.

Lunchtime had turned into a social gathering, not a cafeteria.

Madison, Lisa, and Jenny sat at their usual table. "Oh look," Jenny said in a sing-song voice. "Somebody's looking at your poster board."

Madison spun around, knocking over her juice.

Trying to look casual, Madison walked over. The girls scattered.

She looked at the board and froze. "Noooo! Not cool."

She ripped down the post, tearing it into tiny shreds. She found a blank frame and a black magic marker. "Not allowed! This poster is banished. Did not follow rules!"

“Jeez, chill, it’s just a post. You’re not the only one with flair.” The girl shot back.

“This is my poster board. Make your own.” Madison shouted.

The girl shrugged, rolled her eyes and walked away.

The cafeteria went quiet. Somewhere, a fork clinked against a tray, then nothing.

"What's with her?" Kyle asked.

There was always a teacher in the lunchroom. Today the social studies teacher, Ms. Peabody, approached Madison. "Madison, please come with me."

"Why? I didn't do anything wrong. Somebody else did," Madison said.

"It's OK. You did nothing wrong," Ms. Peabody replied. "I just want to speak to you privately."

In the classroom, U.S. and world maps covered the walls. The chalkboard was filled with notes, scraps of whatever news could be found.

"Madison, you are one of our brightest students," Ms. Peabody began, "but it hasn't gone unnoticed—your, um, over enthusiasm with the poster board."

Madison's shoulders relaxed slightly. "I'm taking the initiative. Isn't that what you want us to do?"

"Yes, taking initiative is admirable," Ms. Peabody said, "but all of us are trying very hard to adapt to how things are now, not how things were."

Madison's lower lip trembled. "I—I don't, I can't…" Her breath hitched, sharp and shaky, before the sobs came. "Nobody can see me… what am I supposed to be?"

Ms. Peabody squeezed her hand and said nothing.

At home, the fire popped softly, throwing orange light over the board game box on the coffee table. Madison said, "I am too depressed to play Monopoly tonight."

"Honey, it's not the end of the world—um—it's a great time for family time," Dad said.

"Dad, it is the end of the world. My world."

"Ms. Peabody called," Mom said. "She told us what happened. Maddy, she told me they have counseling for students. This could be helpful?"

"I know, and they are totally lame," Madison said. "They have us talking about our problems like Alcoholics Anonymous. It's dumb. I'd rather doodle in my journal."

The lunchroom beehive was not buzzing. Without the usual roar, every chair scrape echoed against the walls.

"Where is everyone?" Lisa asked.

"It's called play time. Really. Play time. It's worse than gym," Jenny said.

"You always skip gym." Lisa waved her arm. "Maddy—hello—anyone there?"

Madison turned her head toward them, then back again. She stood and walked to where the poster had been. The janitor had taken everything down.

A scrap of tape still clung to the wall. Someone had drawn a small heart on it. Madison traced it with her finger - a smile touched her lips but stopped short.

"They can't silence me. My journal understands me.” Madison said to no one. She straightened up, squared her shoulders as if the empty hallway were watching, and walked away.

Madison hunched over the journal; colored pens clutched in one hand.

"Maddy, the janitor was so wrong about taking down the board," she wrote. In smaller letters: "Totally. It was a work of art." She turned the page. "You are definitely the queen of flair."

Jenny looked over, whispering, "You know, you're just talking to yourself in red ink, right?"

"I've already blocked you for that comment," Madison said without looking up.

Mr. Roache, the civics teacher, glanced their way—a resigned sigh, a pause—then back to the board. "Who can tell me the three branches of government?"

The bell clanged, sharp and final.

Students hurried to gather their backpacks, now stuffed with books.

"Remember," Mr. Roache called, "the horse-drawn shuttle leaves in one hour. Also, Mrs. Higgins is now teaching 'Analog Data Recovery'—otherwise known as reading your grandmother's cursive."