"My condolences, young miss." The old man behind the counter read the card and looked up with sympathy shining on his face. "I heard what happened to your father, and I'm so sorry about what happened."
"It's quite alright, Mr. Fitzgerald." The young girl offered a sad smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. It was getting harder and harder to fake that smile every day. "Thank you for doing the arrangements for us."
She pulled her coat tighter around herself, even though it was the middle of July. The world seemed colder these days. Ever since her father got sick, it felt like her world just stopped spinning. Mira knew that cancer was real, but it always seemed like a far-off, make-believe monster; she never imagined it would take someone close to her. In just the span of a week, he'd degraded so far, death almost seemed like a blessing. He was in so much pain in the end...
"It's the least I could do, my dear, your father and I were friends for years." The old man nodded, mostly to himself, and put the paperwork away. Behind him, rows and rows of colorful vases of every kind of flower lined the florist shop. It was such a beautiful display, Mira could almost forget why she was here in the first place. "What time will the service be?"
Mira snapped back to the present, blinking the delusion out of her eyes. "It's this Saturday at 9am." She tucked a strand of light brown behind her ear and frowned. There would be much more to prepare for before then. She reached inside her purse. "How much will it all be?"
He shook his head firmly. "Don't worry about it, Mir. Your money's no good here."
She smiled softly, eyes falling as her shoulders sank. As much as she hated feeling pitied, her father didn't have much in the way of money. As a freelance author, he didn't have a steady income, and although she'd tried to be frugal with the flowers, the displays still totaled up to a hefty sum. "Thank you again, Mr. Fitz, and I'll see you at the service. I have to meet with the caterer and the mortuary…"
"Of course, dear, take care." He scratched at his gray whiskers and frowned at the girl leaving his shop. He'd watched her grow up, and been good friends with Mr. St. Clair for a good many years. He took out the copy of her order with the details on it and stared at the total price at the bottom of the page. He pulled a pen from his shirt pocket and put two neat lines through the numbers. Turning around to face the rows of flowers, he began gathering the blooms he would need.
Saturday came and went, with little more than a hiccup with the service. Mira's entire role was to sit at the front of the chapel and receive all the words of sympathy and condolences. She lost her father, and the most anyone ever said was 'I'm so sorry for your loss.' She wondered bleakly if any of them ever realized how empty their words sounded. Surely, they could hear the insincerity too, right? Looking out into the crowd of people seated in the pews, she saw a lot of familiar faces. How many of them had she grown up seeing? It could have been any other place, and seeing everyone would have caused her joy; here, it just added to the rocks weighing in her stomach.
A noise next to her caught Mira's attention. Beside her, an older woman with a black netted veil sat, sniffling into tissues. One hand balled up a lipstick-stained tissue, while the other was gripping Mira's left hand firmly. Her mother. How long had it been since Mira had seen her mom? A year? Two? Maybe she visited last Christmas, but Mira couldn't remember clearly.
"Mira," her mother stage-whispered to her between sniffling, "You're coming to live with me in Washington, right?"
The teenager felt a pang of shame. She hadn't planned that far ahead… She squeezed her mother's hand back in assurance.
"Of course, I am, mom," she said, and she meant it. After everything that's happened in the past year, how could she even think about staying. No, what she wanted most right now was to put everything behind her and start over somewhere else. "When this is done, we'll start making arrangements. I'll have to pack and say my goodbyes…"
She trailed off, trying to focus on the preparations. She would have to pack up everything she owned, and figure out what to do with her father's belongings. Her mother was a realtor in Washington, so she wouldn't have to worry about her father's estate, but everything else… it would fall on her to decide what to do with everything else. More specifically, her father's books and work.
With a sigh, Mira steeled herself for the last half of the service. It would be a few hours before she would go home, but she was already anxious to be gone. She was already thinking about everything she needed to do, what she would take with her, and what she would leave; more importantly, her father's belongings. A heavy feeling took over her chest at the thought of going through all of his things, to be in his room knowing that he would never touch anything in there again. What would happen to his favorite coffee mug, the one with deep brown stains in the ceramic? Or the pair of pajama pants that had holes all over it? He refused to throw it out, claiming that it was the most comfortable pair of pants he owned.
These thoughts made her sick, and instead, she put all her effort into listening to the priest, who'd made his way to the podium and had begun the service. Everyone quieted down and settled into their seats, attentive, and most importantly, away from Mira. She breathed deeply to steady herself, and concentrated on just making it through the service.
It was cold today, much colder than last month. Winter was fast approaching, and within another few month the roads would be slick with ice and snow. As she marched through the parking lot, Mira felt the sting of cold on her nose and the tips of her ears. Brushing back the light brown hair from around her face, she wrapped her arms tighter around herself. She hurried inside, where she could seek some kind of shelter from the cold. Adjusting the thin jacket around her shoulders, the thin girl sniffled and shoved the school's door open before scurrying inside.
She hurried to her locker, glancing up at a clock as she passed: 7:30. She shifted through her textbooks, a stack that had been unceremoniously dumped into her arms the previous day. Luckily, she'd remembered to grab her class schedule from her bedside table that morning. She skimmed it while she peered at her books.
Let's see… History first, Math, and then Art. After lunch, Philosophy and French.
Mira looked up, adjusting her hair once more so she could see the titles clearly. She pulled her history textbook out and then closed her locker. Turning her head, she looked up at the clock on the opposite wall: 7:45. She shrugged out of her jacket, hanging it on a hook on her locker wall. The faded mirror on her locker door showed a gray reflection. She could just barely make out the different shades of hazel in her eyes, brown and yellow mixed together with green flecks near the inner edges. Mira pushed her hair back behind her ears, observing the way her earrings caught the light, just pale sparkles in the cheap rusted mirror. She licked her dry lips, now a pale pink color.
Now that she was inside and starting to warm herself, she had a moment to reflect on the whirlwind that her life has become. The smile fell from her lips, and she shoved her books into her bag.
After a week of cleaning, organizing, and packing, Mira and her mom had put the property up for sale, fully furnished. Everything that had belonged to her dad, Mira had insisted on packing herself. She didn't know what to do with it all, but she just couldn't bring herself to throw anything away. The books that he'd cherished and shared with her over the years, she made sure to wrap and box carefully, taking special care that they wouldn't be damaged during transport. When all was said and done, Mira had paced through the now empty rooms, walked the hollow spaces of the place that had been her home. Leaving felt like tearing out a piece of her heart and leaving it behind, just like how a piece of her was buried when her father was.
They'd managed to move everything in one trip, thanks to the trucks that her mother had rented. Even after all of this, Mira felt awkward around the woman that she'd grown so distant from. Things felt weird on good occasions, so going through this... it was like severing another relationship. They spent days driving, taking turns when her mother would finally admit she was getting sleepy. Neither one of them felt much like talking, instead opting for the radio that mixed pop songs with bouts of static. When they finally arrived in Forks, Washington, Mira was just glad of the chance to be alone. Her mom hadn't had the chance to set up a room for her, so the guest room was as close to hers as she could hope for. After a week of settling in, Mira decided to check out the shops nearby, and happened on an old store front full of dusty tomes. On an impulse, she submitted an application for part-time work. Maybe she'd hear back from them soon.
She sighed, clenching a fist around the strap of her bag. Nothing about this was easy; she lost everything in California. Her father, her home, her friends... none of it would be hers again, all of it was stained with the memory of his death. She felt the grief welling up again, but even stronger than before, she felt anger. It wasn't fair. It was stupid and childish of her to think so simply of these events, but that's the thought that circled her head like a shark, coming back again and again to stab at her heart. It wasn't fair that she had to lose everything; it wasn't fair that her dad had to die.
As quick as the anger had struck her, it was gone, fading as fast as it had come. Breathing again, she shook her head. Taking one last glance in the mirror, she made sure she at least looked composed. She certainly didn't feel it. Once she was satisfied, she closed the rusty locker door. Nodding to herself, she turned toward her first class and began walking.
"Good morning, class, I am your instructor: Mrs. Anche," A strict-looking woman made her way to the front desk as the tardy bell rang, "That's A-N-C-H-E. Welcome to American History. Let's start with the attendance."
Her eyes flitted over a spiral notebook, reading off names and glancing up at every response she got. Everyone was here so far.
"Mira St. Clair?"
Mira raised a hand timidly, uttering a near-silent "Here."
Mrs. Anche looked up, frowning in a way that looked very close to a sneer. "Speak up, girl, I'm old."
The rest of the students turned to look at her and Mira flushed under her lightly tanned complexion. The teacher cocked an eyebrow at her before returning to her task. When she'd finished, she turned a page in her notebook and began scrawling on the whiteboard.
"Today we're going to start at the beginning of American History, with the founding of the nation." She stated plainly, writing 'A New Nation' hastily on the board.
She smudged the last 'N' in 'Nation', and Mira frowned when she noticed it. Now she'd be staring at it the whole class. Frowning slightly, she flipped through the pages until she got to the right chapter. She pulled a notebook from her bag and turned to a fresh page.
The class was spent listening to Mrs. Anche rattle off facts and jotting down bullets. Everyone seemed to settle into a stupor, mindlessly writing important facts as they came up, and trying hard to not fall asleep. As the last ten minutes of the period ticked away, she began writing furiously on the board.
"With everything that you've learned today, I want you to pair up and discuss the following question." She finished her scribbling and turned to collect up her belongings. She tied up her long black-and-gray hair into a bun and took a seat, clearly ready to continue ignoring the students filling the class in front of her.
For a moment, everyone sat in stunned silence. Mira herself blinked a few times, before looking around at the other confused students. Realizing what they were supposed to be doing, she looked back to the whiteboard and skimmed over the question. Her shock must have been clear on her face because a moment later, a voice next to her read it aloud.
"In your opinion, who was the most important figure in the founding of the early American colonies?" A boy's voice read out in a bored drawl.
"Thank you," Mira murmured, scratching the question down at the bottom of the page. She glanced up at the boy next to her, and met tawny eyes staring her down.
Taken aback, she flinched and looked away. She bit back a "Sorry" and went back to her notebook. She snuck a glance at the boy who'd spoken and felt her lips part involuntarily. He was like nothing she'd ever seen before.
Long honey-blonde hair fell to his shoulders, accentuating the strong angles of his face. His lips were tinged a light, medium pink and were set into a blank expression. His eyes were nearly glowing in the limited light as they danced back and forth across the pages in front of him; a beautiful dark gold color. His hand moved with a practiced grace across the page. Without warning, he stopped writing and his eyes flicked up to meet hers again. Like the first time, his held no embarrassment, just a steady gaze.
The corner of his lips twitched up into a small smile. "Her handwriting is terrible," he whispered to her, eyes flicking to the front desk.
Mira tucked her hair behind her ear and smiled, all tension gone. "I thought it was just me. I'm Mira," she offered her hand.
He cocked an eyebrow and smiled almost imperceptibly before taking it. "Jasper."