The Gap
spockjasperlokizukowriting
One- Color of Snow
Blue eyes. Piercing ones, deep and soulful with florescent irises, all surrounded by black. The light, the shadows, the depths of the lines dividing the two- the curves, the twists and angular edges, all framing around the dark circles splaying across the tender skin, shading into different layers, completing the whole of the image.
Blue eyes. Rich and colorful, with a mix of an indigo and flecked with gold. The perfect ocean before the storm, the waves rising and lapping against the center, tumbling like the clouds across the heavenly sky. Brown hair flecked down across the strong, broad forehead, rigid bone framing up the bottom to divulge a gentle face structure, strong and pointed, the cheeks dusted with rose.
Blue eyes. The sum, the whole- it was magnificent, a perfect array of framework and sound genetics. The light, now it moves, passing across the planes of the face, perfect and symmetrical, the chestnut hair waving like the trees in a breeze, soft and glowing in the hues of dim, gray light. The shadows flicker almost in candlelight, the subtle brilliancy of it stunning to take in. It moves, it breathes- it lives. It's nearly impossible to capture. But I know I can try.
Blue eyes. Just start with the blue eyes.
I tapped the pencil briefly upon my lips before twisting them and quickly scribbling out an eye on the paper, mirroring it with another, sketching out with delicate strokes the hints and the edges, dividing the center with a gentle nose and a brow, knitted in the middle to form a thoughtful scowl. I smeared the fringe of the lashes before I made sure to hint them in again, pulling a dark blue pencil from its pouch as I started shading the edges of the irises, quickly removing the tip as I once again started forming the face, nurturing it on the paper, quickly erasing any stray marks as I fixed the hair and sunk my pencil down to edge the face. I perfected the cheekbones quickly before I sat back, tucking my legs to my chest to form an uncouth desk. I sighed, studying what I had just bashed out.
Mediocre. It could hardly live up to standards. My standards.
I growled in frustration and threw my sketchbook on the floor, zipping my pencil in the pouch before tossing that down on the carpet too. The car rocked as my father steered the wheel, guiding the minivan around a corner, our possessions rustling in the back as they shifted. My mother's blond hair shone like gold in the seat before me, her seat-belt groaning briefly as she turned to gaze sadly over her shoulder, her brown eyes considerate.
"Isla, why treat your sketchbook with such hostility?" she inquired, pulling her lips into a kind, wide smile, her brow lifting, brown eyes warm. "The poor thing isn't to blame."
My brother snickered in the seat next to me, the owner of the blue eyes and chestnut hair, hinting in bronze as the rain and storm clouds outside filtered the light. "True, sis'. It didn't do anything wrong. You just can't draw."
I quickly punched him in the shoulder, but meant it playfully, smiling and laughing in the process. "Hey you- be nice!"
"Hey both of you!" my father grunted from the driver's seat. "No horseplay while I'm driving. You can both walk to the house for all I care."
"But I wouldn't know where it was!" I pointed out innocently.
"That's the point, thickness," my brother trolled with a roll of his eye.
I bristled, clutching my fists and hugging my knees closely. Why, oh why, did I consider drawing him? I thought that would be a compliment!
My mother smiled gently at both of us, a soft hint in her eye as she looked down at the strewn sketchbook. She met my gaze while my brother resorted to forcing the headphones in his ears, ruffling the collar of his thick jacket, his fingerless gloves and jeans whispering as he squirmed, forcing himself to look out the window to avoid our notice. The storm continued to brew, thunder rattling the car as lightning touched in the distance, flashing and rumbling again. I fidgeted in the leather of the car seat, my fur boots scratching against the gray, splintered flooring.
"Can I see what made you so angry?" my mother asked.
"It's probably something worthy of being Picasso's heir," my father laughed, squeezing the wheel as he engaged the clutch and changed gears, slowing down for a traffic light. I shrugged and picked up the book, handing it to my eager mother, her smile tightening in excitement.
"Oh, dearest, they're wonderful!" my mother praised, crooning over the sketches, pouring and encouraging.
I quietly tuned out her ramblings, occasionally nodding and providing a response as I looked outside, wondering what my brother found so fascinating of the outside world. I squinted past the fog and droplets coursing down the glass of my window, placing a hesitant hand on the cold surface while I watched. The tinted windows of the other cars gently passed us, gleaming as we shifted back into second gear, the smudged light turning green. I isolated every spectrum and shadow, imaging the brief frames of time within in my mind, looking for a sight worth recording in my sketchbook. My fingertips quickly went numb, sleet mixing into the rain, patches of sludgy snow melting with the small rivers of water down the gravel road, spectators hiding beneath long coats and underneath umbrellas, different shades of black dotting out beneath awnings and disappearing into the various stores and restaurants, hiding behind the bells clinking from shutting doors. A woman walking her dog briefly paused to look at our foreign, blue vehicle, puzzling through the gray, dreary weather, briefly meeting my gaze. I gasped and quickly looked away from her hazel eyes, her curly blond hair wavering in the wind as she stopped, pulling out from beneath her cashmere scarf.
My fogged breath disappeared from the window, and I craned my neck to check to see if she was there. But when my eyes met the place, she had vanished. My heart skipped a beat while before my mother brought me out of my trance, poking my arm with my sketchbook. She held my gaze and smiled earnestly, teasing a grin back from me- my father had often said that we both smiled too much.
"Sweetie, your sketches truly are wonderful!" she pleaded. "You should respect your talent."
I sighed briefly and then looked down at my sketchbook, turning open the cover to let the pages fall. They rested back to the image of my old school crush, something I had drawn back in sixth grade. I giggled briefly at it, beaming as I remembered how enamored I had been with this boy- the teased brown hair, the wonderful, russet eyes, slouched position and easy grin. He had been a lost cause. Turns out there were reasons he was so well groomed for a young boy his age. Father had only laughed.
I smiled and looked back up at my mother. "Mom, I can only see memories and flaws when I look back at them," I insisted. "Not the flaws with the memories, though- the flaws in the sketches. They way they were captured. I can never get it just right. There's always a side I'm missing..."
My mother gave me a puzzled expression.
I bit my lip and continued. "They hold only sentimental worth to me."
"But it's a fabulous insight to how your mind works," she breathed, turning back to face the front. "It's great to finally get some answers to the logic of your world."
"It can't be understood otherwise," my brother, Andrew, drawled, sighing and shaking his head before rubbing his temple with long fingers. "I'm the oldest but I still don't understand her."
"My logic is sound!" I promised at his teasing. "It makes sense!"
"Really?" he challenged, taking a bud from his ear as he flashed a crooked grin, clicking the noise down on his iPhone. "And what about that time you crawled upon a ladder onto the roof when you were just two because you could get a better view of mom's garden? Or the time you saw dad painting the edges of the floor in the bathroom and you decided to paint your own room purple- furniture and all? Or perhaps when you were told not to touch anything in the car while Aunt Elin and I went in the store to pick up our order, and you somehow managed to start the car and drive it through the wall? When had that all made sense in your mind? And more importantly, why?"
"Andrew..." my mother soothed with a warm gaze. "She was very young when all of those occurrences happened."
"She was eight, for crying out loud, when we left her in the car, mom!" he retorted.
"And it wasn't like I was killed when that happened!" I fought back, but grinned when my brother threw a glare to my side, his eyes shooting daggers. Andrew was a handsome young man of eighteen, soon to be nineteen, but he frowned too much. A smile was rare, and a blessing.
My father laughed, turning around the corner. "Isla's always been adventuresome and creative, Andrew," my father reminded, looking briefly in the rear-view mirror as he crossed from the main city and started towards the suburban neighborhoods, the rich, middle class, grandiose houses lining the street, modeled into modern spectacles and frameworks of art. The rain had well and truly settled now, turning into a storm of snow, floating down in hurried clumps, stopping up the curbs and gutters in fluffs and clouds, deformed snowmen peaking up from the rough-hewn lawns. "It's in her nature."
"Besides, if adventure's all she needs, then what better a place to find it than in a new home?" my mother offered, grinning around at us while she gripped her armrest. Tresses of blond hair whispered down past her shoulders, accenting my father's gray.
Andrew hung his head, quickly sneering and turning back to the window, gesturing at it with stiff, rigid movements. "Home? You're already coining that term for his dump?"
"Well, it's one of the richer neighborhoods..." she frowned in confusion.
"I didn't mean it like that!" he snapped, blue eyes fierce. "I mean, this isn't home, mom! Home is where you look forward to return to everyday, with a pure need to belong there! Home is where you family awaits for you, where your family loves you! Home is the place you go when there's no other options. This isn't home! Home is in New Mexico, not freaking Connecticut!"
Mother gave him a hurt expression while I looked between them, frightened, uncomfortable as I sat and shrank into my corner, clutching my sketchbook and hugging it to my chest.
My father sighed, stopping briefly before turning onto another street. "Listen, children... I know that this isn't home, and that you hate moving, but this is our life now. We'll have to make the most of it. You all know why we did this- I needed the job here. The college in our hometown was collapsing; it was too remote! We need this change of scene. We'll be living as upper middle class citizens with a constructive community and wonderful neighbors. The high school is nearby and you'll have plenty of opportunities for universities on the East Coast: much more than our remote home in New Mexico could ever offer. The people here are welcoming and kind, and I hear you have many kids your age living on the street... Well, mostly all Andrew's age and a year younger, but I'm sure there's some babysitting to be done for you too, Isla!"
I smiled at the opportunity, looking forward to the socializing. Fresh faces, fresh ideas- new images to sketch and record. I was jovial at the thought of meeting new people, having new acquaintances and friends. I hadn't many back at our remote home in New Mexico, while my brother had been the most popular boy in school. If he knew anything, he knew how to interact with people. I had decent social skills, and my mother had assured me that I had a sense of humor, but the girls at the school never really had time for me. I did have friends, but none that I could truly bond with and call a close one. They were all mainly concerned about guys, though, and didn't favor me when I sat at my park bench and drew. I quietly looked down and skimmed through the pages, meeting the different characters and scenes that I had, remembering the faces from my old life, remembering that I was prepared to accept the new, eager to start afresh.
"I can't wait, dad!" I pitched enthusiastically.
"Easy for you to say, chipper-skipper," Andrew grouched, burying his earphones in once more and cranking up the volume. "Every day's a good day for you."
"When have we ever had an excuse to be sad, Andrew?" I asked innocently. "We've had happy lives and we're not starving or lacking anything. I don't think there's anything missing."
He groaned, clicking his phone on and gazing at the lock-screen wallpaper. "Maybe you don't because you hardly had any friends. I left a girlfriend back in New Mexico!"
"Oh, you're not still whining about Georgie, are you?" my father lamented.
"Dad, you don't know what it's like!" Andrew snapped. "The girl of your dreams gets to come with us!"
"As if I had a choice," my mother chuckled.
"Miranda!" my father gasped, feigning hurt.
"Kidding, dearest," she grinned, blinking her eyes innocently and tightening her shoulders upwards. "You're the only Erik for me."
"Besides, you're married! You have to stay together! Everything comes between Georgie and me! What if Cliff starts dating her? It's just like him to swoop in and pick up the leftovers! My Georgie! With Cliff!" he protested.
"You're overreacting," I sighed, smiling and shaking my head at him.
He narrowed his eyes. "It's not like you have any idea either, clueless."
"Andrew Selvig, that's enough!" my mother reprimanded with a proud tone, silencing my brother. "It's one thing to be ungrateful for your sanction but another thing entirely for you to be mean and take it out on your sister!"
"But-"
"Responsibility, Andrew," my father interrupted, frowning at him in the rear-view mirror. "Learn it. Your sister is your responsibility, and you'll treat her with respect."
"I'm only twp years younger than you," I pointed out with a grin.
"Two school years, Isla, not birth years! You're still only fifteen!" he reminded, his words and and tone bitter.
"Still jealous that I skipped two school years, Andrew?" I prodded, smiling and giggling as he glowered at me.
"Hush, both of you," my mother finally laughed, turning back to face the front windshield, leaning her head back and closing her eyes. "Isla, just as it's not his place to retaliate, it isn't your place to egg him on. How about a game of silence until we reach our new home?"
Andrew grunted under his breath at the word.
"Besides, it's only about three minutes away, and most of the furniture has been unpacked and arranged for us," she continued, ignoring Andrew's quiet brooding. "We only need to put our personal valuables there, arrange ourselves, put what travel food we have in the pantry and fridge, then we can be done! You guys will have a couple days to adjust, and then Isla, you start your new school. You'll finish up your Junior year, turn sixteen in January, and graduate with a perfect GPA at only seventeen. Andrew, I expect you to look for a job. There are plenty of paramedic places for you to start at, and the hospitals I've talked to are glad to try and take you on. I couldn't have more impressive children, or a more impressive place for them to grow. Now, let's have those silent three minutes."
We both bit our tongues back, staring out the windows and watching as we saw children play in the snow, turning down the streets, older couples drinking cocoa as they watched their grandchildren frolic, younger couples walking side by side along the frosty footpaths, the snow settling down into a gentle fall, dancing down in the November air. The warm windows glowed before curtains of various colors, soft yellows and golds streaming out in the evening air, the sky graying and blackening with the calmed storm clouds. The evergreen trees stood tall and proud, pine needles spindling out like a frayed edge of rope from beneath lengths of snow, sagging ever so slightly underneath the weight. The bare branches of oaks and cedar stood still, webbing from their resolute trunks like frames up to the clouds. I was fascinated by the heavy, picturesque snow and the white gleams of it all- it was certainly an environment to capture with my heart's eye and my hand's paper and pencil. I stared, enthralled as we made one last turn onto our street, my father driving the car slowly down a small hill, winding around a corner until he reached the end of the bend, halting before pulling into the driveway of our new home.
The front lawn was fringed by a scenic white picket-fence blanketed in the layers of snow, our perfectly square lawn divided with a small, cobblestone footpath that lead through a brief garden path of poinsettias and baby saplings, holly and ivy crawling along next to the fence bordering our new neighbors yard. I quietly got out with my family, taken back by the bold front face of our house, the garage squaring in the middle of our driveway, a small curl in the architecture leading to a wooden and glass doorway, framed by a small porch of cement, a column supporting the built in, sturdy awning. The two stories of it stretched high, higher than our old flat hat been, wide and expanding backwards to a sizable house. The dark purple and blue coloration contrasted the red roof-tiles, the small street-lantern, 1940 style porch-light glowing in a golden orb of kind, yule-tide light.
I stuffed my sketchbook into my bag and threw it over my shoulder, pulling on my red gloves and securing my brown, stylish parka at the neck, my scarf tucked in safely to protect my pale neck, a curl of russet hair floating down from underneath my beanie. My father and mother popped from the car, shutting the doors behind them, each donning their personal bags. Our sable, black Sudan contained a few traveling bags of belongings, clothes, and food in the trunk, but other than that, we had made to pack light. My father walked around to open up the front door with his new shining, golden key, disappearing past the red doorway and into the opening hallway. I rounded the back of the car, offering assistance as my mother clicked it open and filched out my traveling bag, handing me my elegant, light purple Swiss suitcase while heaving out my brother's large black duffel bag, groaning at the weight and giving him an apprehensive look.
"Hey, careful with that! It contains picture frames," he scoffed, defensively taking it back, swinging behind his shoulder thoughtlessly while glaring down at my mother, towering above her with his tall, graceful frame, blue eyes narrow. I skipped up to his side, grinning up at him, barely up to his chest, my boots crunching in the snow.
"Isn't it wonderful?" I asked, looking back up at our new house. "I never expected it to be this big, or this beautiful!"
"Yeah..." he drawled, watching the second story windows cautiously. "Guess so."
Our mother shut the boot and pulled both her and father's bag inside, eager to escape the cold, her New Mexico skin not resilient enough for the snowy weather yet, her thin cheeks blushing pink from the cold. Andrew's breath plumed before his red lips and he cleared his throat, nose turning blush.
I giggled briefly as he shoved on his beanie, the ball of cotton bouncing at the center comically as the blue and white stripes glinted in the dim light, the yarn worn at the edges. "Now, are you coming inside or not, Acorn?"
I smiled and then nodded, clicking the handle of my suitcase out and tugging it along behind him, trailing his steps closely, grinning as I thought of the nickname he had given me. While 'thickness' and 'clueless' were common as well, he had always called me Acorn. My real first name, Acacia, had been too difficult for him to pronounce when he was three. He had chosen Acorn since then and had stuck to it, though I preferred my middle name, Isla, to any other. He opened the door for me, revealing me into the house while my hair kept in the messy ponytail it had been drawn into, bouncing across my shoulder blades.
The house had a few lights turned on since my parents' presence, but still reflected the small amounts with the white and gold walls, lifting the beams up and around. The wooden, hollowed staircase coiled up around the slanted wall and into the expanse of the second story, the tiled entrance hallway dominating at least forty square feet of space. The near blank walls had a few picture frames that we had shipped before hand, and the movers had placed our furniture in the right positions. Andrew set down his duffel bag, I quickly mimicking his actions as I shut the door, sealing out the cold and shivering into the greeting warmth of the indoors. I straightened my hair in the mirror between the two front desks decorated with various pictures and figurines from my mother's traveling days of early college life. I followed Andrew forward into the living room, a precocious living space with our wide-screen TV, three couches, and some remaining boxes of other decors to materialize our essentials of home. To the left of that, and as I turned a corner, was a small party area with a dining room stretching out in one direction and a kitchen encompassing the other, necked off into a bottle cap arrangement with a fridge next to the garage door, maple cabinets shining in the florescent light. My mother looked around, curiously entranced as she took in her space to work with. This was certainly more grand that anything we had ever lived in before. We were used to money, but not to space.
I turned on my heels and walked into the large dining area, brief pillars interrupting and breaking the windowed walls into sections that stared out into our backyard, trees arranged like an orchard amongst the snow, leaved pines and hedges, with small rings of unplanted soil for gardens and a tall, wooden fence supported and framed with metal, ringing it all together. I quickly ran back out and across the carpet and tile till I reached my suitcase, grabbing it tightly and hauling it up the stairs, eager to see my room.
The upstairs was formatted in a vaguely similar style to the downstairs, leading to a general common room with another TV, a small fridge, a couple of desks with computers and another room at the far end, sectioned off from the tight hallway buried in the corner by rows of boxes and carefully packed equipment- my father's computer lab. His other research would have to be done down in the basement, as it had been explained to me. My father was scanning his space, learning where everything was, the contours of the walls appealing to him until he looked over his shoulder, his kind, open blue eyes- my brother and my eyes- meeting my own as he smiled, the gesture reaching his irises. "My dear, isn't it lovely?"
I nodded but didn't speak, smiling expectantly and gratefully.
"I'd suppose you'd want to see your room?" he asked, laughing and smiling as I nodded, enthused.
"Please!" I begged. He chuckled heartedly walking up to my side and taking my hand, walking me around the corner of a hallway and down to another smaller, more confining common area with three doors, all near each other's, opened to our already made beds and rooms, boxes of our belongings packed along the corners, one large, tiled, white bathroom on the other side of what I had assumed to be my own room.
"They each have a walk-in closet, and you'll both shall share a bathroom, the one next to your room," he explained patiently while I stood squirming with excitement. "We have our own bathroom in our room, and there's a family closet downstairs and around next to my office." He nudged my arm towards my own room. "Go explore."
I jumped up and down, bursting with joy and curiosity, briefly squeezing him into a hug before pulling both my bags behind me and into my new room. It was big, about thirty square feet in size with a large closet at the back end and my bed pressed up up to a large window that covered the expanse of the outside wall, the framed glass hidden behind thick curtains, the first layer of which was sun-resistant, the next layer a thin, translucent satin gossamer. The walls themselves were a light, kind blue rimmed with a dark, indigo purple shade. My bed was queen sized and lone, decorated and made with purple sheets, pillows, and my favorite stuffed animals. I grinned- these movers had definitely known how I liked it. I had heard from Andrew that mom had given them the strictest of instructions.
I put down my bag and pulled out my iPhone, sketchbook, pencil pouch, and laptop, setting them on the redwood desk next to my bed, quickly changing my mind and placing my phone on my nightstand, clicking on my angel lamp. I crawled across my bed and pushed aside my curtains, gazing out into the quickly dimming, twilight landscape, realizing the dark rings beneath my eyes and how exhausted I was from sitting on a plane for five hours. I set out my belongings, pulling out some pictures and my charging chords, placing my video camera next to the outlets near my drawing table and bookshelf, putting my most essential books on their own shelves. I then pulled on pajamas, being sure to keep on a light sweater over my thin shirt, shoving on fuzzy socks to keep my feet warm, slipping on my slippers as I walked from my room, tossing my curly hair about my shoulders, wondering what my brother was up to.
I walked into his dark blue room, some stray posters already set up as he lay back on his bed, hardly undressed, his beanie still on as he clung to his phone, his thumbs typing like mad as he hammered out a message to Georgie, most likely. He looked up from the screen as he sent of the text, giving me a quaint expression. "What, Acorn?"
I shrugged, walking up to his bed and setting myself down on the edge, pulling my legs up and crossing them, folding my hands in my lap. "Happy?"
"Not particularly."
I looked down at my hands. "Mom says that you'll come to love this place eventually. Besides, we're from Sweden originally, right? How hard can the snow be for us?"
He gave me a skeptically raised eyebrow, blue eyes gleaming. "Like either of us has even been to the tundras of Sweden and enjoyed ourselves."
I rolled my eyes. "Your real name is Andren Pietari Selvig, isn't it?"
He laughed sarcastically. "As if that has anything to do with my tolerance for this place! And what about you, Acorn? You like it here a lot better than I do, and your name is Acacia Isla Selvig. See, it has nothing to do with our names or our heritage! Don't get too buried in the past. It messes with your head. Just be grateful you're the freaking lucky-duck who got a normal name. It took years to convince people that I wanted to be called Andrew Peter."
"I call you Andrew yet you still call me Acorn!" I whined, folding my arms across my chest and pouting.
He grinned briefly before leaning forward and ruffling my hair with his large hand. "That's because you're my Acorn and my sister, and you always shall be." I briefly blushed before he continued. "Now, get out of my room before I kick you out."
I laughed and gave him a much rejected hug, squeezing my arms around his large shoulders before I left, skipping from his room, shouting, "Goodnight!" down the hallway to my parents, receiving a tepid answer as I shut my room and climbed into my bed, wiggling beneath the covers. I pulled the thick comforter up over my shoulders and to my neck, feeling foreign in my new mattress, the house occasionally creaking with the new sounds of the winter wind outside, but after a brief collection of minutes, my eyelids drooped, the sounds faded, and I fell asleep gazing up at the stars.
The following days were spent exploring the house. Waking up to stare at an unfamiliar ceiling always reminded me of the move, and how different things were sure to become. I'd push aside the covers of my bed, turning to my side to briefly sink down into the cushioning, shutting my eyes and imagining the coarse deserts of home, but the cold seeping in through my window always reminded me different. Waking up to a wintry view of the neighborhood was always something that kept me distracted as I watched the snow silently fall from the dark gray clouds. Pressing a tan hand against the cold window pane, I would breath against the glass and then draw shapes, something I could only do in the fogs of New Mexico. Before long, the gentle snow would tumble into a cold, sleeting rain that pattered against the roof, washing snow from our lawn and sidewalks. The webbing frost from the dew in the early mornings patterned intricate lines on the lower edges of the glass, a residual calm always following those particular nights. And during my sleep, I was blessed with dreams of flying.
My house didn't hold as many secrets as I had hoped to uncover. Walking around the hard, wooden floors and biting tile to view the different contours of it all wasn't as exciting as my mother had promised. The house was built in 1994, with a structurally sound framework and no hidden passageways. I hardly felt like a heroine in a story amidst the suddenly boring home. When not exploring and sketching out the different rooms with my family members inside, I made sure to help Mother unpack and decorate. Thanksgiving had passed the day we moved, so we didn't bother to unpack any of the turkey ornaments of the cornucopias. Mother was practically silent, only conversing with me whenever she had a concern of which color went with what, or where I had put the doilies. Andrew kept mainly to his room, huddling at his desk with his phone in one hand and his laptop open with a video game at the other. I drew him once while he was listening to his music and writing one of his novels, typing away at the computer, the blue glow highlighting the sharp angles of his face, only to have him kick me away from the corner in his room and slam the door behind me. His mood hadn't improved in the slightest.
Dad was more sociable, but was immersed in making his lab more like his lab, turning the place into a study as he heaved out his books from cardboard boxes and shelved them along the walls, scattering papers and equipment out into an organized mess. I sat against the far wall as he worked, occasionally asking him questions, but he was distracted.
"Dad," I began slowly, tapping my eraser against the lip of my sketchbook.
"Yes?" he replied, stacking binders in their appropriate filing cabinets.
"...what exactly will you be doing at the University?" I asked hesitantly.
He grunted as he pushed the cabinet closed. "Teaching," he affirmed, glancing in my direction as he hurried back to his main desk area. "Researching. I'll be working with some of the more renowned minds in my field."
I smiled absently, imagining my father's colleagues at home. "Since when haven't you worked with the brightest and best?"
Father laughed, delving into a new stack of records. "Dr. Foster is an excellent man- very amiable and kind. His daughter, Jane Foster, lives a couple streets away." He grinned at me across his shoulder. "She's only a year older than you, you know. Heard that she's becoming a child prodigy. She's to follow in his footsteps as she graduates in the spring. Perhaps you'll be going to the same school. Wouldn't that be interesting?"
I pursed my lips. "Perhaps..."
"Now where is that darn paper?..." he asked himself quietly, surveying the room with one sweeping gaze.
I quickly fixed my image as he rearranged a couple of the ordered books. "But, Dad... are there any children my age here? Like, do we have neighbors I can be friends with? Other fifteen year olds?"
"Of course we do, dearest," he assured, entranced with whatever he was sorting through at his desk. "I've heard that the majority of the students at the high school live in this suburb. If you meet anyone at school, they'll be almost always within walking distance."
"But I'm young," I explained hurriedly, feeling anxious. "I'm the age and appearance of a freshmen, yet I'll be a Junior. These people will be much bigger than me, much older. I had this problem back in New Mexico. How can I identify with them?"
"Maybe you'll find another smart student like yourself," Father suggested, though he didn't turn to face me. "Either way, you'll be sure to have allies in the warzone that is high school."
I grinned weakly. "Well, that's nice." The pressing fear in the back of my mind of continued isolation made my heart skip a beat nervously, tumbling in my chest.
My father paused to look over his shoulder, his blue eyes narrowed. "Are you legitimately worried that you won't have any friends?"
"Dad, I-"
"Isla Selvig, that is ridiculous!" he snapped, furrowing his brow. "I don't want to hear you speak like that again. You'll make tons of friends."
I examined his expression, gripping my sketchbook tightly. "Dad, have you not been listening to anything I've been saying?" I asked, exasperated. "You've completely blanked on my concerns until now?"
He tightened his lips, averting his gaze to his desk as he sighed. "Just remember to be confident, an you- ahh, there it is!"
"Hmm?" I frowned in confusion.
"Found it! Crisis averted!" he chirped, turning back while holding up a packet, smiling brilliantly as if he had just won a gold medal.
I beamed back at him, but inwardly sighed. Did no one in my family have time for me?
My alarm clock blared, squeaking and crying out that the time clearly stated to get up. I groaned, rolling over lethargically and planted my palm solidly over the top, silencing the beast. I leaned my head back, placing an absent forearm over my eyes, breathing inwardly as I struggled to think of why I had been summoned at seven o'clock in the morning to planet earth.
And then I remembered.
Today was my first day of school.
The idea should've hardly seemed daunting. I'd been going to school for nearly half a semester before I was pulled out for our move. School was a breeze, I found none of it difficult to surpass. I was intelligent enough, but the suggestion felt...frightening.
I swallowed through a sore, clogged throat and anxiously got up, feeling increasingly awake as I fumbled about my room, searching with outstretched hands for the light-switch. Once I found it, I hesitated over the pile of clothes Mother had helped lay out for me the night before, assuring me that I would look pleasing and would be dressed warmly enough for the wintry climate ahead. Skinny jeans, boots, a thick jacket over a tight, skin-fitting blue shirt. I slipped into the outfit, adjusting myself in the mirror before taming my wild hair, brushing it up into a pony-tail, the curls of my russet tresses loosely hanging down my shoulder blades.
Sighing, I measured myself in the mirror. I wasn't particularly tall, with a slender frame, almost too slender if it weren't for my body's pathetic attempt at curves. Tanned from the New Mexico weather with rouge cheeks and violent, dark blue eyes. Heart shaped-face, high cheekbones, and a defined jawline. I was hardly worth noticing- the only thing ethereal being my eyes, almost the sable color of the deep sea, a shade stolen from sapphire.
I briefly reached up and brushed my cheek, biting my lip, watching the light from my window and ceiling fan dance across the planes of my face, wondering if anything about me at all was worth noticing.
I silently prayed that this day wouldn't be one to regret.
Snatching my sketchbook and pushing the essentials into my backpack, I fetched my loose beanie and headed out, glimpsing Andrew's empty room to reassure myself. It was as planned: Andrew would walk me to my bus-stop today. I bounded down the staircase, going passed my father's homely lab to dash into the kitchen. Mother strode about in her bathrobe, her hair tousled and strangled into curlers, her face glowing when devoid of make-up. Andrew slumped at the table, immersed in the local newspaper while he gulped down coffee. Outside of the dining room windows, a fresh layer of snow had fallen, coating the frozen landscape in a case of ice. Father was absent- he'd probably already gone for work.
"Good morning!" my mother chirped, enthusiastically popping toast from the toaster and throwing it onto a plate, showering it all with eggs and bacon. Finally lathered high, she handed it gracefully to me with a flourish, expectant. "How was your sleep?"
"Good," I replied, finding a seat across from Andrew at the table. He heeded me no welcome or homely gesture, ignoring my presence while he continued to read. "I had a dream."
Her interest pricked, my mother quickly grabbed her own coffee and bumbled over to the table, wet hair fraying from her neat arrangements. "Oooh, oooh," she cooed. "Do tell!" She propped her chin upon her hands, her eyes wide like an eager puppy.
I grinned, forking a couple eggs and chewing, the ceramic plate clinking from the contact. "I was in a garden, that only I knew about. And, in the garden, there was a pond. I looked into the pond, but I couldn't see my own reflection. I saw nothing but the black water. Also, I couldn't touch anything... What do you think that means?"
She quickly leaned back, fanning herself as she tried to think. "Oooh, oooh, this is a good one... Um, er, Andrew! Andrew, snap out of it!" She tapped him on the shoulder, smacking him when he continued his act of quiet.
He bridled and glared at her. "What? What happened?"
"Wake up, silly, we have a dream to interpret!" she piped, grinning and nodding.
Andrew rolled his eyes. "Ugh, fine. What is it?"
"Pond in a secret garden. Can't see reflection in water, nor could Isla touch anything," Mother explained in a hurry. "Umm... ideas?"
"Sounds like Isla's worried about something," Andrew stated, sighing and returning his dim gaze to the newspaper. "She can't see the future and feels disconnected from the present."
Mother giggled, nudging him continuously while giving me a pointed look. "Wow, darling, look at your brother go! Isn't he genius? He's the height of wisdom!"
"You haven't set your height very high, then, have you Mom?" I pestered, grinning as she immediately reacted, feeling a need to defend her eldest child.
"Oh no, no, Isla! Your brother is a bright young man and is just fine with his ability to think, you know," she argued.
"Thanks mom," Andrew sighed mordantly. "I really needed you to defend me from Acorn."
Mother rolled her own blue eyes. "Oh, but it's a mother's duty to interfere! I don't know what I would do with myself, since you're searching for a job and Isla will be away at school again," she pouted.
"Mom, I don't know if you noticed, but it's really kind of sad when your exciting activity of the day is to break up our arguments," Andrew said, glancing at his watch. "Well, the time says that we have to get a move on. Ready to go, Acorn?"
I nodded, shoveling down the last slice of bacon and forcing a grin, my heart dancing in my chest. "Ready as I'll ever be."
"Great," he responded in a clipped tone, pushing his chair from the table and standing, walking with large strides towards the front door, the newspaper tucked underneath his arm. He filched his hat and zipped up his jacket, sneakers already laced to go.
I quickly dumped my plate in the sink, grabbing my backpack and trailing him to the direction of the door. Footsteps quickly patted behind me, a pair of long, endearing arms circling me and stopping me abruptly before the threshold. Andrew rolled his eyes and shook his head as Mother span me around, placing both hands on my upper arms and smiling sadly, leaning in to give me a kiss on the cheek as she said, "You'll do wonderfully. Be confident, because I know you love people, and these people will love you back. No fear, because your heart is here." She patted the region on my chest over my heart, the thing itself beating like a hammer against my ribs.
"Now," she continued. "Go get 'em, darling."
I grinned and gave her a quick hug. "Thanks, mom." Wheeling around, I headed out the door after Andrew, my older brother waiting for me in the driveway. The cold air bit into my skin as I joined him at his side, my cheeks and nose turning pink as I pulled on my fuzzy, new gloves. I wiggled my toes in my insulated boots, grinning, feeling energized and encouraged to face the day.
Andrew gave me a considering look as we began walking, the gray morning light shining down in rays through the clouds. The snow crunched beneath our feet, the sidewalk slightly slippery as he lead the way, myself walking in bursts of speed to match his pace. "So, Acorn, excited?" He didn't sound particularly interested in his rehearsed lines.
I gulped. "Well, I guess... More nervous than anything."
"Don't be," he injected, staring straight ahead as we began ascending the hill, the entire neighborhood eerily still as snowfall began to flutter from the sky. "You're the new girl, remember? People always think the new girl is cool. It's like any typical teenage novel beginning."
"Anything typical or not, I'm still nervous," I replied, glancing around to admire the frosty lawns.
Andrew sighed. "Acorn, you'll just have to get over it then."
I swallowed, pursing my lips. "Okay. I'll try."
"Now," he started, nodding in the direction of the top of the hill. "I've been given the duty of walking you to the bus-stop and picking you up until you gather your bearings. Apparently dad thinks I have nothing better to do with my time."
I giggled. "He's probably right."
Andrew gave me a snide, narrowed eye. "In any case, I might as well give you directions now."
"Sure, then," I agreed.
"It's at the top of the hill," he explained. "Walk to the top, and then take a left down Burnish Creek. Do you know what our own street is called?"
"Willowy Lane," I recited, feeling slightly indignant for paying attention to the maps.
"Good," he affirmed. "Anyway, take a left at the top of the hill and go down that street until you come to the intersection of Calm River and Burnish Creek. There, when you take a right at the stop sign, is where the bus will pick you up and drop you off in the mornings and evenings."
"Great..." I drawled, making a mental note to copy that into a list later during lunch.
"Do you have your schedule?" he pried. "Your lunch?"
I nodded, nudging my bag and patting my pocket. "I have both."
"And all your books? Your phone?"
I continued to nod. "Yes, I packed all of those last night."
He smiled down at me, flashing his pearly white teeth. "Good girl."
"What will you do while I'm at school?" I asked curiously.
He exhaled, shrugging. "Really, I'm supposed to be finding a job as a paramedic. Feels like it shouldn't be that hard, but I hate job hunting. I see procrastination in my future... But yes, job hunting, and working on this darn novel."
I smiled sweetly. "Oh. How's the 'darn' thing coming along, then?"
He wavered his hand like a scale. "So-so. I hate my main character with a passion and love my villain way too much. Not something ideal in a story."
"Sounds intriguing," I assured sportively. "When do I get to read it?"
"Never," he smirked.
I laughed as we rounded the corner at the top of our hill. "Wonderful!" I finally managed. "But why not?"
"I've made a vow that no family member of mine shall read anything I write while I'm still alive," he explained with a smug look. "It'll have to remain a secret to tempt you forever while I get it published under a pseudo-name and take all the money."
"Enjoy being a starving artist, then," I reassured, looking ahead to see some shapes come into view at a street-corner several houses down. I shyly shrank into Andrew's side, pursing my lips as I witnessed what I was sure was the bus-stop.
Behind a glaring red stop-sign stood a tall streetlight, underneath which where several different figures. My squinting stopped as we ventured closer, and I could make out a total of six people, standing solitarily in the snow, whispering snowflakes raining around them. Three hovered behind a couple who were horsing around, shoving and kicking each other, hearted laughter reaching my ears. The last figure stood alone by the stop-sign, faced away from the others, a pale face staring up the street, watching undoubtedly for the bus, almost unnoticed by his companions. Once we stopped at the opposite side of the street, pausing to watch for cars before Andrew tugged me across, I could make out the extent of the gaggle. Two blond males wrestled and grappled against each other, still laughing as they grabbed at each other's thick jackets, shoving and pushing and knocking heads like contesting bulls. Both males, young men but older than me by several years donned stubble, one with neat, teased hair and the other with wild, golden locks, both with wide smiles. The one with long hair was clearly taller and much bigger, broad shoulders thumping against his slimmer opponent like he was born to do so, wide blue eyes sparkling with the energy of the fight.
Watching them fight in the street from the curb were two more teenage boys, one thickly built with tightly curled, red hair and a beard next to a slim, darkened Asian boy with a brooding expression. Standing next to the Asian boy posed a black-haired, brown eyed girl with rivering midnight hair and a hard, focused expression to parallel the jovial one worn by the large, red-haired one.
"Get him, Tom!" shouted the red-haired boy to the taller, golden-haired boy. "Finley has needed his butt-kicking since his conception!"
Tom laughed victoriously as he managed to knock the smaller one, who I assumed to be Finley, to his back, standing over him and parading around like the winner of the Olympics. He leaned down with the largest grin and held out his hand. "And to that brother, I can say amen. I'll always be stronger than you."
"And bigger too!" Finley chuckled, accepting his open hand. Tom pulled him up as Finley clapped him on the shoulder. "You still growing, Tommy-boy?"
Tom held his chin back. "Grew four inches in the last month," he boasted, turning around to set his kind, proud gaze on my brother and I as we reached the curb. He raised both eyebrows and walked forward, greeting us with a nod and a curious smile. His followers quickly eyed us, Finley walking up behind Tom to study me intently.
"Well, hello there!" he smiled down at me, nodding towards my brother. "You two must be the new neighbors the suburbs have been gossiping about. My name is Tom, and this Finley, my cousin."
Andrew took both of their hands, shaking them courteously and forcing a smile. "Pleasure. I'm Andrew Selvig, and this is my sister, Isla."
I nervously held out my own hand for the taking, smiling earnestly and staring into their clear eyes. "Hi. I'm Isla."
Tom took my hand gently, but instead of shaking it, he lifted it to his lips and formally kissed it, pecking it softly and smiling down at me, his height extending above Andrew's, muscles tightening beneath his thin jacket. "The pleasure is mine to meet you, Isla."
I blushed furiously, biting my lip as I grinned dumbly. "Oh, well, I..."
Finley then stepped forward and repeated Tom's action with my hand, gripping it tightly. "Nice to meet you too, Miss Isla."
It took effort not to let my mouth gape in shock. Andrew suppressed laughter at my side, burying his mouth behind a hand.
"Don't let these boys and their formality catch you off-guard," a stubborn, accented voice warned, and the black-haired girl walked in behind Tom, giving him a sly smile before extending her own hand curtly and raising an eyebrow, her own two followers trailing to her side. "My name is Sofie, but you may call me Sif for short. And this is Vlad and Hayden."
The boys both waved at me, the red-haired one beaming with his rosy-red cheeks and thick eyebrows. "Brilliant," he pitched.
The Asian one only nodded, still emotionless as he said, "Pleasure."
"We're all cousins," Sif explained, gesturing back down the street. "We're staying with Tom for the rest of the school year until our parents come back. We live just down the road."
"So we'll be neighbors!" Finley smiled. "Make sure to pop by when you get a chance, will you?"
"I'll try," I assured, clasping my hands while Andrew kept silent.
"Which grade are you in, Isla?" Tom asked eagerly, eyes wide and hoping.
"I'm a junior," I answered. "What are you?"
Tom looked slightly disappointed as he responded, "We're all seniors."
Sif turned her darkened gaze to my brother, pulling the corner of her lips slightly. "And you, Andrew, which grade are you in?"
Andrew snapped back to reality and folded his arms across his chest. "I graduated last year. I'm really only just showing Isla to the bus-stop, but I'm glad to know I'll no longer be needed if she has neighbors to hang out with."
"She's welcome to our company anytime," Vlad consoled, smiling down at me. I smiled back, feeling heartened with their attitudes. These people where nice- I could enjoy sharing the stop with them, and maybe even a seat on the bus. Perhaps school wasn't such a bad thing after all.
"Well, I can't say that any of us will have a class with her," Finley lamented. "Horribly unfortunate how the grades scarcely mingle these days. We'll just have to see each other on the bus and during lunch, then!"
"That sounds good enough to me!" I comforted. "I can find other people to talk to during class. Well, that is, if I can talk during class."
Tom laughed, clutching his belly. "Not if you have Mrs. Spencer, the old hag!"
Sif studied me closely, narrowing her eyes in a pondering expression. "You don't look like you're a junior," she stated. "You look like a freshmen."
"Technically, she's supposed to be," Andrew cut-in, shoving me playfully. "She skipped two grades and now she's ahead. She turns sixteen in January."
Sif nodded, appearing impressed as she crossed her arms. "Interesting."
Wheels and brakes groaned from around the street-bend, a yellow school bus appearing as it rolled down the small hill, roaring to a halt before our small little gathering. Andrew gave me a small pat on the shoulder, nodding down to me as Tom strode to my side and took my hand confidently. "This is our ride," he grinned, squeezing my hand and entwining his fingers with my own.
I looked over my shoulder, waving to Andrew as Tom pulled me with the rest of his crew to the waiting, mechanical doors. I stumbled up the gridded steps, Tom leading me around the first row of seats as he pulled me to the back. Students sleepily relaxed in their own places, groggy and unwilling to go back to school on their unforgiving Monday. Finley walked proudly behind me, followed by a loyal Vlad, stiff Hayden, and then an elegant Sif. Tom sat me down in the seat across the aisle from his as Finley took the window spot to his own. Vlad and Hogun sat with Sif in the final row, Sif looking out the window. I looked out the window to glimpse Andrew one last time, my older brother waving affectionately and ceasing as the bus kicked into gear, jolting forward and grunting around the corner, old and squeaky.
Tom patted his knees and grinned over at me. "So, Isla," he began. "Where did you move from?"
"New Mexico," I answered, enjoying the introduction game I had begun to play with him, feeling eased with his enlightened tone and lax smile.
"And, why did you move to the city in Connecticut?" he pressed, giggling along with me blithely. Finley listened in from Tom's side while Vlad and Hayden carried their own quiet conversation behind me.
"My father was transferred to the University here to continue his research and my mother thought we needed a change of scene," I explained, grinning and glancing outside. "From desert to snow is definitely a new setting to grow in."
Tom laughed. "I'd imagine so. How are you liking it so far?"
I shrugged. "A lot better, I guess, now that I have met new people," I admitted. "Hiding out in my new room was starting to get lonely."
"Hey, make sure to come and visit anytime!" Tom insisted. "Also, remind me to show you around during lunch, okay? I make an excellent tour guide!"
Sif rolled her eyes as I cracked up. "Oh, Tom, I still have to show you to the bathroom at times! Besides, how can you lead the poor girl around when you forgot completely about your Algebra homework?"
Tom's face blanked, blinking as he turned and looked at her dumbly. "I had Algebra homework?"
Sif facepalmed. "Yes, dummy, you did."
Tom immediately panicked, grabbing his backpack from between his knees and digging through the main sleeve, shuffling until he pulled out a messy and beat-up old binder with Algebra scribbled across the top, paling as he flipped open the front cover. He cursed, throwing a God-I-Hate-You look at Sif as she turned red with laughter.
I grinned and left him with Finley to struggle over the paper, scratching away at it with a pencil. I turned back to face the front of the bus, sighing and settling back until I realized that I wasn't alone on my seat. I started and looked to my neighbor, the black-haired boy who had been secluded from the group, alone at the stop-sign. He was staring out the window, rigid and entranced, not heeding me any attention. I tried to see his face, but couldn't catch even a reflection in the glass of the window. His trench-coat collar was pulled up around his neck, his pale skin glistening, gloved hands folded in his lap, his satchel placed at his feet. Headphones were placed gently in his ears, the white cord leading down into his pocket. I pursed my lips, but didn't say anything. Whoever this was clearly had no intention of interacting with me.
I sighed, turning back to Tom, who was debating with Finley, his apparent tutor, on how to solve this equation and why none of it made any sense. "I don't understand!" Tom protested. "Why do you have to do it to both sides?"
"Because then it wouldn't be an equation, genius!" Finley snapped. "It'd be a freaking expression!"
I grinned at their argument. Seemed like these two couldn't last a minute without being at each other's throats in some form or another. "What's happening?"
"According to Tom, none of this makes any sense, and it hasn't been for the last three years we've tried to hand him Algebra," Sif explained, keeping her eyes pinned on her own book. "I swear, it's a miracle he's graduating at all."
Conscious of the passenger sitting next to me, I shifted and smiled. "Well, maybe I can help."
Tom flitted his attention to me. "Would you?" His blue eyes pleaded with mine.
"Yes, please!" Finley begged. "I can't teach him crap!"
"Well then," I smiled, leaning forward. "I guess I'll have a look."