I straighten my red locks, the impossible waviness and frizz finally tamed with heat. Then I lean into the mirror, swiping eyeliner over both eyes. Archie knocks on the door of the bathroom calling "5 minutes!". Then I pull on my compass pendant and exit the bathroom.
Dr. Hopper gives me a once over as I come downstairs, grabbing a piece of toast, and decides not to say anything, as it is a battle he'll definitely lose.
Archie is my uncle, but I've lived with him for a while. When my mom tried to raise me but couldn't pull funds to send me to school, she shipped me off to Archie. Or that's what he says. I can't really remember anything before Storybrooke. My dad was Scottish, which is why I am, but neither my mom nor Archie is. My accent game is strong.
Archie tries to counsel me a lot. He's always offering free sessions, new coping methods, and plenty of pills. But I've done my time swimming in a pool of antidepressants and I'm done.
"Do you need a ride to school?" Archie asks.
"No, it's fine Uncle. I'll walk. If you don't head off soon, you'll miss your 8:00 session." He smiles in understanding then leans forward to stare into my eyes.
"Don't do anything stupid. Whenever you're tempted, just imagine me telling you the right thing to do. Ok?"
I nod. "Yes sir."
"Then get going, or I won't be the only one who's late!" I give Pongo a scratch behind the ears then head out the door, slinging my backpack over my shoulder.
I've never had an affinity for school. It's boring and we only learn about things that have already happened, and how to speak properly, and how to find maximums and minimums, and why most bacteria can't survive underwater. It's not that I claim to know all these things, believe me, I don't; they just take up a lot of time and effort that would be better spent elsewhere.
So it's really not surprising to me when I dose off in history to the lull of the teacher's voice.
A tall, thin boy dances around a fire. He spins and leaps and twists. It would be beautiful if not for the stretched grimace he wears on his face. The fire blazes up, casting smoke everywhere, and the dream smoke billowed into my eyes, choking my lungs, filling my nose with the smell of burned hair.
I step over the burning bear carcass and lift my head to the sky, smiling at the stars that kiss my cheeks with their light. It's not a pretty smile, it's demonic, possessive and a little eerie. The blood from my split lip has dripped down my chin, making the grotesque smile all the creepier. The firelight and the starlight combine and my silvery hair begins to glow. When I look again, the tangled mess has turned bright red. Excellent.
After school, I go over to this park. I discovered it a few days ago, and there's this castle for kids to play on. I can sit in the stillness and review the day, where the teacher yelled at me for falling asleep and threatened to call Archie. I think it's quaint here. Of course, I don't think anyone ever comes here.
A movement next to me on the bench makes me turn my head. Henry Mills stares pleasantly back at me, a small smile playing on his lips. I sit corrected.
"Hey Henry," I say wearily, not really in the mood for games.
"You know my name?" He asks, sounding shocked.
"Of course. It's a tiny town. It doesn't really help that your mom is the mayor." He looks shocked.
"Well, we should be formally introduced. I'm Henry Mills, and you are?"
"Fallon. Fallon Hopper. Pleasure to meet you."
"Likewise. Do you come here a lot?"
"Depends on my mood. Sometimes I'll come here when I feel really down." He nods.
"Me too." There's a pause. "That's a really pretty necklace." He gestures to the compass I wear around my neck at all times. "Where did you get it?"
"Ummm...," I don't usually talk about it. It takes me a second to even think of where I got it, "I think a friend gave it to me. It's pretty personal, I don't like to talk about it much."
"Oh, ok," Henry responds. He sounds ashamed, so I give him a pat on the back.
"Hey it's okay kiddo. You didn't know. But I do have to run. Don't stay for too long, okay?"
Henry nods, so I kick my skateboard down and make my way back home
~ Later that Night
Henry opened his story book to a thin girl with pale white, curly hair sitting in a forest, letting a horse graze.
He turned the page and read on. The next illustration was the same girl, with shockingly red hair, holding a necklace with a compass in one hand, and another hand in her other. The forest she was in then seemed different, wilder, thicker. It seemed to make her new, insane hair stand out even further. Henry shut the book with a proud exclamation.
"I knew it!"