Ice blue had to be my favorite color in the universe. I smiled as I wiggled my fingers in the air, letting the fresh nail polish dry. I blew lightly on them, impatient to get ready for today. It was important that I not waste any time with drying nails. Because today was the day. I could feel it in my bones.
It was roughly a week after Thanksgiving. And I knew, as soon as I woke up this morning, that it would freeze today. It wasn't because my toes were cold, or that I had to throw on a sweatshirt as soon as I got out of bed. Wasn't that I turned on the heater, or that I only let out Max for a few before he was scratching on the door, whining about the cold. I just knew.
I swirled my desk chair around, absent mindedly blowing on my finger nails. I stared at the wall, which was covered in papers. They were pinned and stapled over each other, hardly a speck of the blue wall showing through. Ice blue wall covered with ice blue drawings of a boy with ice blue eyes. I grinned to myself, reaching out to shuffle through the papers littering my desk. If I was right, I think my sketch pad was under here. And if I was right in assuming that it would be freezing today, then I'd need it. I plucked it from underneath the mass of papers, slipping it carefully into my backpack. I walked to my dresser, pulling on a pair of jeans and a turtle neck, before pulling my jacket from my closet. It had been my sixteenth birthday present from my mom. That was over a year ago, before my mom had her first stroke, and everything changed. I grabbed the backpack and jacket, and left my room.
I went downstairs, popping toast in the toaster for me, and some instant oatmeal in the microwave for my mom. I sliced up a few strawberries, putting them in a tiny bowl. This is what she ate almost every day for breakfast, since it was easy to make, and because the doctor said it would help lower her cholesterol. I put it all carefully onto a tray, before walking down the hall to my mom's room.
After the stroke, we had moved her bedroom from the upstairs to the downstairs, since it was easier to care for her if she didn't have to climb stairs. I gently pushed open the door, not bothering to knock. I set the tray on her bedside table, before nudging my mom awake. It took a few insistent tries, but eventually she sat up and accepted her tray.
"There you go mom." She leaned forward, used to the routine, as I fluffed her pillows, then sat back. I pulled an extra blanket out of the closet, covering her up.
"It's going to freeze tonight." My mother noted, glancing out the window. She dug into her breakfast without another word.
"Yes ma'am. A good ice is just what we need, don't you think?"
"You always did love winter weather. Personally, it just makes me cold. And tired." She snuggled deeper into her pillows. "Nope. Best I just stay in bed today."
"Well, remember you need to walk around a bit. Don't want to mess with the blood flow. And Mr. Webber is coming down to check our roof and heater. Says it's about time we let him. He's worried the roof will cave in, or that the house will freeze before that happens. So make sure you open the door for him. He should be here early, so you can just let him in and then take your nap." I kissed my mom on the forehead, and then left the room to get to school.
I grabbed my stuff from in front of the door, but my mind was preoccupied with thoughts of my mom. She'd changed so drastically in the last year. She'd had her stroke, which the doctors had claimed was a mix of high cholesterol and smoking. My mom hadn't smoked in years, but when she was a teenager through the time my dad met her, she'd had several cigarettes a day. Apparently, it wreaked havoc on her body, because she'd landed in the hospital last April.
I can still remember getting called to the principle in the middle of the day, being told that my mom had been taken to the hospital. It had scared me so badly. My mom had to stay at the hospital for a few nights, while they made sure she was alright, so my aunt Karen from Colorado had flown up and watched me at home, since the hospital wasn't a place for a sixteen year old to sleep. I had wanted to stay with my mom, my best friend, but had gone home because of Karen's insisting. Those few nights were the worst of my life.
Thankfully, my mom had recovered enough to be allowed to come home, but she hadn't ever been the same. Her body was weaker, she was more likely to get sick, and we had to watch her cholesterol like hawks. But we made it work, and she was still my best friend.
Well, besides Jack.
Jack Frost was my own little miracle. My little piece of magic that only I could see. Even thinking of him made a stupid little grin show up on my face. He was the best friend I would ever have, and each year I waited desperately for winter to come back and bring along the only guy I really liked.
I didn't like him in that way, of course. He was my big brother, the guy who'd teach me how to skate, and then hover over me, waiting for me to fall. Which happened more often then I cared to admit it. I might be perfectly capable when my two feet were on the ground, but put me on ice and I was sitting more often than I was skating. So it really helped that my guardian angel, which I called him to get under his skin, was the personification of winter.
I clutched my coat tightly to me as a burst of cold wind blew my hair around. I watched the kids in front of me snatch at their hats and scarves, trying to keep them firmly on their person. I grinned despite myself.
I was used to being behind my classmates. Walking to school, in the cafeteria, and even in classes. I tended to be an observer, preferring to watch them work through their dramas than actually being a part of it. They were like my personal show, my models for my drawings, though most of them couldn't tell you my name if you asked. Even though they'd known me since preschool.
I chalked it up to my being exceptionally average. Average height, average weight, and average grades. I was all bland tones, brown hair, brown eyes, and tan skin. I didn't do anything after school, or during school for that matter. I went, I learned, and then I left as quickly as I could.
The only time I'd ever even shown up on their radar was when my mom got sick, and then their moms had brought me enough food to keep me fed for three weeks.
I listened as the group of students in front of me, fellow seniors, I thought, complained about the cold weather. The guys seemed irritated, since it seemed like it messed with their scrimmage plans after school. The girls just agreed with the guys, because they didn't care either way, so why shouldn't they agree?
Like most of the time, I felt like an outsider. I imagined what I would say if I were talking to them. How I would explain my love of winter. How beautiful it was, and crisp, and clear. How the happiest moments of my life were spent sitting under icicles and falling snow. How the rest of my life seemed to just be on pause all year long, obsessively drawing a guy, trying to convince myself he really existed, and that he would not leave me here, alone. Forever.
Of course you couldn't tell them that, I chided myself. Not without telling them about Jack, and how you're the only one who can see him, and then you'd wind up in a mental institution.
There were days when knowing I had Jack somewhere was the only thing that got me through, but sometimes it was lonely to think I was the only mortal able to see him. I had always thought I was a little weird, but Jack just proved it. That sounded harsh, but I really did love him, even if it could possibly mean I was off my rocker.
I did honestly spend several hours over the past years considering how likely it was that I was in a coma somewhere imagining everything that had happened since Jack's appearance when I was eleven. These thoughts usually ended with me pinching myself several times in a row.
But days like this pushed all of those depressing thoughts to the deepest parts of my mind, where they couldn't bring my mood down, even the tiniest bit. Days where I knew I wouldn't be going much longer without a friend. I just had to make it through today.
I made it to the school a few minutes later, meaning I was still early for class. It had only taken fifteen minutes to make the normal twenty minute walk to school. I looked around nervously, watching everyone talk to each other, lounging around on the picnic tables outside of the school building. I ducked my head, deciding to go sit in my first period class and wait until the bells rung.
My high school worked on an AB block schedule, with four, hour and a half classes per day. Today, thankfully, was my B day, which was my personal favorite. It was also easier than A day, which had my English, science, and math classes. But today was my fun day. French, History, Art, and off period. In that order.
French was thankfully over in no time, since it might be easy but it wasn't particularly distracting, which meant I wasn't having an easy time focusing. We were reviewing over –er word conjugating, which we had all learned in our first year of French. It was some review because we had a substitute teacher.
I walked quickly to my level four art class, and dropped my books off next to my table. There were only three other people in my class, since most people only took the required one year of art. These people would probably be the closest thing I had to actual friends, which sounds sad, but I don't tend to care too much. We were all pretty quiet and reserved, politely putting up with each other.
Jimmy, who was our sculptor, offered me a small smile as he walked in, which I returned kindly. He immediately went towards the back of the room, where his current masterpiece was being worked on.
I liked to believe that Jimmy and I were friends. I sat with him at lunch, since neither of us really liked to associate with other people if we could help it. He had been my first boyfriend in sophomore year, but after three months of dating, we both agreed we liked to be friends more. Sounds cliche, but at least it actually worked out well. By then, everyone was used to us keeping to ourselves, so we just kept at it.
There had been some awkwardness between us, but thankfully Jimmy had shrugged it off with his usual easy smile.
Soon after Jimmy arrived, two other girls entered, quietly talking to each other. They both nodded in my general direction, before separating to go to their own work places.
I sighed, and then went to get my canvas from the back. I was very proud of my work, but it still needed a few finishing details if I wanted it to be ready for competition, which is where most of my art would be heading when spring came around. This particular piece was darker then my others, but like my others, was based off of one of the many dreams I'd had since Jack had left last time.
It had been a nightmare, really. I had quite a few of those after the last time he had left, which was then closely followed by my mom landing in the hospital. My life had changed drastically, and my subconscious was in turmoil, sending me horrible nightmares that would leave me sweating and shaking, scared to step out of my bed. The dream that had inspired me to come to school and paint this had been awful.
I had been standing on ice, expectantly waiting for Frost to come and help me. But of Frost's helping hand, I had been confronted by a tall dark figure, who had reached out and broken the ice, in some weird dreamy way. I had screamed silently, falling into the pond, but Jack had appeared and grabbed me before I went under, throwing me behind him. But the momentum had sent him stumbling through the ice. I hadn't been able to save him, no matter how I had tried.
The painting showed a boy sinking beneath the ice, his white hair flowing around his head. A desperate girl was sitting on top of the ice, hand outreached to try and grab him, but the boy was already too deep to be saved. My teacher had commented on how my paintings had gotten increasing sad and dark throughout the last year, but how was I to help it? I had been through a lot since junior year.
I stayed focused on my task, painting and mixing and painting some more. I was busy until right before the bell, which was when I cleaned up after myself and dumped the paper plates I had used for my palettes. Once the bell rung, I left the room before I had to keep up a conversation with one of the other students.
And thus my day continued.
I went to class, faithfully took notes, and dodged other people at all cost. And I prayed that it would freeze. Just a normal day in the life of Bekah.
I did seem to learn the most surprising things when I was quiet, though. It's like half the time, I was as invisible as Jack, and the other half of the time no one cared if I heard. Both pleased me enough, since being ignored was my favorite thing about this school. While some of my classmates were as boring as you would expect them to be, there was always some drama that someone thought would ruin their life. Melodramatic underclassmen.
The dismissal bell finally rang, at least for me. For most people, they'd still have one more period to go. I had considered picking up another language this year, thinking Spanish might look nice on a college resume, but had decided against it in favor of getting out of class early. The less time I had to spend with these people, the better. I was too socially awkward to enjoy talking to other people.
I walked home slowly, enjoying the feel of coldness seeping through my jacket every time the wind blew. Without all the other noisy kids walking with me, I enjoyed this time to myself. As an artist, I knew that experiencing things by myself was better, since there weren't any distractions.
I kicked at the leaves piled around the sidewalk. I watched as the cars whizzed past. I had never owned my own car, though I had taken drivers-ed and gotten my license. I was supposed to have gotten a used one, but had never found a reason to go through with that. I borrowed the old clunker from the garage if I had to, but otherwise found that I could walk where I needed to. I paid for gas with the money I had earned over the previous summer, but since I didn't use it except for emergencies and grocery shopping, I hardly ever had to get more gas. The grocery store wasn't that far away anyway.
I shivered as a particularly strong gust of wind blew the leaves around my feet around. I sped up, looking forward to a cup of hot chocolate when I got home.
I sat down carefully at my desk, placing the mug on a side table so as not to risk ruining any of my doodles. I made sure to knock out an hour of homework, even though I doubted it would be necessary. I tried not to get distracted, but it was difficult. Eventually, I gave up, and grabbed one of the worn out books from my bookshelf. I took the almost empty mug downstairs and placed it in the kitchen sink. Then I tip-toed towards my mom's room.
I opened the door, peeking around the edge to look into the room. My mom was in her bed, eyes closed. Assuming she was napping, I made to close the door. Before I could, however, my mom jerked awake, her bleary eyes looking at me.
"I'm so sorry, mom. I didn't mean to wake you up!"
"Nonsense, I've been waiting for you to get home." She yawned and patted the bed, indicating that I should come sit. I grinned, walking across the room and getting under the covers. I leaned against the headboard, and told my mom about my day.
I wasn't usually a liar. In fact, I didn't even consider what I was saying to be lies. They just weren't technically all of the truth. I liked to refer to my stories as "The Better Life of Bekah." It was my life, but sweetened. Sugar coated. There was no reason for my mom to work herself up for my benefit. Especially since she was already stretched thin as it was. And my mom had always wanted me to be the happy teenager with friends and hopes and dreams.
I had hopes and dreams. Just not the ones she wanted for me. And I had acquaintances. Which were almost practically friends.
When we were through talking about my day, I held up the book I'd brought. My mother's smile widened as she understood what I meant by it, and she snuggled under the covers. I opened the worn out poetry book, flipping to my mother's favorites first.
We did this as often as we could. My mother found that when I read aloud, she could relax. Of course, sometimes I was too busy with homework and dinner, but I tried to be quick. Reading to my mom was one of my favorite things to do with her. She had always loved it, but reading by herself made her eyes and head hurt. I gladly performed this small task for her, enjoying how happy it made my mom. I read until I noticed she had dozed off, and then I crept out of her room, careful to not wake her up.
I walked towards the kitchen, glancing out one of the front windows to check on the weather. The clouds from earlier and had grown thicker and darker, heavy with rain. Or hopefully, heavy with snow. The thermometer that was electrically connected outside read that it had to drop a few more degrees, but now that it was getting dark, it should drop fast. I hummed contentedly as I made my way to the fridge.
I pulled out some left over turkey, and after careful inspection I heated it up in the microwave. I ate by myself, since my mom was sleeping and I didn't want to disturb her. I got halfway through my plate, and then I simply stared at it, pushed it around. My appetite was replaced by an impatient want for something to happen. I was bored, and I refused to eat if boredom might be the only reason I was doing it. I grabbed my plate and dumped it into the sink. I turned on the water until it was scorching, then preceded to scrub the plate until there wasn't a speck of food left. I stood in front of the sink a moment, tapping my foot. I felt like the nervous energy I had right now would drive me insane if I didn't do something. Now.
I ran upstairs, picking my backpack off the floor. I took out my sketch pad, and flipped to the first page that was blank. I was running low on empty pages. I pulled a stool from my closet out to my balcony, and then I sat in the cold, expertly sketching the land in front of me.
There really wasn't much, just an empty yard surrounded by trees on three sides and my house on the other. But that blank area gave me plenty of space to put a creative spin on it. In this case, I had drawn some strange castle, making the trees look like giant sycamores. It was all angles and craziness. I sighed, ripping out the paper, crumpling it up, and throwing it behind me.
Then, I noticed a tiny fleck float past my head. My eyes snapped up. I watched a snowflake fall, and then another. My small smile grew, until I was practically beaming as the sky. I ran back inside, and threw my sketch pad onto the bed as I skidded through. Stupid hardwood floor and socks.
I flew down the stairs, not bothering with shoes or a jacket as I opened the front door and ran outside. The snow was still barely falling, but I was looking for it, so it didn't escape my notice. I sat on the porch's steps, my elbows on my knees. And I waited.
The snow began to fall faster, with bigger flakes. I knew it meant Jack was getting closer, probably skating on his own ice, or flying on a chilly wind. I shivered, wishing I'd brought my jacket. Now there wasn't a chance to go and get it, I couldn't if it meant I might miss Jack's arrival. I just wish he would hurry, I couldn't stand to wait much longer.
A/N: Obviously, I don't own Jack Frost, but I do own all my random OC's!
I really meant to make chapters longer, but since this was just a chapter to introduce ya'll to Bekah, I didn't want to overload with useless crap (though I probably did anyway, many apologies). Jack comes next chapter (insert fan girl squeal). Any glaring mistakes? I'd be glad for the heads up.
