Melinda's POV

A small town's high school in Canada, June 14th 1997

6th period

Melinda hated social studies, for the simple reason that, as hard as she tried, she could not find a purpose behind studying things that had happened centuries ago. After all, it was too late to change them, wasn't it?

She sat at her desk at the back of the classroom, chewing on her pen as she waited for Mrs Neyers to hand out the test sheets. It was weird, knowing that she would ace the test before even looking it. But she'd worked hard last night, studying until a late hour and knew every single fact on the Civil War by heart now. As her teacher put a sheet of paper on her desk, Melinda tucked her too long hair behind her ears and bent down, leaning on one elbow, planning on finishing this useless thing before anyone else so she would be able to watch the rest of the class struggle as she tried to balance her pencil on her ruler.

Give the dates of the American Civil War.

1861-1865

Who led the Confederacy?

Jefferson Davis.

What was the Union?

Melinda's pen seemed to dance on her sheet as the answers came quickly and without effort to her. She was already halfway through the test and only fifteen minutes had gone by when someone knocked on the classroom door. She didn't even raise her head, knowing that it would probably be someone from the office coming to give Mrs Neyers some paperwork or something.

"Melinda Stringer."

Startled, Melinda looked up to see the entire class staring at her. Crap. It was probably the second or third time that they'd had to say her name, she'd been so immerged in her test. Hesitantly, she turned her stare on the person who'd just knocked and was surprised to see the principal there.

"Yes?" she answered hesitantly, wondering what in the world she could possibly have done for the principal himself to come pull her out of class. Had she broken any rule? Had she won an award or something? The latter seemed a better prospect, but seeing as the principal wasn't smiling at all, and considering the fact that she hadn't participated in anything award-winning, it seemed a bit farfetched. But what could she have done wrong? She was always in class on time, she wasn't hiding illegal substances in her locker and, being faithful to her nerd-label, her cellphone wasn't even on when she was standing on school premises.

"Come with me." The principal said, beckoning her forward with his hand. She stood up slowly, surprised to find herself a bit weak in the knees.

"Take your things." Oh crap. That was bad; taking her backpack meant that she wouldn't be returning to class today and it offered two possibilities; she would either be kicked out of school or handed over to the police (the latter had happened a few years ago when this guy named Rogerson had been caught trying to rape a girl in the bathrooms). Yes, the fact that she had to take her things was a rather scary prospect. As she walked silently alongside the principal towards the office, Melinda continued trying to find whatever the hell she'd done to deserve such an escort; it was pretty hard, seeing as she'd done nothing wrong for over two years now! Yes, she'd been kind of wild before that, getting caught trying to climb on the school's rooftop because of some stupid dare that she'd made with Carry and trying to break into the principal's office because of yet another dare made with Vincent this time. Had she mentioned that she never backed down from a dare? But she'd been punished for all those things already, and then Jon had left and she had adopted that "perfect attitude" which meant that she had been laying low for two years. What, had the academy suddenly decided that her previous punishments had not been severe enough and had wanted to correct that authority-lapse immediately?

They finally reached the office and the principal opened the door to his study, gesturing to one of the two seats facing the desk. The other seat was already occupied by – and Melinda's heart seemed to skip a beat – a policeman. She sat down on the only vacant chair, trying to control the trembling of her hands by pressing them together. Because the policeman didn't look like he was here to punish anyone; he looked deeply uncomfortable, so uncomfortable that Melinda's suspicions concerning possible punishments disappeared from her mind. This wasn't something like trying to break into one's office. This was serious, much more serious. The principal cleared his throat.

"Melinda, this is officer McGillan."

The officer finally met her eyes and started to speak in a very soft voice:

"Miss Stringer, there's been an accident. I sincerely regret to inform you that your parents were found dead in your house about an hour ago." He paused, probably to make sure that she wasn't about to faint. Melinda didn't feel like she was about to faint. She felt numb. Extremely numb. The officer started to speak again. She only heard him dimly through the ringing of her ears;

"It doesn't look like they've been murdered; there aren't any sign of injuries on their bodies. However, we will be undergoing tests to make sure of that."

He continued to speak for a while longer, going on about technicalities, but Melinda wasn't listening anymore. She was staring at the principal's desk, wondering what he did all day long in this office. There weren't any picture frames on the wooden surface; did he not have a family, kids, and pictures of them at the beach, in front of a house in the country to put here, to stare at during his lunch break, or maybe he didn't spend his lunch break in his study, maybe he went to the Starbucks at the end of the street where every high school student went to eat at noon, or maybe he went home to eat with his wife, but was he even married, he must be he looked old enough to be married… On and on it went, she could feel her mind spinning, trying to think about things, anything but the fact that she could now be considered an orphan… She was startled when officer Mc-something stood up and patted her on the head softly, telling her again that he was sorry, before leaving her in the office with the principal.

"Melinda", the latter said softly as though a loud noise could snap her into two, "I went through your file. You have one older brother, Jonathan, who's twenty-five, is that correct?"

She just looked at him numbly.

"Melinda", he said again, "I need to contact Jonathan so that he can come get you. You're not eighteen yet and I can't let you leave without an adult supervisor. Do you have his phone number?"

She shook her head from side to side, trying to clear it. Jonathan. Jonathan was gone. He couldn't come get her and he wouldn't even come if he knew what had happened. Jonathan was gone.

"No." she heard herself answer, and was surprised by how unlike herself she sounded. "I don't know."

"Alright." The principal said gently, as though contradicting or pushing an orphan to answer a question was not something to be done. She could probably ask him anything and he'd give it to her, no questions asked. The thought made her feel weirdly giddy. Jonathan would have seized the opportunity, she thought, and for once his name did not hurt. He would probably have asked for the principal to give him his underwear or something along those lines; a small hysterical giggle crossed her lips as she imagined the scene. She focused her eyes back on the principal, who was watching her with a worried expression. Relax Max, she wanted to tell him, but that was probably out of line.

"Melinda" he started again, and she wondered why he kept using her name at the beginning of his sentences. Did he think she might forget her own name or something? She grinned crazily again, barely hearing the rest of his sentence: "I am going to call one of your mother's friends to come and get you. It says here that, in case of an emergency and if your parents are unavailable"-Melinda grimaced at the word-"I should be able to call Mrs Thorn." He raised his eyes towards her again and she tried to focus her numb brain on the question that would inevitably follow. "Do you want Mrs Thorn to come get you?"

Mrs Thorn. An image came to her, an old and round woman with bleached blond hair who always came to drink tea with her mother of Saturday mornings and who loved to gossip. "Come here, Melly my girl", she would say, gesturing for her to come closer, "you will not believe what your friend Steve did yesterday when his father took him to the dentist!" She'd always bring her home-baked chocolate chip cookies with her for Mel to keep. Mrs Thorn. She liked Mrs Thorn.

"Yes." She finally answered and the principal rose from his chair to go and call her. "I want Mrs Thorn." What she really wanted, even if she wouldn't have admitted it for all the gold in the world, was Jonathan here with her, his arms around her, his cheek resting on top of her head, his hand playing with one of her dark curls. What would Jonathan say, Melinda wondered numbly, and felt her throat close up. He would speak in a soothing, gentle voice, he always did when she was upset, like that time when she'd broken her thumb when punching a boy in the face because he'd touched her butt. It had hurt a lot and Jonathan had driven her to the hospital, all the while holding her uninjured hand and promising that he wouldn't tell their parents that she had gotten into a fight. She'd cried, although she almost never cried. "It's okay, Jelly," Jonathan had said, "keep your thumb out of your fist next time."

But that hardly applied to this situation, Melinda thought as she felt her lower lip tremble, but still no tears came. If he were here, what would Jonathan say? And when she closed her eyes, she could easily imagine the scene, her brother sitting in the chair beside her own, his hand holding hers, listening intently to what the officer was saying. He would take control of the situation like he always did, he would make all of the arrangements, he would know what to do. And all the while his voice wouldn't tremble once, his hand would never leave hers, because Jonathan had always been strong for her, putting all of the responsibilities on his shoulders so she wouldn't have to take care of anything, protecting her in that annoying but adorable way of his. She raised her hands to her face, covering her eyes in anguish, because suddenly the light seemed too bright, hurting her eyes. God, she wanted him. She didn't know how to do it by herself. Her parents were gone and she had never felt so alone in her entire life.