I was only walking through your neighborhood.

Saw your light on, honey, in the cold I stood.

Anywhere I go, there you are.

Anywhere I go, there you are.

- "The Fire and the Flood" by Vance Joy

Katara

When I go inside, I can hear Dad in the kitchen. He's got the radio on, and John Mellencamp is playing. His gravelly voice is singing along to Ain't Even Done with the Night. I haven't heard him singing in a long while.

I move quietly through the living room, soaking up the sound. I close my eyes, and I can picture how it was before: him and Mom slow-dancing in the kitchen while they cook dinner, stolen kisses and loving looks.

Without Mom here, this house feels so empty.

I lean against the doorframe. Dad is at the counter, slicing into a loaf of French bread. I can smell the acidic tang of tomato sauce and I know that he's made spaghetti. My dad is no gourmet chef, but his cooking tastes like home.

"I'm back," I say, and he turns around with a smile.

"Hey, snow pea. Did you have fun painting with Zuko?"

So, he's on a first-name basis already, I think with a wry smile. He had referred to Jet as your boyfriend until we had been together for a year.

"Yeah, it was great." I move into the kitchen and snag the heel of the bread off of the cutting board.

Dad bats my hand away. "Not until dinner, young lady!"

"Aw, come on." I take a bite and grin.

Dad can't help but smile at me. "Well, it's almost done anyway. Help me set the table."

I set the bread down and grab plates and silverware from the cupboard and drawer and set two spots at the table. I grab the bag of salad and the dressing out of the fridge and Dad pours himself a glass of wine. After a moment's pause, he pours one for me too.

"You only get one glass," he tells me, using his very serious I'm-your-father-and-I-mean -it voice.

"Okay."

He brings them over to the table and we sit down. We load our plates and start to eat, the only sounds are the clinks of our silverware on the plates and Fleetwood Mac on the radio.

Then Dad wipes his mouth on his napkin and looks up at me. "I'm sorry about your fight with Toph and Aang. Do you want to talk about it?"

I shrug and push a meatball around on my plate. "It's whatever. I'm sure we'll make up."

"Still. I'm sorry, Katara. They're your best friends." He takes a sip of his wine. "Though maybe it's a good thing you've made a new friend."

I look up at him, a little surprised. "You really think that?"

Dad smiles at me sheepishly. "I don't know the kid that well, but he seems alright. He has a good handshake."

I snort. "He's not exactly a kid. He's a year older than Sokka."

"Hey now, did you not hear me? I said I like him. Don't ruin it."

"Don't forget I have a boyfriend," I remind him, and Dad's expression sours for a moment. "But I'm glad you like Zuko. I like him too."

"And he's coming to the barbecue?"

"Yeah. Him and his uncle."

"Good." Dad frowns thoughtfully. "How much do you know about them?"

I shrug. "Not much. They're from Seattle."

"Are you trying to make me dislike this guy?" Dad makes a disgusted sound in the back of his throat but the corners of his lips are turned up. "City people."

"Oh, whatever." I roll my eyes but I'm smiling too. I take a sip of my wine, enjoying the warm flavor on my tongue.

"Still. I'm just saying, maybe I wouldn't mind seeing more of him." Dad shrugs.

I don't quite know what to say to that, so I just shrug and say, "Maybe you will."

Dad and I enjoy the rest of our meal. When we're done, I start in on the dishes and he comes to help me despite my protests. So we do the dishes in companionable silence. When we're done, we go into the living room. Dad turns on the tv and I grab my book, and we just exist together for a while.

We've been sitting like that for an hour when Dad breaks the silence.

"Yugoda called me."

I look up from my book. "What?"

"That's how I knew something happened with you and your friends." Dad peeks over at me. "Yugoda called me after you left Tiffanie's and told me you were upset after you met up with Aang and Toph. That's why I came home early. I almost went by the tea shop, but I thought I'd see if you came home first. But you didn't, until you came by with Zuko."

I exhale irately through my nose. I'm not mad at Dad. But I'm mad at this town, at these nosy people who always call my dad when they think I'm up to something I shouldn't be. Like Bushi at Nan's, and now Yugoda at Tiffanie's. It's always been this way, since Sokka and I were kids. We could never get away with anything, because some busybody would always call our parents. I know that for the most part, they mean well. Yugoda certainly does. But that doesn't ease my irritation.

"Oh." I swallow hard. "I'm okay, Dad. Really."

But when he looks at me, I know he sees right through me. He doesn't push it though. "Okay, snow pea. Just know I'm here to talk if you want to."

"I know, Dad." I close my book and stand up. "I'm going to take a shower."

"Okay."

I head for the stairs to get some clean pajamas. Dad's voice stops me when I'm on the bottom step.

"Katara."

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

I go up to my room after my shower. It's chilly up there, and I find myself missing the warmth of Zuko's hoodie.

I climb into bed and check my phone. I remember that I accepted his friend request earlier, so I type in his name and click on Zuko's profile.

His profile picture is a selfie with a black and white filter. His body is facing the camera, but his head is turned to the right so his scar doesn't show, and he's wearing dark sunglasses. He's not smiling, but he's still handsome. His cover photo is a city skyline at night. I recognize the Space Needle in Seattle, and I wonder if he took the picture himself.

I snoop through his profile, though I don't think it's really snooping since we're now friends. There's not much. He doesn't post often, but as I scroll I notice he gets tagged in posts a lot. A girl named Ty Lee Chang tags him in funny memes. Another girl, Mai Soto, tags him in posts about relationships. But his relationship status says single, and Mai hasn't tagged him in a post in three weeks. I wonder what that's about.

I click on her profile. Her profile is private so I can only see it when she's changed her profile and cover photo, but I scroll. Two weeks ago, she changed her picture. She's pretty, with slanted eyes and high cheekbones. Her bangs fall into her amber eyes, and she wears dark markup. When I scroll back a little further, I see when she updated her profile picture from a selfie of her and Zuko. He's kissing her cheek, the right side of his face turned toward the camera. Mai is smiling.

From what I can tell, she rarely smiles.

I think about what he told me that first night we painted together. No. No girlfriend. I don't think he's lying, because her profile says her relationship status is single too. Maybe they broke up right before he moved, or right after. Either way, I have no right to feel some type of way about it. Zuko doesn't owe me anything.

I back out of Mai's profile and back to Zuko's. I search for the Jasmine Dragon Facebook page and like it. Then I share it. Then I invite everyone on my friend's list to like it. And then I forget Aang and Toph are on there, and now they're going to get that notification, too.

Curiosity burns me, and I go to Aang's profile. He hasn't unfriended me, and his relationship status hasn't changed. He's been posting links to animal rights articles and sharing memes all day. I go to Toph's profile. She has unfriended me, and it feels like a punch to the gut.

Tears well up in my eyes. In all of our fights, we have never deleted each other off of social media. Maybe this is the end of our friendship.

I shove down my emotions as I exit out of her profile and go back to the Jasmine Dragon's business page. My cover photo looks beautiful. Zuko has made one post, announcing the opening date. He's included some of the photos I took of our progress. I like and share it.

I think about the picture I took of him earlier. I get out of bed and retrieve my laptop from my backpack and set it on my desk. I get out my camera, and once my laptop is booted up, I connect them. Then I open up the picture of Zuko. It's a great shot, even unaltered. I open Photoshop and add a few touch ups to it. Then I open Facebook and attach it to a message and send it to him, adding afterward, I took this earlier. It might make a nice post for the business page?

Then I close down my laptop and get back in bed. Zuko might be asleep already, so I don't know when he'll see the message. I reach for my book again, but then my phone starts to vibrate. It's an incoming phone call. When I check the caller ID, it's a FaceTime video from Jet. I answer it.

"Hey." I smile at him.

"Hey, babe."

He's laying down in the dark in his dorm room. His face is lit up by the phone screen. He's got one hand tucked behind his head and his charming smirk on his face, and it reminds me of why I fell in love with him in the first place. Except that look isn't doing what it normally does to my heart, and I'm not sure what that means.

"What's up?" he asks me.

I shrug. "Just getting ready for bed. How are you? How are your classes?"

"Easy, now that most of my midterms are out of the way." His teeth flash in a smile. "And spring break is almost here. I'll be there in just a couple of days."

"I know. I can't wait."

"I miss you."

"I miss you too."

Jet's face grows serious. "I gotta tell you something."

I frown. That doesn't sound good. "What is it?"

"Aang messaged me earlier."

I suck in a sharp breath between my teeth. What could Aang have possibly said to him?

I play it off casually. "Yeah? What did he want?"

Jet's expression is a neutral mask. "He says you and Toph got into a fight. A big one. He said I should check on you." He scowls. "Not that I need him to remind me to check up on my girlfriend or anything."

I rub my hand across my face. "Yeah, we did get into a fight. I don't think we're friends anymore."

"I'm sorry, babe." Jet looks sympathetic. "But you know what? Sometimes you just outgrow people."

I frown. Is that what this is? Have I just outgrown Toph? I don't know if that makes me feel any better.

"I guess so."

I chew my bottom lip. I wonder if Aang told Jet about Zuko. I hope he didn't. I should be the one to tell him, even though Zuko is just a friend. But I think about how I showed up to Tiffanie's in Zuko's sweater, and told Aang and Toph as much, without any context. It could easily be misconstrued. Toph's accusation of having another guy waiting in the wings prickles on my skin. I decide I'll tell Jet about Zuko when he gets here.

"Hey, don't let it get you down, okay?" Jet's voice is gentle. "It was kind of insensitive of her to pull this crap so close to the anniversary, but just don't worry about her, alright? If that's how she wants to be, then let her."

I nod. Jet's right. It was insensitive of Toph to do this now, days before the date that marks one year since my life came unraveled. I need my best friends, and now they're not here. I have to face this alone. It's more than just insensitive. It's cruel.

"I just wanted to make sure you were doing okay." Jet stifles a yawn behind his hand. "But I'm pretty tired, and you look worn out too. I'll talk to you later, okay?"

"Okay. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, babe. I love you."

"I love you too."

I disconnect the call and hold my phone in my hand. Hot tears well up in my eyes and before I know it, they're streaming down my cheeks again. I curl up on my side and muffle my sobs in my pillow so Dad can't hear me.

I'm not just crying over Toph and Aang. I'm crying for myself, and for my mom.

This past year has been the hardest of my life. No one likes to think about their parents dying, but when you do, you always think of it as some abstract, faraway thing. You never expect it to happen when you're barely eighteen. And you definitely never expect for it to happen right before your eyes.

I used to have nightmares about the crash. And in those first few weeks after, the images would pop into my head unbidden, intrusive and abrasive. I could see the blood and my mom's wide-open eyes staring at me. I could hear my screams.

I push those thoughts away now. The last thing I want is to conjure a nightmare tonight.

My phone vibrates, and I lift my head off of the pillow, scrubbing the tears from my cheeks. It's a message from Zuko.

Z You took that earlier?

My heart startles. I can't tell if he likes it or not. Maybe I made a mistake taking that picture. I love candid shots, but I'm sure not everyone likes having their picture taken without knowing about it. Guilt washes over me and I message him back.

K Yeah. You don't have to post it if you don't want to.

Z No it's a good picture. I'll post it.

I smile, just a tiny smile. I can't help but feel a little happy that he likes it, and it makes me happier to know he's going to post it.

K I'm glad you like it. See you tomorrow.

Z Goodnight.

I plug in my phone, turn off the bedside lamp, and settle into my pillows. Soon I drift off into a deep, dreamless sleep.

Zuko

After dinner, I go and do the dishes while Uncle settles in at his card table to work on his puzzle. It's almost done now, and I can see the image it's supposed to be: a blue-scaled dragon flying between mountain peaks. It's a beautiful puzzle. I still know exactly what piece Katara pieced together, too: part of the underbelly of a purple-tinged cloud, much like the cover photo on her Facebook profile.

When I'm done with the dishes, I find that I'm filled with a nervous sort of energy. I feel jittery, like I've drank too much caffeine, but I know it's because of what I've found out about Katara. It has me thinking of things from my own past, things I try hard not to think about.

The walls of the loft feel like they're closing in on me, and I need to get out of here.

I go into my room and change into a pair of shorts. I trade my Vans for my Nikes and grab my headphones off my dresser before I go back out into the living room. Uncle looks up at me.

"I'm going for a run," I say.

"Be safe," he says.

I snort. "Yeah, okay."

I step out onto the porch. I plug in my headphones and shuffle my running playlist. I take a moment to stretch, and then I jog down the stairs and hit the pavement at a run, heading for the street.

I ran track my freshmen and sophomore years of high school. I was good at it, too. I always finished in the top three, no matter what race I ran in. It was something I loved. I was passionate about it. I'd even entertained the thought of pursuing it in college on top of my business degree, and maybe even trying to compete in the Olympics.

But like so many other things, those dreams were shattered and dashed across the canvas of my life; shards of glass and hopes that could never be. I can thank my father for that.

My mother had encouraged me to run. She encouraged all of my dreams, and Azula's too, no matter how small or unlikely. It's always been my father who had to taint our aspirations with his pragmatism and disapproval. My running wasn't going to benefit the company. Azula's drawing wasn't, either.

So after Mom died, I quit. Well, it was more like my father refused to pay for it and he threatened to cut off my trust fund if I didn't give it up. Without my mother there to stand up for me, I caved.

The joke is on me, because nearly six years later, I don't have my trust fund anymore. I don't have anything. And I'm still running.

Anger flares in me as I run, and my shoes smack the pavement harder as I put on a fresh burst of speed, arms pumping and sweat gathering at my temples and dripping down my back despite the chill in the night air. I'm still so angry at the sheer injustice of it all. This is not how my life was supposed to be.

I'm not supposed to be here in this tiny town, painting the walls of a tea shop with a girl I met by happenstance, driving a fifteen-year-old car and sitting on an almost-completed business degree. I'm supposed to be in Seattle, getting ready to receive my bachelor's and earn my seat at my father's table. I'm supposed to be behind the wheel of the Challenger my father bought me when I graduated from high school, with Mai by my side.

All of that...all of that...was taken from me. Simply because I spoke out of turn.

If my mother were alive, none of it would have happened. She would have defended me, the way Uncle tried to. But maybe it would have worked for her. Despite the problems in their relationship, my father respected my mother above all things. There's a chance he would have listened to her.

But she isn't here, and that's his fault, too.

I don't remember much of the crash, but I remember enough. He was driving, Mom was in the passenger seat, and I was sitting behind him. If I had been behind Mom, I probably would have died too.

He was driving, and they were arguing about my track. My father was getting worked up—I have my mother's eyes and my father's temper—and Mom was too, but her voice was a low cadence as she defended me like she always did. My father's voice was rising into a crescendo. The louder he got, the faster the car went.

I saw the red light. I opened my mouth, the words—Dad, slow down—on the tip of my tongue, but it was too late. A truck going too fast went through the intersection and collided with our car, right on the passenger side where my mother was sitting.

The rest of it is a blur. The witnesses said that our car rolled six times. All I know is that I woke up feeling like my face was on fire, and quickly realized that's because it was.

My father walked away with bruises and scratches. I walked away with half of my face burned off. My mother didn't walk away at all.

And now my lungs are burning, and I taper off my speed until I'm jogging. I realize I've been running without paying attention to where I was going. But I recognize the street I'm on. It's Katara's street. Her house is right there at the end. The lights are on in the living room. It looks warm and inviting in a way my home never has.

My subconscious has carried me here. It's like it's trying to tell me something. Maybe Uncle is right. We do have this in common, this pain that is unique. Only people who have experienced this kind of loss can relate to it.

I don't believe in fate, or destiny, or anything like that. But as I stand there, chest heaving, blood thundering in my veins, and stare up at the house that holds this beautiful, amazing girl with ocean eyes and a smile as warm as the sun, I think that maybe I'm supposed to be here after all.