Prompt: write about an anniversary! It can be a wedding anniversary or something else; it's up to you.

There are fat snowflakes falling when I wake. It's a cold Saturday morning in late January, and all I can really remember is that today is special. One year ago today, my last name changed from Singer to Singer–Shanks. And no, I didn't get married. I'm fourteen years old, for goodness sakes. Who did you think you were kidding? My last name changed because that was the day that my adorable, sweet, and funny older brother, Jo, finally got consent from the Natalian Foster-Care System to adopt me. Of course, if anyone asks, I'll say I adopted him, because I like to think of it that way. But of course, here in this Journal, I can tell you that Jo saved me. Mom was gone and Dad had been dead for years, and though as a resident actor at Cloud Mountain Theatre I was doing an excellent job of hiding the fact that I was broken inside, Jo saw straight through it all, and scooped me out of the dark place I was in.

So here I am, one year later, burrowed underneath six blankets in my pajamas, scribbling in this beautiful leather–bound journal from Heather Joveson herself, the queen of all Natalia, who I am planning on visiting today. Of course, that's what I'm telling Jo. What's really happening is that Flora Joveson, First Warren's Theatre director and practically my older sister, is helping me bake a cake to celebrate our adoption anniversary. So though I'd much rather stay in my warm bed and read my new book, I get up, wrapping myself up in a robe which is much too big for me, since I stole it from Jo, slip my feet into moccasins, and pad down the stairs. I can hear snoring from his bedroom as I tiptoe past, which means he's still asleep. Don't ask me how Cole Blackstar and Picket Longtreader ever shared a sleeping space with him, because I have no idea how they did.

I toss a couple of logs onto the smoldering embers in the hearth, heat some water to wash with in the big pot, and toast a bagel while I'm waiting for the water to warm. Once it is, I hop in and out as quickly as possible, my fatigue following the hot water down the tub drain. I tug on my warmest wool dress, and leave a note for Jo:

Jo-
Gone to see Flora, be back for movie marathon tonight!
Happy adopaversary! Your loving sister,
 Maya

I grin at how cheesy the note sounds, but tape it somewhere Jo will see it–the cereal cupboard–anyway. I can't help feeling a bit guilty that I'm leaving when I feel like I should be spending the whole day with him, but I remind myself that it'll be worth it when he sees the cake. I bundle myself in two coats, my muffler, a hat, a pair of gloves, and winter boots before stepping outside into the flurry. As I walk through the drifts, my mind flickers to the first time I ever met Jo, and I smile.

–I turn around, heading for home to see if my mother needs any help, and slam straight into a tall, brown buck with the Halfwind crest on his tunic.

"Sorry!" I try not to laugh, but fail. "I wasn't watching where I was going." I'm glad I don't have to worry about being rude, because the Halfwind Soldier is laughing as well.

"Don't worry about it," He replies, reaching a hand down to me. "I do it all the time."

"Really? You must be pretty clumsy."

"I'm Jo Shanks," Says the buck. "My friends and I are just looking for a place to sit."

I glance past Jo Shanks, and notice about eight other Halfwind Bucks, all of their tunics featuring a patch with a furry forearm, clutching two arrows. "I'm Maya Singer," I reply, smiling. "You can sit on the ground and nobody will judge you, but the tables are over–"

"Watch out!"

I step backward just in time, snag a frisbee out of the air, and send it flying back towards the shouter.

"You killed anybody with that yet, Jack?" I fake-glare at the thrower.

"Not yet," Calls back the black buck on the other end of the field. "But I'm aiming for Daniel over there!"

"Anyway," I continue. "The tables are over there, try not to get hit with a frisbee."

"Thanks," Replies Jo Shanks, "Come sit with us later, if you'd like,"

"Sure," I grin mischieviously. "But I've got to go make sure nobody gets mauled, first."

"Good luck," He grins back. "Those deadly frisbee throwers will be the death of us all, for sure. Good to meet you!"

"May your feet find the next stone," I reply, and then dash toward the end of the field where people are playing games of bouncer, cornhole, frisbee, ladderball, and all manner of other games.

I shake myself, smiling at how different it was then. And I had no idea what I was getting into when I met Jo Shanks. Now I think I must be the luckiest person in the world.

"Maya?" I glance upward from my tears to see Jo, sitting next to me, his hand on my knee. "Are you alright?"

I shake my head.

He pulls me into his lap, whispering quietly and wrapping his arms tight around me. "I know. I know it hurts."

I can't tell right now if the tears are from this memory or if it's from the cold air stinging my eyes, but I don't care much either way.

I'm staring at the paper Jo's just handed to me, eyes wide, my head filled with a shock I can't comprehend. Not the same shock I felt when my mother died, that shock was grief like I'd never felt before. This shock is the shock you might feel if you won the lottery, or if someone told you that you could have the moon if you wanted it. Permission to adopt Maya Singer, it reads. Age: Twelve years, gender: doe, parents: Flora Singer (deceased) Jacob Singer (missing, suspected to be deceased)

"If you don't want to, I–" Jo is looking down at the ground, eyes sad. " – I understand."

"What makes you think I don't want to?" I sound a bit snippier than I intended, but I always get snippy when my heart is filled with too many emotions. "Okay, Jo, I'll adopt you."

I must have played this memory several times on my way to the palace, because before I know it, I've said hello to Heyna, who's standing guard outside the entrance to the palace quarters, and Flora is standing at the door, smiling. Another reason I love my Theatre teacher, she shares my mother's name.

"Alright, Maya." She pulls me into the kitchen, where a neon array of frosting colors, sprinkles, and candles are strewn across the counters. "Let's make this fantastical cake of yours."

I know Jo will love this.