Love Me | Series Book #1

FORTY SIX

2 weeks later...

I stood in front of the mirror, running my hands down the length of the black robe draped around my shoulders. My cast did a frail job at peeking from beneath the sleeve. But it was a perfect match to the cream dress I wore beneath the cloak.

The day had come too fast...somewhere between the moment when I stepped through the doors, for the very first time to tour the school, shadowing some upperclassman a year above me, and imagining the adventures and fond memories, these halls would guide me through.

I had a distant dream of my high school experience, painted into a collage from the shows I'd watched on tv growing up. Cheering the football team on from the bleachers. Going on dates to the skating rink. Homecoming dances. Prom. Sneaking out, to catch a ride with a mystery boy, and falling into step down those very corridors with Aly, Rachel, and Chase by my side.

I had imagined, picking out my white dress. Wearing some jock's jersey. Having someone to lock my arms around, and press my body into against the lockers.

And...that day I stumbled on the bus, in my faded pair of track shoes ....some twisted fairy godmother, granted my wish. She gave me everything I wanted, in a precisely perfectly wrapped package. All of a sudden, that dream, was my ride to school every morning. My hand to hold. My boyfriend's jersey to wear.

"Kaya," my mom knocked against the surface of the door, but the sound of the hinges groaning alerted me she'd pushed it all the way open, without awaiting for permission to enter. "We're going in 5."

"Okay."

She stepped closer, beyond the door, and walked right up to the mirror beside me - her appearance, another version of me, with the addition of twenty years, give or take.

She said nothing, in the silence. Letting the motor of our neighbor's lawnmower, powering up next door, take the place of any words that were still left to be said, over the last weeks.

So much had come to the surface, there was little left to mask. Words truly weren't needed. Not one combination in our alphabet could create a phrase that absolved the guilt that clung to my parents face, having to look me directly in the eye, after not seeing me. Diverting their attention elsewhere. But now...it was right in front of them. The scar above my hairline, that my mom first noticed, as she brushed my hair back after I collapsed in the living room, the night Sheriff Santiago arrived. The one-handed way I did everything that made tasks like- filling coffee and loading my dishes in the sink go from five seconds to five minutes.

She adjusted the tassel on my cap, laying it over on the right side.

"At least that's how I remember it," she said forming a smile.

"Thanks mom," I gave her one back. The best one I could. But one that actually had meaning behind it. Meaning that I could tell she recognized.

I stepped away from the mirror, and slid into my open-toed wedges.

"I'll try my best to minimize the photos" she said, attempting something of humor.

"I never said I didn't like photos. They're meaningful when they capture memories I want to keep," I said.

"Alright," she agreed. "Though I think you may change your mind about that as you get older. You can come to me for albums anytime."

I smiled.

The pocket of my robe buzzed.

Aly.

"I'll be down in a bit." I spoke into the receiver, "Just putting on my shoes now."