A Pocket Full of Posies (Book 1)

Chapter One

Having an inability to remember anything before the age of eight can admittedly be a bit of a bummer, but it's one hell of an ice breaker. You know that question you're always asked in awkward social situations? That whole 'state one interesting fact about yourself' spiel when, in reality, you're about as fascinating as a damp sock? It's perfect for that.

When expanding on it to the point where I'm telling complete strangers how this memory loss was the result of a car crash that brutally killed both my parents and older sister, things can become a little uncomfortable.

As I found out at a job interview at Build-A-Bear when I was sixteen, oversharing isn't always the best way to deal with a nerve-racking situation. Got me the job, mind you. Probably out of complete sympathy, but hey, a job's a job. I generally just leave it at the 'I can't remember anything before the age of eight' stage, and then bullshit about falling out of a tree or something.

The plan from here on out is to not even go that far. It's not important. As great of an ice breaker as it is, I always end up becoming the sad little orphan with a weird history, who people are scared of upsetting. It's easier just to hide it, not that Annabel would agree.

"So when someone asks what our parents do for a living, you're going to say what? When people ask about growing up, childhood memories?" she demands.

She's sitting at the end of my new bed with her legs crossed, and her lip is twitching slightly. Her pale blue eyes are narrow, which is arguably a nice break from their usual activity of rolling around her eye sockets in disapproval.

"No one actually cares enough about that crap to ask it, Annie. I'll say they're bankers, or some shit. No one cares about bankers."

Annabel huffs. "So when a semester ends and everyone goes home, but you stay here, what are you going to say?"

I roll my eyes. She's being paranoid. It doesn't have to be a big deal, and I'm hardly traumatised from the whole dead parent thing. Thanks to my good friend, amnesia, my family is just a picture, and my past life is just a pretty bland, sad story.

"No idea. Doesn't matter." I shrug. "Sheesh, you think too much. I only moved in five minutes ago, least give me a chance to breathe. It's fine, I'll figure it out. There is this magical thing--not sure you've heard of it, so buckle up and prepare to be blown away--this magical thing called lying--"

"Oh, piss off. You shouldn't meet a load of new people, then immediately start lying right off the bat."

I sit up in my bed, which is surprisingly comfortable, and laugh. "Most people don't bring their sister along to university, but I can't exactly be honest about that."

"That's different," Annabel mutters.

I raise my eyebrows. That shut her up. She lifts her hand to her face and rests her head on her palm. She's making faces and muttering under her breath, which is always a clear sign that she's bitching about me to herself. She doesn't exactly have the option to complain about me to anyone else, I guess. Sucks for her.

"It's just easier," I pipe up, interrupting Annabel's conversation with herself. "And hey, I can't live in the past forever. I need to get over the whole dead parents thing."

"That's a healthy approach," she mocks in response.

I vaguely gesture into the air. "We all have our flaws. I'm studying for a degree in Civil Engineering here, not psychology. You expect too much of me."

Annabel mutters something under her breath, and I respond by blowing her a kiss. She shoots me a scowl, then vanishes. She's so easy to wind up today, it's great.