Convincing my mom wasn’t tedious since she already knew Marie and we even spent a week there with Reese, her brother Calvin, and her mother Suzie.

It was two weeks since I had made arrangements with Marie to meet her at the airport. Packing, however, was the most droningly exasperating portion of it all (along with obnoxious flight arrangements, of course). They were both activities I was reluctant to actually do.

You may be imagining my mom now as one of those irresponsible parents that attend night clubs and would allow their child to do anything as long as they were unbothered. In actuality, she is quite the opposite. I must text her every hour on the hour to tell her where I am. That part doesn’t kill me since I’m usually not anywhere scandalous or shameful. Yeah, I’m not much of a risky girl, but I don’t mind. Quite often, I’m only at Reese’s house or going on a daily walk with Reese.

I carelessly threw in an array of clothes in all different hues. It looked like a rainbow. I then packed toiletries and anything I categorized as a necessity. Through all this sorting, I barely heard my mother knocking on my bedroom door softly as if it could dissever into smithereens.
“Gen,” she says, “Can I come in?”
“Uh… Sure.” I mumble as I thrust my muddle of attire underneath my bed. It is covered just enough by my pink plaid bed sheet that cascades over my bed, reminding me of Niagara Falls. I had never actually gone there, but my father has, yet I lived in Canada for a year. That’s how I learned fluent French.
“Honey, I see that you’re busy and everything, but here’s the brochure to your new school. It’s really beautiful. It’s called L’ecole Blanche.”
“Thanks, I’ll look at it after I’m finished packing, okay?”
“Sure,” she trotted into the hallway closing the door behind her.

My mom is the type of woman that does not speak her mind often. In fact, living with her, I have taught myself to dissect subtleties like a half-smile or a mere wrinkle on top of her brow. I’m the only one she has, and she is one of the most diligent people I know, so I normally follow any directions or rules she gives. My mom worries about me a lot, so that’s why I try to talk to her often even if it’s a microscopic detail.

Once I have heaved the pile of clothes into my overflowing suitcase, I allow myself a deep, cleansing breath, shaking my ribs a little bit before I glance at the pamphlet set atop my bed. When I do, I am breathless. The campus is exquisite, but not too good to be true. There are cork trees surrounding the premises of the landscape. The building is approximately two stories high, but I could scarcely see based on a minuscule photograph. There weren’t uniformed students, but most were in professional attire such as slacks, polos, button-ups, and plaid knee-length skirts. I didn’t mind the dress code, I mean yes there was a limit, but on the contrary, I didn’t have to worry about clothes as much.

A month later, I boarded the plane that would lead me to France and ultimately change my life forever. Some may say I ended up there by coincidence, but my theory is that destiny controlled it.

On the ride, while I lackadaisically read tabloids that exploited celebrities, there was a couple across from me. They were making out every five seconds or so, to my revulsion. The women’s long black hair even got tangled like a ribbon around the man’s sausage-like fingers. I thought to myself that I would never do that. I mean, I may fall in love someday, but I won’t be obnoxious about it.
I just stared out onto the cities below. I couldn’t pinpoint our precise location from such a high altitude, but the cities appeared to be insignificant specks of nothing. I wondered if Paris looked like that and tourists didn’t appreciate the brief moments that changed lives, the ones that moved people for eternity. What if no one really cared?
That’s the ironic part about people, places, and events. You never actually note the extraordinary qualities of something until it’s gone for even a mere tick of the red hand on a clock. I am gradually learning that. But I wouldn’t boast that it has already clicked in yet. It still aches when the top portion of the hour glass is suddenly empty. It burns holes in my heart. Many grimace at the thought of scars, but I think they display character and the actions in your life (even the ones you regret).
The hours didn’t drag on, as I was immersed in a world of Jane Austen and Robert Frost. Not everyone at my school appreciated classic pieces of literature, but writing and reading was always a hobby for someone like me.

I read over the free-handed notes Marie sent me. She described each of the children’s’ personalities using her squiggly chicken-scratch. I squinted at the tiny words and tried to read it phonetically. While doing this, I noted the annoyed expressions from fellow passengers, but I resumed my reading anyway.
Etoile: seven; thoughtful; she is learning how to share
Ophelie: five; enjoys learning; enjoys time with twin, Sophie (although, if too much they will fight)
Sophie: five; enjoys imagination games; enjoys time with Ophelie
Clement: five; enjoys playing with sisters; enjoys English language
Brielle: four; enjoys adventure; much of a daredevil

Although, my anxiousness was about as deep as the depth of the Pacific Ocean, there was a crevice in my heart that began to feel the warmth of comfort. My anxiousness had shrunken a millimeter because I had the slightest bit of how to handle them in my head. Monday would be the easiest, anyway because I wasn’t babysitting or attending my first day at Blanche. I had vivid visions in my head of cafes and boutiques and even the notorious Eiffel Tower, but I also couldn’t hold back the idea of people I saw in movies, who thought they were superior to people like me as they asked, “Comment t’appelles-tu?” Most people would take that as welcoming, but I wasn’t that naïve. With those conspicuously ostentatious mini-skirts, I imagined a girl named Fifi. I imagined her snickering with some of her single-minded as she waltzed away. Those girls in movies, the antagonistic ones, usually have blonde hair they flip and twirl for emphasis of their already lucid beauty and taunting wedged shoes.

Marie’s house was a castle-like, three story house. It was astounding and it made me feel like I hadn’t dressed appropriately in sweats with a t-shirt. The shingles were beige and they really added a French vanilla appeal to the house. However, French vanilla didn’t give the house all of its well-deserved justice.

Marie greeted me on the porch and helped me with my luggage as I struggled to haul the other half of it up the front steps. Ophelie and Sophie grinned keenly as I stepped inside the front door.
“Notice anything different about me?” Sophie asked.
“She lost her tooth last night!” Ophelie vehemently shouted.
“I wanted Genevieve to answer!” Sophie yelled, as she pushed Ophelie.
To end the quarrel, I distracted Sophie by enthusing, “Did the tooth fairy come and give you money?”
“Yeeeeesssss!” She said dramatically as if it were a song.
A girl in baby blue glittery knee pads and a helmet scampered in. “Hi!” she called to me.
“Hello, you must be Brielle. I’m Genevieve, but you can call me Geni or Gen.” I stated. She smiled extensively at my accurateness.
“Yep,” she confirmed. I could already tell, this job would have its high points and its low points, but I could deal with a few low points.
Clement next dumbfounded me with his knowledge on the English language. He was a genius!
Marie walked down the hall towards the stairs. “Etoile, can you come down, sweetie?” she called up the stairs.

Within a few seconds, a girl with nearly translucent, freckled skin and mousy brown hair that fell just below her shoulders. She was a younger version of her mother—strikingly beautiful. Etoile stomped down the stairs, morosely.
“This is Etoile.” Marie announced, boldly.

Later, while Marie was revealing the guest (my new) room to me, she had told me some background on all of the girls; how Ophelie and Sophie fought and you had to give them equal amounts of everything, how Brielle loved sports, but often got wounded, how Clement loved to read and he played with his sisters as well as taught them, and lastly, that Etoile had Fragile X. Fragile X is when a child gets one defective X chromosome. It can effect walking, learning, and/or speaking. In boys it is typically more severe since they only have one X chromosome. She was in a regular kindergarten, but had a one-to-one aide to keep her on task and focused. Etoile had a mild case, since some kids had trouble communicating.

I was aware of autism already (my mom had taught me about disabilities at a young age because her brother had autism), but I had never really had to baby-sit for anyone that had it.

On Sunday night, I had my first baby-sitting obligation. I had the entire night planned out, perfectly. We would watch Disney princess movies, but then, it occurred to me that I would have to keep Clement occupied, so I brought some of my books downstairs. I had a small number of classics, which I expected would have some sort of significance to him. The books I prearranged for him were Little Women, Flowers for Algernon, The Outsiders, and The Wizard of Oz.

Once Marie left and I had fed all of the children garlic and basil soup with fish, I turned on the TV. I had also set up Clement with the books I had readied for him. He seemed quite satisfied by them as he sat cross-legged on the carpet reading them, blissfully.

Brielle wanted to watch The Little Mermaid, but the twins insisted on Beauty and the Beast, while Etoile wanted Snow White. As a compromise, I said that we could watch one tonight and the other two next week. They agreed to that, but they were debating which one they would watch first. Eventually, Brielle won the brawl.

It was going fairly smooth, but then Brielle started howling. “What’s the matter?” I asked.
“My tummy hurts!” she bawled, uncontrollably, clutching her tiny belly, sickly.
“Did you eat too much?” I asked.
She was crying too violently to answer. She nodded.
I tried my best to soothe Brielle, but no matter what I did, she would presume to cry.
When I turned around to inform Sophie and Ophelie that I was going up stairs to get her some medicine, they were gone. I gasped in too much air and then, as a consequence, choked on it. Brielle was an exceptional actress, I realized when I asked her, “Do you know where your sisters went,” and the only response I received was a shake of her head. She also let out a realistic moan. “Brielle, don’t joke around. I know it’s an act.” I warned. She laid sprawled onto her back and now she rolled onto her stomach. She could seriously stay in character.
“I’m not faking,” she moaned, “Honest.”
I looked at her skeptically. “Then where did your sisters go?”
“I told you, I don’t know.” She hiccupped, excruciatingly. Suddenly realized this was no trickery from her gurgling stomach and pained facial expressions.
“Can you roll onto your back?” I asked sympathetically. She struggled feebly, so I helped her gingerly.
“I’ll go get the thermometer and some pain relievers, okay? You stay put.”
Brielle nodded, painfully.
She did not have a fever, but I was apologetic to see her stomach was definitely swollen. I tried not to grimace when I noticed that. It looked tender, and I felt bad for not believing her. Brielle tightened it when I tried to shift her over. Her stomachache seemed to increase. She had perpetual hiccups, and she winced and flinched every time she did so. When I asked her if they hurt her stomach, she nodded, wordlessly.
“I’m going to call the doctor,” I told her, “Stay put.”
After calling the doctor, I called Marie to tell her what had happened. On the phone, she sounded concerned. Marie was a teacher, and she was at a meeting at that time. She’d told me she would most likely be home late because the meeting just wouldn’t end as quickly as she’d anticipated.
The doctor came within an hour, and I had found Sophie and Ophelie by then. They went to their room because they were afraid of catching whatever Brielle had. He examined her, cautious of her upset stomach. He said it was from a mixture to overeating and an allergy to fish. He prescribed a medication for her to take, and then left.
Her hiccups continued, and although the medicine relieved the pain, the hiccups visibly were hurting her. I sat warily on the edge of the couch.
“Does the medicine help it feel better?” I asked sincerely.
“Yeah, but the hiccups still hurt my belly.”Brielle hiccupped once more and held back tears.
“Come here,” I said, delicately lifting her onto my lap. “I am so sorry I didn’t believe you.”
By 9:00, she had fallen asleep on my lap. Her hiccups were still present, and she tossed and turned. I was worried because her normally teeny tiny belly was swelled up. I didn’t want to fall asleep, even at midnight because I was bound to wake her.

“Geni? Geni…Are you awake?”
“I’m up! I’m up…What exactly happened?” I asked, startled.
“You must have fallen asleep while you were watching Brielle.” Marie answered.
“I’m so sorry. Oh my God. This will never happen again! I swear!” I promised, defensively.
Her face was forgiving and restless. “No, Geni it’s fine. Brielle is fine and it was an accident. This is a rare occasion. I would not have expected you to stay down here with her, but you did.”
“How’s Brielle doing?” I asked.
“She seems fine.” Marie pointed at Brielle sleeping.
“Does she still have the hiccups?” I wondered, earnestly.
“No. She had the hiccups?”
“Yes, a really bad case, too.”
I observed that the swelling had gone down drastically, but was still mildly there. Brielle woke pretty soon after.
“Are you feeling better?” I asked.
“Yep. Much, much better!” she explained. It seemed unthinkable for a four year old to be so enthusiastic at three o’clock in the morning. Marie let me go to bed.
The next morning, Brielle was hungry and energetic. She had two crepes for breakfast. Brielle rubbed her tummy eagerly. She said, “My belly is not full yet.”
“Do you want more?” I asked.
She nodded hungrily. That girl had quite an appetite! After that, she had said, “I’m full,” painlessly and ran around the house. She willingly took her medicine and didn’t seem to have the least bit of pain. At lunch, she ate two servings and dinner as well. The swelling had ceased and she obliged that relieved feeling.
Tomorrow would be school and I felt scared when I thought about it. I feared being an outcast and having to sit by myself like I had done in fifth grade. I theorized that fitting in was not the most important part of school, but it sure would cause me to dread it less.
That night, I had continuous nightmares about arriving at school and being invisible. Each class I went into, I would dwindle a bit more. In my last class, I disappeared, but no one had even notice. What did I matter to them? I was the new girl. They dare not be inclusive to me because it was their job not to notice me or converse with me.

As I walked through the towering double doors of the brick school building, I felt like an ant entering a castle. Everything was gigantic compared to my old school. Most of the girls and voys were huddled in groups, but one particular girl was standing alone. She had dark brunette hair, as though it was black along with mocha-colored skin. She barely nodded at me and then rushed away. What’d I say? Just then, a blonde girl with an elaborate pink dancing costume came up to me. In France, it seemed as if the dancers were American cheerleaders. “You must be…uh, how do you say…new?”
“Oui.” I said.
This baffled me—a cheerleader acquainting a girl low on the middle school food-chain.
“My name is Celine! And you?”
“Je m’appelle Genevieve.”
“I speak..Err…little much of English…You don’t have to speak French.”
“Really?” I asked unsurely.
“Many exchanged students and students who just move here come to Le Blanche Ecole. We learn…how do you say…a variety of foreign languages?”
The mysterious girl from before walked towards us and Celine murmured, “Her father owns this school, her name is Adele Blanche. She thinks she’s all that.”

Celine was extremely welcoming and supportive. Being the new girl was not as difficult as they let you on in Hollywood. Or at least, that was my optimistic opinion at the time being. She’d invited me to parties (of course if my mom had been chaperoning me in France, she would forbid me from attending), she had saved me a prestigious seat next to her and her popular friends in the cafeteria, and she even invited me to go to her house.

Despite the glorious welcoming, I was suspicious of who exactly that girl, Adele Blanche was, and why Celine despised her. She was quite conspicuous, but she hated attention. She seemed to keep to herself. Whenever I would bring up the subject of Adele, Celine would dismiss it with a disapproving grimace.

For a while, I had forgotten about her. I had to prepare for Celine’s party that night. She had sent me to get her corsage because it was on my way home, anyway. At the florists’, I saw her. Right there, in her red smock. It puzzled me. How could she be so rich, and still have work at a florist shop? It didn’t quite make sense. Adele was arranging a gorgeous bouquet when I had walked in.
“Hello!” I chirped, optimistically.
“Hi.” She said. Her eyes did not avert from her work. She was either serious about this job or more timid than anyone I had ever met.
“I am here to pick up a corsage for Celine Aimable.”
“Oh, okay.” She had stopped her work, but Adele still refused to make eye contact. I tried to converse a bit.
“She’s having a party, you know. Are you going, tonight?” She looked at me as if I was completely ignorant.
“Oh, um…No. I have a lot of homework.” It had become lucid to me that she was not invited, after all. This felt sickening to me.
“Oh, okay. I’ll see you at school tomorrow, I guess.”
She nodded, her bangs covering her piercing green eyes. Suddenly, this party seemed juvenile. I would much rather stay home. Knowing Celine, their “entertainment” would include underage drinking and other risks I was still unwilling to take.

On my way to my house I called Celine to notify her that I couldn’t make it. I had said that I forgot about my baby-sitting obligations. She seemed agitated on the phone, her voice rising subtly when she burst, “Why not?” I figured it was just from the pressure of hosting a party.

The Monday after Celine’s party, that was the entire buzz at the lunch table. Celine barely talked to me, and when she did, it was only to borrow a pencil in math class. Even her friends seemed to exclude me in their conversations. They were too busy discussing how Brigette Vert was bulging out of her dress.
My day was atrocious, but I figured I should at least be an avid friend to someone.
Sniffle, sniffle… I heard in the hallway. The noise appeared to be coming from the bathroom, while I was fixing my hair. I suddenly looked up. Adele was standing there, sobbing.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, sincerely.
“Are you talking to me?” she managed to squeak between tears.
“Yes. Is it about Celine? You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”
“How did you know? Is it that obvious?”
“I know how she can be, but I don’t think she realizes it.” I reached into my purse and revealed a pristine tissue to her. She was still sobbing, but not as intensively. The soft weeps were lambs compared to her lion-sized sobs.
“Trust me, she knows. She hates me!”
“Why would you think that?”
“She always has.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.” This seemed like an outlandish answer.
I offered to be her lab partner in Living Environment, and she had appreciatively agreed.
Over the next few days, she had revealed her crush to me, invited me over, and even went to the mall with me. Since Celine had refused to talk to me, it didn’t really matter if I and Adele had become friends. She was really humorous once you got to know her.
We were close friends and we had each other’s back. It seemed unusual that this was my first friendship that had occurred in under a week. Maybe that was because I was more mature and now we had more options of contacting each other, but it still seemed odd.
Friendship was a funny thing, your friends can be the complete and utter opposite of you or they could be your mirror image. In this case, Adele was my opposite—she loved science, I was an avid writer, her favorite flowers were roses, my preference was an orange daisy, she could cook, I even burnt microwave popcorn, etc. These, however were the things that made us friends.

There was something still suspicious about Adele. I could see the charade through her facial expressions—a faux, “cheerful” smile that wavered occasionally and her body language—poor posture and fidgety hands. Incongruously, she would refuse to participate in conversations that revolved around her job at the florist’s. As a gesture of sensitivity, I would purposely dodge any conversations that could possibly lead to her job.
On Friday night, I had invited her to sleep over my house, and she obliged. I could see she hadn’t had any recent sleepovers, and she seemed to glow with excitement. I was pleased with these results. It wasn’t a gala or anything, it was planned to be an ordinary sleepover.
When she arrived at my house, I set up the airbed Marie had given to me for this occasion. I made a point to let Adele pick out a movie for us to watch, so she went searching. Organizing gatherings with my friends is what I can either do sublimely or recklessly. In this case, I had done it a smidge too recklessly, since Adele hollered me to come down stairs. Turned out, Etoile was down there and she was wailing.
“Ahhh!” she shrieked. Nothing appeared to be physically wrong, but I could never be sure with Etoile.
“Etoile, what’s wrong?” I asked
“Geni, Brielle is taking my toys!” she groaned, begrudgingly. She was crying gigantic tears now, and her hair was in straggly, stray waves that framed her heart-shaped face. I caressed her hair behind her ear and I hugged her. She was sweet and misunderstood. This made me want to cry, and switch lives with her. She had never wronged nor spited. She was more intelligent, though than I would ever be. It may seem incredulous, but it is true. Etoile does not judge people. She gets angry, yes, but she will forgive you simply. She also forgets certain details, but sometimes, the silliest ones are the most memorable, like my favorite singer for instance. I wore a Taylor Swift tee the day after my first day in France. Ever since then, even at the mere mention of Taylor Swift, she will say, “That’s Geni’s favorite singer!”

As soon as Etoile calmed, I put all the little ones to bed. Adele didn’t look as horrified as Celine would’ve been if a kid interrupted a sleepover, so I inferred that it was a good sign.
Adele chose to watch the movie, Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. Since I hadn’t watched that movie in approximately five years, I appreciated her choice. It was an exhausting movie, though. At times, I had to really think. Usually I am eager to think and wonder and infer, but after a long day, not so much. Fortunate for me, Adele realized this and offered to stay up and chat until we fell asleep. For a while we talked about school, but to my surprise Adele brought up the subject of work.
“I have been working there for almost a year now…” she recalled. Her eyebrows were furrowed into a thoughtful, yet tired expression.
“Did you decide to work there?” I asked. I cringed, hoping nothing I had said would come across to her as offensive or interfering.
“Well, yes, it was, but it was because of my brother.”
This statement perplexed me, so I waited patiently for her to explain.
“Well, technically, it’s not his fault, but he’s autistic.”
I had never anticipated this, but I was not bad-mannered about it. As much as I baby-sat for Etoile, I could not relate because this was part of my job, but Adele’s brother was part of her life. I nodded because I was in an awkward situation that left me speechless. I couldn’t say, “Oh, I understand,” because that would be a total lie, but I also couldn’t say, “How terrible,” because that seemed sort of rude.
“I needed to work because I was embarrassed. My parents used to ask me to take him places and people would make fun of me. I know, it probably sounds awful that I let my brother down, but…” She had started to cry by then.
“Adele, it is okay,” I tried to comfort her.
“I’m not strong enough! For a while, I could take the ridicule, but sooner or later, I knew I couldn’t!”
“It is okay to cry.”
She looked up at me tearfully. “But I used to…”A horrified look crept up on her face as her voice trailed off.
“Used to…?”
“Blame him and…” She hiccupped softly, but didn’t finish her sentence. “I wish I could change that. He never did anything .” Her voice grew into a whisper. I couldn’t believe such a stunning girl would be bullied, and yet, in some ways, I could. People like Celine were pitiless to her. They would exclude her, scoff at her, and do dreadful things.
We fell asleep talking about autism. Evidently, I knew a lot about autism, but not as much as someone who grew up with a sibling who had it.
In the morning, Adele was full of resolution. “I’m going to make things right!” she stated. This could’ve meant several things, but I knew precisely what she was aiming this statement towards.
“If you want help I’m always here,” I added. I had legit meant this because that’s what friends would do.
“Thanks, Geni. You’re an amazing friend.” Although it was solicitous, I knew I did not yet deserve this title because I was just obeying the obligations of a friend. Adele would have done exactly that for me.

My first thought when Adele told me she had decided to watch her brother was that she would want some help. After all, it was the first time in an entire year that she had offered. And I had been correct because when I offered, she had no logical reason to decline.
I was worried about an incident happening with her brother, like the incident that had happened to Brielle previously. At least this time, I had Adele, who probably knew her brother more than anyone did. None of my other baby-sitting experiences had ended the way a cliché soap opera episode would, but now that I’d had that occurrence, I feared it most.
Adele’s house was remarkably immense, just like Celine had promised, yet it felt alienated to Adele, the girl who had supposedly lived there her whole life. This seemed like a house that enclosed several closets jam-packed with skeletons. The inside was worse. Everything seemed to be off limits.
Adele’s brother, Jean, was eight years old. He seemed to be focused on winning some sort of prize. “If he is good for five consecutive days, he gets a prize. The prizes are these little finger puppets.” She pointed demonstratively at a bowl filled with knitted finger puppets.
Adele high-fived Jean as he descended the spiral staircase. “Hey, buddy.” She greeted as if she had baby-sat him consecutively.
“Who is she?” he inquired, pointing to me. His eyes were the same, sideways oval, green ones that Adele had.

“Jean, remember pointing is rude. But this is my friend, Genevieve. You can call her Geni or Gen, though.”
I took that as my cue to smile at Jean. Jean smiled in return.

Jean was much diverted on this day. Every time Adele or I would ask him a question, he was focused on his toy trucks. He made a vroom motorcycle noise when he pulled a minuscule motorcycle out of his toy chest.
“Jean, look at me!” Adele commanded.
He obeyed like a loyal little puppy. “Yes, Adele?” he asked.
“Geni and I are asking you questions and you are completely ignoring us!”
Jean blinked, naively. “What do you want to know?”
“What you learned today in school.”
“We learned umm…”
Adele looked tolerant, waiting for his answer.
“We learned minusing doubled numbers.” Jean answered matter-of-factly.
“You mean subtracting double digits?”
“I guess.” He shrugged.
“Do you have any homework?”
Jean shifted, and answered without delay. “I’ll do it later.”
“No,” she argued, “You will do it now.”
They went back and forth debating this for about an hour, until Adele surrendered. When she did so, she ran into her room, holding back tears in front of her brothers. I could tell she detested the feeling of defeat by her younger brother. She wanted the perfect Hollywood life, where the brother looked up to his older sister admiringly, but instead she quarreled with her brother whether or not he should start his homework.
I was an only child, so this was an irrelevant situation to me. However, I climbed the staircase and found Adele’s room. She sat in there, weeping. My entrance was subtle, yet hard for her not to perceive, since she was sitting right by the door. There had been an entrance way to the bathroom as well, but I had not noticed that until I was already in her room. Adele did not seem too alarmed by my entrance, but she also did not precisely look expectant of it either.
I allowed her to let the remnants of her tears run out. This was just one of those moments where she just needed a good cry. Interrupting would not do either of us any good, so I just waited. I didn’t have any place to go and I cared too much to just abandon her like this. Jean had followed me up the stairs, so I knew his exact location was outside the door.
“What is wrong with me?” Adele eventually asked.
Although that question was technically a rhetorical one, I felt necessitate to answer. “It is okay to get discouraged. You haven’t done this in a while and it may take getting used to.” I philosophized.
“But what if I never do?” she wailed.
“Trust me, you are going to.”
“How can you be so sure?” Through the teary glaze over her eyes, I could see a quizzical expression sprouting.
I told her the story about Brielle and how I was uncertain if I could be an avid baby-sitter. I told her more truth than I had admitted to myself the day it had happened about how I was afraid Brielle would not look up to me any longer because I had been a coward.
Being indecisive is not a weakness, I became conscious of that day. It just shows you the two different sides of yourself: the one that knows the right thing and the one that is still figuring it all out. The indecisiveness does not matter, though. The only part that does matter is which part of yourself you do ultimately utilize.
“But I am still not sure if I am a good sister. I mean, I ran away from my responsibilities just because I was embarrassed of my brother. Would a good sister do that?” She leaned on the wall as she contemplated on her status of either an excellent or a terrible sister. Her eyes became serious.
“So you made a mistake? But you realized it, didn’t you? And you’re currently right in the middle of correcting your mistake. Is that not better than never making that mistake in the first place? At least now you learned something.”
She nodded understandingly. Adele seemed like the type of person whose parents had never gave her that advice as a child. I thought that was unpleasant. This was all part of my life as a child, and I was spoiled with this privilege. I had never imagined someone who had not gotten that privilege. I mean, subconsciously, I knew how fortunate I actually was, yet I’d never given it that much thought.
“Oh my God!” Adele gasped.
“What’s wrong,” I really hoped she wasn’t going to run away from her fears.
“Jean…Jean…Jean! JEAN!!!!” I heard her voice crescendo as she spoke.
“Jean, what?”
“He’s gone!” Adele cried.
“But…But that’s impossible! He was right there!” I pointed to Jean’s former designated spot, “I made sure of it!”
Her worry did not descend, yet she looked lenient. She seemed frazzled, her hair a complete and utter muddle, scattered miscellaneously on her head, her mouth in a tight scowl, her eyes distant. “It’s not your fault, Gen, it’s mine. I’m the one who ran away. All that matters now is that we find him.”
I searched the downstairs, while Adele worked upstairs to find Jean. Things hadn’t turned out so optimistically, though. He was not in the den, the kitchen, the game room, or the bathroom. Adele also did not come downstairs, so I took that as an indication that he was yet to be found.
In around ten minutes, Adele stumbled down the stairs. “Did you find him?” she asked. Adele’s eyes pleaded for good news. I could tell she was panicky about Jean being lost.
“No. and I’m guessing you didn’t find him either.” I answered, solemnly.
“On, no! What will I say to my parents? Geni, you can go home if you want.”
“I got you into this mess, so I should help you look. Do you think he might be outside?” I offered.
Adele’s eyes seemed to bulge out of her head. “To be honest, I never thought of that, but it a possibility. I really hope not though. He can get hit by a car! Oh God, please no!” She heaved a very deep breath just like the profound expression on her face.
“Oh, and do you have a basement?” I asked, trying to think of any possible places Jean could be.
“A what?” Adele shot me a perplexed look.
“I’ll take that as a no,” I noted to myself.
“We should look outside, though.” Said Adele.
“Yeah. He couldn’t have gotten too far, so we should look near the house.”
She agreed and I began excavating the garden. The flowers there were beautiful, there were daises, roses, heathers, lilacs, tulips, and many others. I tried to avert my attention elsewhere in order to concentrate on finding Jean.
My phone rang, startling me from looking for him. I saw on my caller ID that it was Adele calling me from her cell phone. I instantly answered it, hoping whole-heartedly that it would be good news.
“Adele?” I spoke into the phone anxiously.
“Hey, Gen.” her voice sounded solemn. My stomach dropped at this thought.
“What’s wrong?” I asked. I had feared the answer. I almost coveted to take back ever asking that question in the first place.
“Well,” she started, “I found him…”
“Oh, that’s such great news!” I burst out; relieved at the answer I had received.
“But…” Uh-oh I thought. My mind suddenly flashed back to when I had thought Brielle was bluffing. “He won’t come back home.” She finished.
“Oh, that’s no big deal. I’ll help you convince him to come home.”
“But Gen, it’s not that easy.”
“What do you mean?” I swallowed, worriedly. My hand suddenly became clammy and it became increasingly difficult to keep my grip on the phone.
“He’s kind of hurt.”

I rushed through the shortcut in the forest to get to where Adele had said they’d be. A thorn stuck me, but it had no affect on me, since my mind was focused on finding them.
The woods were murky and eerie, so I really wanted to get out of there as swiftly as I possibly could. The trees ruffled and the haunting breeze sent a chill down my spine. I heard owls hooting and footsteps behind me.
“Adele?” I called. This was the spot we were supposed to meet up. These steps inched closer and closer. But fear didn’t faze me at this point.
Nothing fazed me. But suddenly, I felt a sharp object plunge through my ribs as I fell to the ground. I wasn’t really afraid because I just felt naïve as if I were approaching a creature, a world I didn’t know. I felt the Earth spin, giving me some sort of whip lash. A startling, yet alluring bright light flashed before my eyes. I couldn’t move towards nor could I back away from it. It was approaching me, I realized after a few moments of gazing at it. After that, the world went dark, like there was an international power-outage.

“Geni.” My mom cooed, “Geni, wake up sweetheart.”
“Ugh…” I sighed. My mouth felt peculiarly dry and my throat was sore, but overall, the most shooting pain was coming from my rib cage. I stretched my arms out. I felt as if I was a china doll inertly perched inside of a box. I tried to speak, but all I could do was cough. The coughing only worsened the pain, so I tried to keep still.
“Geni, don’t try to talk right now. The doctor says it’s too early.”
“What do you mean?” I croaked despite her warning.
“Shhh… You shouldn’t overwhelm your lungs, they’re just healing.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, taking in all of the sights and smells. Apparently, I was in a hospital. The walls were grayed and bland and it reeked of revolting hospital food.

My feet tingled and I scanned them, horrified. They were blue and ice cold as if they had been out in the winter snow, but when I peered outside, I found the sun to be sprinkling a warm ray over my window and the rest of the hospital lawn. I also noted that it looked nothing like France. There were no ancient architectures or infamous museums such as the Louvre. According to my eyes, I was back in Texas.
“Mom?” I inquired, “Why are we in Texas?”
“Oh, honey,” my mom touched my hand in what was supposed to be a comforting gesture, “you were so sick… You were in a coma, so I wanted to bring you back home.”
I looked at her seeing her hopeful expression. She was really clueless. “I want my friends back. I’m fine, Mom. I just want to go back to France.”
She fingered her hair awkwardly as if the correct answer would emerge from the wavy blonde strands. Her hazel eyes peered down nervously. “But honey, why would you want to go back to France?”
“Because I actually have friends in France. Well, I have a friend, but she’s my best friend!”
“What about Reese?”
“Of course I’m friends with Reese. But why are you keeping me here? Why can’t you understand what I need?”
Her face was startled, then hurt, then her eyebrows curved into a angry arch. My mom’s fair-skinned ears reddened as if they were volcanoes about to spurt out molten lava. “Well, you’re just a teenager,” she snapped, “You don’t know what you need.” The bitterness in her voice could sprout icicles on awning over the hospital entrance.
“How can you say that? I have been completely independent for at least a month! Probably more!” My throat hurt from all the shouting and so did my head.
“Because…” she trailed off and her mascara began to run.
“Because what?”
“It’s… It’s too complicated. You’re only fourteen, Genevieve. There are just some things you won’t be able to fully comprehend.” I watched her mouth moving like a TV in slow motion, but she just sounded like a blubbering whale. I was too exhausted to “fully comprehend” anything.
“It involves me, doesn’t it?” I budded in.
“Yeah, but honey, you’re sick. You’re just going to get all worked up.
“Of course that’s your excuse!” I spat.

After that, I was in a trance of some sort. I wouldn’t speak; I barely thought of anything, I just gazed out the window. There were two blackbirds out there pecking at a dirt-sprinkled, tattered popcorn bag. They made me think. They made me think of how much I wanted wings to fly back to France.
I was determined to figure a way out. Only I couldn’t let my mother in on the plan. How could I get back to France without her assistance? It seemed ultimately impossible, as if trying wasn’t even worth the effort. But then again, what was my alternative?
I heaved in a deep, droning breath that could probably shake the entire world. I rummaged around underneath my bed to find my notebook. Then I relapsed. I remembered I wasn’t in my room anymore. I couldn’t retrieve my notebook and I couldn’t write poetry until dusk. I couldn’t sketch out a plan of escape.
My mom stepped into the room, her sneakers squeaking on the beige scuffed floor.
“When can I leave?” I asked.
“Probably next week,” she answered without looking up.
“Mom, I sorry.” I was half-pleading and half-stating.
“Honey, you just don’t understand now. I know it’s hard on you, but you just have to trust me. I’m just trying to do what’s best for you.”

Walking into Frederick High was butterflies in my stomach, perplexed looks from former-peers, and zombie-like motions, slow and rough. Never before could I see a better perspective of how my classmates really were. It was like looking in the mirror for the first time.
I saw the bird-like walk of the huddled girls that wore matching black pencil skirts, the schoolgirl giggles of fellow freshmen, everyone seemed so sure of themselves. Well, except for one person. Me.
The door caught my hip and I grimaced regretfully hoping no one noticed. I had never actually been to Frederick High, not officially as a student, at least. I’d only been on tours.
I climbed the stairs feeling like a ghost as a group of boys were guffawing as they unwittingly pushed past me. I was used to it, even though at the time, I would never admit it to myself. I peered around the corner, looking for my locker number, #225. An unlucky number, I would later find. But maybe, it was lucky in some perspectives. Nonetheless, I found it in the corner.
“Hi,” a voice startled me.
“Hey,” I responded nearly from reflex.
“You must be new… Either that or lost…” the first features I noticed were his glowing green eyes and sort of messy brown hair. I didn’t like him, I reassured myself.
“Semi-new,” I explained with an emotionless expression.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I mean… I used to live here.” I explained hesitantly. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to tell this stranger my life story. He wouldn’t understand. He would think I was insane and probably call the guidance counselor. I could picture his expression, wrinkled forehead, furrowed brow as he said, “She’s a chronic liar.”
I saw him talking, but I didn’t catch his words as they flew into the air. I just gazed at his jade colored eyes, but then I reminded myself, I had no feelings for him. I couldn’t, I mean it is only logical to say that since I don’t even know him.
“What?” I asked.
“I’m Hugo. What’s your name?”
“I’m Geni, as in Genevieve, not Jennifer. I must get to class.” I blindly wrestled my notebooks into my rusted locker and swiftly walked away.
“Bye!” Hugo called distantly, but I didn’t dare turn back.

I skidded into my seat a sliver of a second before the bell rang. I ruffled up the pages in my notebook, trying to look busy, so my face wasn’t visible.
I felt a subtle tap on my shoulder and I winced. “Ah!”
“Hi,” Hugo said.
“Hi,” I muttered. I turned around without further response from either one of us.
I went through the day, meeting Hugo at every other class. His warm smile never seemed to waver even with my icy glares and halfhearted responses. Why couldn’t he just leave me alone like everyone else in our school did?

He was locker #226, directly under mine, yet he was taller than me by about two inches. When I went to open my locker, flustered from my encounters with him, I heard a clunk. There was Hugo, holding his head, trying not to complain.
“I’m sorry.” I sputtered.
“It’s fine. If you really didn’t like me, why didn’t you ask to get your locker changed?”
A sick feeling crept into my stomach. My head stormed with words, but none my mouth knew how to form and my legs felt as if they would crumple right out of under me.
“That’s not it,” I told him, “it was an accident.”
He arched his brown eyebrow, his forehead wrinkled adorably, I thought, but then I remembered I did not like him. So technically I was lying to either Hugo or myself. I didn’t quite know. “You’ve been avoiding me all day.”
“I’m sorry. I just don’t really know anyone. I mean, it’s been two years since I’ve been here.” I explained, trying not to redden from humiliation. Why was I isolating myself, anyway? I guess I just had a grisly feeling about coming too close to friends; they were like fire in some way I could not place. Where did I get that dark analogy from?
“I remember you. From somewhere or another, but nonetheless, I remember you.” He said. The bump on his head appeared and I wished I could turn back the clocks and look before I open my locker. Why had I been in such a hurry in the first place?

“Are you okay?” Hugo waved his hand in front of my face. It was a blur, but by the intricate lines running like highways across his palm, I could tell that it was his hand. I stumbled forwards; reaching my hands out, because I would not allow gravity to let me face plant.
“I’m fine.” I said.
“You’re really pale, you know.”
“Gee, thanks.” I replied with fake giddy in my voice. It kind of sounded squeaky like a mouse, so I blushed.
“I didn’t mean that.” He answered swiftly, trying to spare my feelings. I peered down at my sneaker-clad feet to avoid eye contact. I was embarrassed, but he thought I was detached from the rest of the world. Hugo was the one who thought I didn’t like him, as a friend of course. In some ways, his naivety was cute. In a friendly way, of course.
“What happened back there?” He was referring to the incident that had occurred in chemistry. I shrugged it off. “Was it because you didn’t have a lab partner? Because I would’ve offered.” He explained. I rubbed my temples, straining to see.
“Sure, that’s it.” I replied. Honestly, I didn’t know what was going on, I just had a strange feeling, as if there was a destined reason I had no lab partner.
“You have a headache? Want me to get the nurse?”
I leaped after him, ignoring the stares from my prying classmates. I gripped his arm, noticing a bruise. It hadn’t been there before, had it? “Where’d you get that bruise?”
“What bruise?” he asked. I pointed to the unmistakable purple welt enlarging by the second. Hugo pulled down the sleeve of his gray thermal protectively. Was he hiding something? “It’s probably nothing. I tried out for football last week. I’m not a jock. I like music, but I tried. It was stupid.” I shrugged it off and sped down the hallway. All I wanted was my French lifestyle back. Not some peculiar musician trying to be a jock. This time, Hugo didn’t even say goodbye.


I had my head down all day. Observing the consecutive lines on the desk, as I went through the day, I told myself nothing was up. They were all curved and some may say gnarled, but they reminded me of those wrought-iron fences, the ones I longed for. Why did he bring back memories? These memories were once squished into a small recess of my mind. My head hurt from all of this intense pondering.
Hugo tried to talk to me, but I never responded. He was weird, I concluded and I didn’t particularly need any weirdness in my life.

When I got home from school, my mom was still working late at the hospital. She’s a doctor for cancer patients, specifically leukemia.

I went out to shoot baskets. It wasn’t a common habit I had, but once in a blue moon, I’d be bored and bring my basketball outside with me. The first one I tried hit the rim, but then bounced in. That never happened, especially not when I was in such a foul mood. I got distracted from the vibration coming from my back pocket. I looked at the lit up screen that reflected a glare from the sun. It was Adele. I sat down on the curb to get a closer look. She was coming to Texas for a student-exchange program. If only I could get my mom to agree to house a French exchange student… How could she possibly decline? After all, it certainly is a cultural experience.

I was seated at the kitchen table. My mom had an uneasy expression painted across her lips. Her blue eyes squinted at me as if she were trying to read the fine print written on my forehead. I could read her thoughts. My mom knew I wanted something, something she would be reluctant to give me. She lifted her arm up in defense. “Geni, why don’t you just tell me what you want now?”
I faked bewilderment. “What do you mean?” I asked. I tried not to blink too rapidly like the phony actresses that my peers watched on reality TV. This had to be believable.
“Come on, I’ve had a long day at work, okay? Either tell me or let it go. You pick.” My mom shot me a restless glare. I didn’t want to have to lie. I wanted this to be as painless as she wanted it to be. And as long as she agreed, it pretty much would be. What was I saying? I’m not that kind of person. I don’t lie if I really don’t have to.
“Well, my friend, Adele, is coming to Texas for a student-exchange program. I was wondering if she could stay here?” I hoped the pleading intonation in my voice would be enough for her to give in. I saw my mother gulp and then let out a sigh.
“No,” she said without any lenience.
“Why not? What’s so bad about inviting Adele over?”
“I said no, Geni. Please just let it go.”
“But why? I really don’t understand. Maybe if I did—“ I left the last part for her to fill in. It was suspended in the air, dangling above endless possibilities.
“I didn’t want to tell you this.” My mom paused, filling the room with tension. “But she’s the reason you were in the hospital.” My mouth went dry. It moved as if by a puppeteer, except no words came out.
“How?” I finally uttered.
“She pushed you into a bush.” My mom was staring at the floor now, probably afraid of my facial expression. I didn’t know what to feel or say. I just stood there as if I were a statue. I probably looked like one too, since I was gaping and my eyes didn’t wander. They just stared straight at the wall. The normally comforting aroma of vanilla sugar that wafted around my kitchen was suddenly sickening.
“I don’t understand…”
“Geni, I don’t know the entire story, but all I know is that she pushed you into a bush.”
“How do you know it wasn’t an accident?” I questioned.
“Geni, all I know is that she could’ve killed you. You’re lucky you’re here right now. I’m lucky you’re here. It was the scariest day of my life. And I’m not taking any chances.”
“Mom, it was dark out that night. I couldn’t see. She probably didn’t even recognize me. Her brother ran away and we were looking for him. She probably thought I was some creep lurking in the woods.” I rationalized.
“Geni, I don’t want to talk about it any longer.”
To be honest, the feeling was mutual. I stomped up the stairs into my bedroom. Then, I collapsed onto my bed. I squeezed my eyes tight. That always worked when I tried to stifle tears.

Monday morning I skipped breakfast due to lack of hunger.

The spiral pattern that danced across my yellow walls made me dizzy when I finally opened my eyes. I’d had my hopes up that the world would change, but it appeared to be the same. My chest still ached and I still had three pieces of tape that held my broken ribs in place. I flopped back onto my stomach and flung the covers over my head. Nothing was confusing under here.
“Geni? Come down and eat lunch. I’m worried about you.” My mom called from downstairs.
“No,” I moaned, “I’m not hungry.”
“Honey, is this about before?” she trudged up the stairs, her feet pounding behind the door.
“No. Just go away.”
“You still have friends, don’t you? What about Reese?” My response was only a Neanderthal-type of a grunt. My mom flicked on the light, which caused my eyes to close again.
“I don’t even know where Reese is. Does she still live here?”
“Of course she does, honey. She’s always been just a block away. And I… I’m here for you. Even when I’m at work, you know I’m only a phone call away.”
“I don’t need you, no offense mom, but I need a friend right now.” I whispered into my pillow.
She caressed my hair and I pretended that it wasn’t the least bit comforting. “I know Gen, it’s horrible. I didn’t want to tell you because I was afraid of this.”
“Can I go for a walk?” I asked. She nodded. Maybe she did care.

I waltzed out the door to inhale the refreshing aroma of the salmon blossoms that were now becoming the trees. It tickled my nose the way it always had. My plain yellow flip-flops clapped the ground to the rhythm of the blue-jays chirping. I walked two blocks down, Marshall Street. My dad used to bring me to the park there when I was little. I recalled the crisp clean swings that could touch the sky and then float back down to Earth ever so gracefully. I remembered buying those icy cherry ice cream cones and eating them on the way home. We don’t do that anymore. We haven’t since I was eight.

I sat down on the swing, hoping it would hold my weight. I wasn’t exactly heavy, but neither was I a model.

It was rusted, different than I remembered. I wondered if children still came here, if they had memories like I did. Memories that would last forever.

I kept having the same flashback. Plane tickets in front of my face. The unsure look on Mom’s face. The decision that would change my life. I remember staring at the floor. I noticed every crack on the tile that day. “What about you, Geni?” he asked. I never answered. I was incapable of moving my mouth, maybe it was from fatigue, and maybe it was from distress.

I looked out on the salmon horizon. Salmon was also the color of the tile. It still is, in fact. I hope it will always stays salmon. That’s one thing I’ll always coax my mom into doing; keeping the tiles salmon.
That didn’t matter anymore. Now, I was Supergirl. It was my job to save everyone else.

My stomach was growling. I inched slowly into the quaint ice cream shop to buy ice cream. I licked my delectable cherry ice cream cone as I walked back home.

At school the next day, I didn’t see Hugo at his locker. Maybe he’s late, I thought. Except, he wasn’t in my next class or any of the ones he was usually in. I pretended not to notice. I mean, it wasn’t like we were friends or anything. He was just the boy who occupied the locker beneath mine. He was just the boy that was in half of my classes. But he was nothing else. Convincing myself was harder than convincing the rest of the world. I knew I couldn’t fool myself forever.

Suddenly, I remembered. I remembered the jagged edge of a slip of loose-leaf I shoved so carelessly into my binder. It was shaped like a dragon. The smudged pencil marks. The numbers that were nearly illegible, but I could make them out if I squinted and tilted my head slightly to the left.

I pulled out my honors English notebook and found that it was crumpled between my copy of Romeo and Juliet and my favorite Emily Dickinson poem. It had a blue ink smudge on it that stained the entire piece. I then reached into my back pocket and got out my cell phone. I texted him with trembling hands. I could barely feel the phone in my palm. My hands cramped up. About a minute later, I received a text from him.
At the doctor’s, I read aloud.
Why? I replied, hoping it wouldn’t seem as if I were prying. How could I be prying if I didn’t even care?
Just a check-up, he answered. This was a bit outlandish to me, since not many people missed an entire school day for a casual check-up. I slid my phone back into my pocket. The bell was about to ring, so I slid in my sneakers to my next class. With this severe degree of a migraine, I knew I’d be in pain for the remainder of the day.

I trudged up the front steps. Normally, I would watch my feet, since I often fell ever since the accident, but today, I didn’t pay much mind to the forest green painted stairs whatsoever. I just tumbled up them, teetering on my left foot. “Hello, Gen,” My mom greeted. Her voice was a bit too chipper for me.
“Hi,” I mumbled.
“What’s wrong?” She pushed a golden lock of hair out of my eyes.
“Just a migraine.”
“You are pale. Do you want Advil?” I nodded, although I usually didn’t take Advil. Ever since I had learned in science that pain relievers temporarily lengthened your synapse, I was a bit skeptical about them.
“I wanted to tell you. I have a patient that goes to your school.”
“That’s great.” I heaved my feet up the stairs. They seemed larger and heavier than usual.
“No, wait. Do you know Hugo Johnson?” I halted, falling backwards a little bit.
“Did you…” I stuttered, “Did you just say Hugo Johnson?” I clutched my head; it needed some sort of support since my neck felt like an overstretched rubber band.
“Yes,” my mom clarified. “Do you know him?”
“I might’ve passed him in the hallway. But I don’t know him personally if that’s what you’re asking.”
My mom wrinkled her forehead in confusion. “Oh, because he seemed pretty sure he knew you.” She flattened out the salmon-navy plaid table cloth. There were three wrinkles. I slapped them down.
“Must’ve been another Geni.” I sighed. “I’m going to go up to my room.” Before she could disallow, I scuttled up the stairs. Every friend I made had a secret. And Hugo wasn’t even a friend. I barely knew Hugo. My migraine, however, begged to differ.

He was at his locker the next day. I slammed my locker with a sharp bang that sent other freshman running. It nicked Hugo on the head and I pretended not to notice. “Geni!” Hugo exclaimed. “What was that for?” He slowly stood up from his crouched position.
“It was an accident.” I walked away, but he followed close behind. I walked faster and faster, but I heard the pitter-patter of his step close behind me.
“You’re mad.” He concluded, catching his breath. “Can you stop running? You know, you should join the track team.”
“Nice try,” I snorted, “I used to play volleyball.”
“Why?” he asked.
“Because I like volleyball. I like the way playing on a team feels.” I answered in an authority-based tone. I stood straight up, trying to keep my cool. I was exhausted. I usually didn’t sprint.
“No, I mean why are you mad at me?”
“Why couldn’t you have told me?” I gasped for air, as if I had been floating beneath the surface and now I came up out into the air.
“I was embarrassed.”
“And yet you knew my mother was your doctor?” I asked. He sheepishly grinned, a rouge hue arising in his cheeks. His green eyes glittered, so I averted my eyes. They were just average green eyes, nothing too astonishing.
“Geni, I just wanted to be normal for once. I thought you of all people would’ve understood that. Sorry.”
“What do you mean I’d understand?” I asked. I felt paranoia snatch the bliss from the atmosphere. The air bombarded my lungs and my stomach felt queasy as if the world was a topsy-turvy rollercoaster thrusting me around.
“Forget it,” Hugo answered. He shook his head. I pushed the hair out of my eyes swiftly. I probably looked like one of those shaggy dogs. When I was in elementary school, teachers used to pull my hair into a ponytail. Now, I let it down, so it could fan out liberally.
“No, I want to understand.” I argued. I felt my stomach tauten again. Why was I so nervous? My palms were starting to become damp, so I shoved them into my denim pockets. I hoped it wouldn’t seem gauche.
“You came here and you just wanted to be invisible. You didn’t want to be labeled ‘The New Girl.’” I heaved in a deep sigh. He didn’t know my secret. I giggled realizing how ignorant I had just been. Did I actually believe my mom had deliberately told him about the accident? “What’s so funny?” He said with a curious grin that exposed his flawless teeth. I felt my heart warm up. It pumped faster and louder, as if a snare drum player was performing a drum roll.
“Nothing. I was just remembering something. It’s nothing important.” I cringed at my conspicuous semi-lie. Had I always acted like an idiot, fumbling around for words to say?
“You okay?” he asked.
“Sure.” I answered and I walked back to class.

The screeching sound of slamming lockers, the seemingly rambunctious whispering of cliquey pupils exchanging gossip, the squeaky sneakers catching awkwardly on the already scuffed blue-white floor, the noises were all too engulfing to a girl who was still trying to figure out her emotions. Well, technically I was trying to figure out the cause of my emotions.

I was contemplating all of this while walking. Not experienced in the art of double-tasking, I skidded straight into an elderly teacher. All I saw was the thick lenses of her glasses and her straggly white hair before I heard a clamorous crash, followed by a bloodcurdling scream.

I’d never been to the principal’s before (well unless you count being called down to accept my student of the month award). I wasn’t a rebel, except in recent experiences I’m not as certain as to who or what I am. This is the reason to why I am not in favor of making friends with Hugo. If I do not know myself, how can I know others? Then again, maybe I can find myself because of others. I can learn from others and who I wish to be. I’ll stop rambling now.

I felt the heat rise in my cheeks as Mr. Farren’s secretary, droned out my name. She was from New York and her eyeliner was smudged on her overly large forehead. The way she slurped her coffee was aggravating.

I tiptoed in there. “Genevieve!” Mr. Farren exclaimed. His face was red as a tomato.
“Hi,” I muttered into my blue sweatshirt.
“This is quite a surprise.” He fiddled with miscellaneous colored files. “Sit down.” He gestured towards the burgundy taut arm chairs. I carefully lowered myself down.
“Will she be okay?” I asked the picture frame that hung above a shelf that contained golden glimmering trophies. I held my breath as if I were one of those blowfishes fending off a foe.
“Yeah, nothing was too serious. Just a little banged up.”
“Am I in trouble?” I spoke meekly.
“No, I just want to hear your side of the story.”
“My…My side?” I gulped. He nodded, but I just sat there frozen. I wanted to explain that it was a misunderstanding, but I didn’t know how. I was locked in time. “I’m sorry.” I ran out before anyone could stop me. I teetered on my feet until I toppled over into a crumpled mess on the floor. Why was I acting so uncharacteristic?

I guess sometime prior to that, I hadn’t heard the bee-like buzz of the bell. Students clamored out into the hallway, so I crawled to the side like a three year old moving away from the oblivious cars zooming past. My heart fluttered when a voice said, “Hey.” I looked up, my eyes full of hope only to find an upperclassman above me. He was large like a bull and his shoulders were square. “Can you move? This is my locker.”
“Sure.” I inched away begrudgingly to my locker.

My locker felt as if it were 1,000 treacherous miles away. I walked there with my head to the sky this time. It took so long, I forgot why I had even been crying. Was it really due to the fact that I had accidentally knocked down an old teacher that was full of benevolence?
“What’s wrong?” Hugo asked. “You weren’t in English.” My breaths were staggering and uneven. My chest still ached when I inhaled and exhaled. I wiped the dampness from my eyes and stood tall.
“Nothing.” I said nonchalantly. My throat was wet as if I had nearly drowned on my own tears. “It has nothing to do with you.” I snorted with a vilifying glare. Now that was a deliberate lie. I couldn’t argue with myself on that.
“Oh. What are you doing after school?”
“I don’t know. Probably homework.” I replied with a pessimistic little frown that sprawled out from the inside of my body to the outside of my body.
“Want to hang out?” he asked.
“I guess.” I shrugged my shoulders vigorously. The light that pranced in from the windows was golden and exquisite.
“You know where I live?”
“Nah.” I said, “How would I?” I wondered.
“You’re right. You know Terry Road?”
I nodded. “I live two blocks away.” I added, but then I felt my ears start to boil.
“Great. Since you’re such a track star, let’s go for a run. See you later.” As he walked away, I chuckled and reminded him that I played volleyball.

“Genevieve?” sleek black stilettos clunked after me. I peered up from corner of my eye and saw the streak of black eyeliner that smudged her forehead. She was chomping down on a colossal wad of pink gum. She sounded like a cow chewing grass. I stopped sprinting because there were seniors trying to get to class. She evidently caught up to me, impractical heels and all. I smiled a tight, innocent smile that made me feel like Kermit the Frog. “Mr. Farren wants to see you.” Of course he did.

I reluctantly allowed her to lead me through the halls to Mr. Farren’s dreaded office. My head began to pound and my ears were humming. The unmistakable aroma of fresh coffee consumed me. I let my thoughts flow as I waited. He was taking a call. If any parents were here, he wouldn’t hesitate. They would be in billowy cushioned chairs before they could blink their eyes. I took that as a bright sign because the situation wasn’t dire. The secretary blew a bubble with her gum and then resumed robotically chewing it. “Genevieve…” she whined, “Mr. Farren is ready for you.” I scooted out of my seat and I shuffled towards his office.
“Hi.” I winced, awaiting scolding. I wasn’t ready to be screamed at. Not after bawling in the middle of the hallway. I stood up straighter and I brought my feet closer together.
“Hello.” He said.
“I know you’re waiting for an explanation. Here it is.” For a moment, I felt my heart stop. What was my explanation? But then, I ceased to think. I just stood in the moist air. I didn’t have to think. Perhaps the words would just arrive uninvited. All of the blood rushed to my toes and I fidgeted. “I was distracted,” I said, “By a good friend. Sorry, I ran away. I was scared.” He nodded, wordlessly. “Will I be suspended?.” Mr. Farren just shook his head.
“No, you may be dismissed.” I stood up slowly, feeling the blood rush to my feet again.

I slid into my salmon flip-flops that day after school. Head held high, I inhaled all of the uplifting senses of blooming spring. Total bliss overwhelmed me in such a way that no other emotion could. I thought of how I had just told my mom the truth about Hugo. She’d suspected it, yet I didn’t find anger when I searched her golden-streaked eyes. She just reminded me of the dating rule: no boyfriends until I am sixteen. We could just be platonic friends.

When I reached Terry Road, I was greeted by Hugo’s soft emerald eyes. “Do I really have to run?” I whined.
“Stop complaining! I’ve seen you run.” He reminded me. I stomped my foot in protest, to the rhythm of the vivacious conversations of nearby bluebirds. A smile spread across his face as he said, “Race ya to the dead end!” Before I could resist, my feet started to sprint.
After hyperventilating from laughter, we decided to stroll in the park. There was a garden of exquisite orange daisies and yellow roses adjacent to the iron swing-set. I perched myself on the swing-set, legs pumping and hair blowing away from my face. Hugo sat on the other swing. “So, who do you think can pump higher on the swings?” he asked.
“Is this a challenge?”
“Yep.” His eyes gleamed with the yellow glaze of sunlight that painted a mural upon the park.
“You’re on!” I shouted. We were both pumping our legs harder and harder. For a moment, I forgot gravity would pull me down to Earth. It seemed as if I could touch the clouds that embellished the aqua sky.

At one point, I pumped so high, I slid off of my swing and into the dirt. I burst out into laughter and so did Hugo. I couldn’t remember the last time I had laughed so hard; all I knew was that it was an inimitable feeling.

Half of my brain forgot the world. Half of it was floating on cloud nine. My mom wanted me to invite him over for dinner, which I found peculiar, since she was the one who reminded me that I was fourteen therefore not yet old enough for a boyfriend. But I figured she knew we were just friends. Maybe having interactions with people other than myself weren’t so bad. Maybe I couldn’t be afraid to live anymore. All I knew were that things had changed since I was in the hospital. Maybe it was my perspective. Maybe it was the world.

My heart lifted when he texted back yes. What brought upon joy? Was it others or the hopefulness that was locked away, deep within one’s soul? I pondered as I was perched upon my bed. What brought upon thoughts? Ideas?

The clock finally reached five o’clock, so I walked back downstairs and into the kitchen. I was in nothing formal; just a blue tee-shirt paired with slightly ripped jean shorts. But that hadn’t mattered. Friends don’t dress up for a casual dinner. That was plainly something locked inside of everyone’s minds.
The piercing ring of the doorbell interrupted my thoughts. I stood up not confidently nor self-consciously and padded over to the door. Before I opened it with the squiggly iron doorknob, I slipped on a random pair of flip-flops.

Without more frantic thoughts, I swung the door open. “Hey,” he said, “your house is nice.”
“Thanks,” I replied with a shrug, “it’s nothing special. You can come in. My mom made pizza.” I gestured toward the olive-green interior that had always reminded me of spring and summer.
He nodded in approval, “These are some really great colors.” For a moment I had forgotten that no other guy friends I brought here recognized the hues, most took note and beamed when they saw the gleaming cars parked in the driveway. I chose the olive color because it was unique and not bland nor obnoxious. It suited the room; my mom and I had intended for the entrance to be comfortable and not intimidating. I shut the door once we stepped into the living room.

The room smelled of the delectable aroma of basil, garlic, and tomatoes. It wafted through my nostrils and made my mouth water. Three place mats were lined erratically on the table; something considered abnormal in my house. I would always wait for the day where there would be three place settings and here it was, although it wasn’t how I expected.

“You can sit down.” I gestured towards the swirl-backed chair in front of him.
“Thank you.” Hugo said. I just nodded wordlessly.

That was how most of the dinner went: wordless and some may even say awkward. For a moment I was angry at myself for thinking it would be any different. After all, I just met him and it wasn’t like we had been childhood friends. That was until he brought up poetry. I laughed so hard that I cried. I came up to one outlandish conclusion: he read minds.

“This is my friend Damen and this is Sienna.” Hugo introduced, “Damen, Sienna, meet Genevieve. Although, you can call her Geni or Gen.”
I looked at two people, Sienna lanky with light brunette hair and Damen stocky with his blonde curls and piercing blue eyes. I waved at them. This was my new life. The life I had to get used to in Texas. Sienna gave me a welcoming smile and Damen said hey. I’d thought I was Hugo’s only friend, but I was wrong. Now I felt like the outcast.
“Hugo told me so much about you!” Sienna’s voice was high-pitched and chipper. I could only nod. What was I supposed to say: I didn’t even know Hugo had friends? “You’re going to love it here in Texas! He told me you’re from France?”
“Actually, I’m from Texas, but I moved to France for a little while.”
“How’d you like it? Did you eat snails?” All of these questions were overwhelming my brain. My head felt as if it might explode. “Did you visit the Eiffel Tower? What about the Louvre? Did you meet any French boys?” By that point, Hugo interrupted her.
“I think Geni’s had enough excitement.” He said.
“Oh, but she never even got to answer me…” Sienna protested, pushing a wisp of brunette hair behind her ear.
“That’s because you were talking too fast,” Damen jibed.

Sienna’s eyes darted back and forth between me and Hugo, as if she was trying to say something. She mouthed a few words, but I couldn’t understand. She then, padded over next to me and whispered in my ear.
“What?” I asked, completely puzzled and a bit aggravated. She peered at me as if I understood when it sounded to me as if she was mumbling gibberish.
“Are you two dating?” she asked again as she fixed her gaze on Hugo.
“What? Of course not.” I murmured sharply.
I folded me arms and looked away. How could she possibly think that? I couldn’t care less what she thought of me as long as she didn’t think I was dating Hugo. What was the point of getting attached anyway? Why even try? My entire life I spent trying to grab onto something solid, something nothing could take away and it had gotten me nowhere. Now, I was fine by myself.
“I…I gotta get to class.” I mumbled, shuffling my feet towards yet another day of science.

It may be unheard of for a girl whose mother is a doctor to despise science. Or it may be cliché. Nonetheless, I cannot find a meaning to any of it. People dedicate their lives to science and never truly find a legitimate answer. I am thankful to scientists who cure diseases and discover remedies, but I could never do such a thing. I could never spend my life finding bits and pieces of the puzzle but never really completing it. There is no scientific explanation for how the mind works and thinks up thoughts. That is the piece of the puzzle I must admit that I am most intrigued with, but science is just bland to me.

Hugo sat behind me and tried to get my attention. He tried whispering, but after that ultimately failed, he tapped my shoulder. Fed up with his incessant whispering and tapping, I whipped around. His green eyes looked as if they were about to bulge out of his head.
“What do you want?” I snapped.
“I don’t know why you’re ignoring me all of the sudden. Was it something Sienna said? Or Damen? I promise I’ll tell them off if they did.” His ignorance was really getting under my skin.
“No, your peppy little friend was fine. And so was Damen, although he barely spoke a word.”
“Geni, stop it. They’re my friends. Why don’t you like them?”
“Because it’s obvious you don’t think I am capable of making friends on my own.” I faced forward, watching my teacher discuss white blood cells while tapping the Smartboard with one of those Smartboard markers.
“Stop being so stubborn!” he hissed. “I was just trying to help.”
I focused on the Smartboard, its iridescent lights flickering across my face like a candle in dim light. “I don’t take charity.” I insisted, my hushed tone scratching my throat.
“You’re acting like I’m giving you money.”
“I don’t need your friends and I certainly don’t need you, okay?”
“Why do you have to close yourself off from the world so much? I mean, here you are complaining about how you don’t fit in, but you are the one who distances yourself from the world in the first place!”
“And when exactly did I say I didn’t fit in? You know what? Don’t even answer that! You don’t know anything about me!” I snapped.
“Of course I don’t! You isolate yourself too much! You make it impossible for anyone to ever really get to know you!”
“Ms. Kolar, Mr. Johnson, I assume you had an important subject to discuss. Far more important than our lesson…” Mr. Davidson eyed us with a stern scowl painted across his wrinkled face.
“Sorry, Mr. Davidson.” We both mumbled in unison. The remainder of the period, I endured Mr. Davidson droning on about the various blood types in his monotone voice.

Hugo, Sienna, and Damen sat together at lunch with a few other friends. I couldn’t help but wonder if Sienna noticed how Hugo’s eyes crinkled when he smiled and I wondered if Hugo thought Sienna was pretty. But for now, I ate lunch with my old friends. My friend, Shelley, asked me how France was. “It was fine.” I said after swallowing some spinach.
“How was babysitting?” She inquired.
“Oh, you know, little girls fighting, Brielle had an allergic reaction, which scared me.”
Her alert blue eyes widened in horror. “Did she stop breathing?”
“No, no,” I assured her, “nothing serious, she just felt sick.”
“Oh, but still, it sounds scary. So, what have you been up to?” Shelley asked.
“Nothing exciting if that’s what you’re looking for.” My shoulders tensed up as I thought of what brought me back to Texas. I shivered.
“Are you okay?” Her baby-blue eyes were wide with concern.
“I’m…I’m fine. I’m just a little cold.”
Shelley nodded towards Hugo’s table and raised an eyebrow. “I saw you talking to Johnson the other day.” She winked, “He’s not my type, but I know you. You’re into musicians.”
I peered at my salad to avoid blushing. Then, I shook my head. “It’s not like that. We’re just friends. Besides, I have no room right now in my life for a serious relationship. I have so much schoolwork to catch up on, so even if I did have feelings for him, I’m happy being single.”
Shelley cackled and shook her head, her blonde ringlets bouncing. “You see that’s your problem. You always deny everything and when you do face the truth, you always have some excuse not to follow your heart. Look, if you have feelings for him and you think he has feelings for you, what are you afraid of?”
I gulped down my water, nearly spurting it out of my mouth. When I actually swallowed my water, it wouldn’t slide smoothly down my esophagus. “You’re suggesting that I ask Hugo out? Me…And Hugo? Together?!”
“Aw… Isn’t that cute?” She gushed.
I wrinkled my nose. “Not really. We’re just friends.”
“Mhmmmm…” she nodded sarcastically.
I struggled to ignore her tone, but I knew I was blushing. Hugo was just sitting there with Damen and Sienna like nothing was wrong. He was chuckling! Shelley turned around to inspect my expression. Then her gaze turned to Hugo. “He’s just acting, you know. In reality, he’s wishing he was talking to you.”
I drew in an exaggerated breath. “I don’t care. And I don’t think he’s interested in me in any way. Not even as a friend.”
Shelley’s eyes were focused perfectly, as always. “Not even as a friend? Well then, he’s not worth it. But I don’t believe that. A small argument is not going to stop feelings. And if it does, then perhaps those feelings were never even there…” her voice trailed off, like an echo through a cave and her eyes grew cold like the winter. “Like me and Jake…”
I halted and looked at her straight-on. “You and Jake… You broke up?”
Suddenly, all of that warm sunshine that radiated from her everywhere she went evaporated. “Yes, but it’s for the better. It was only a matter of time. Don’t worry about my problems. Let’s get to fixing yours!” Her southern accent made me smile in spite of myself.
“I don’t have a problem.” I assured her.
Shelley giggled her Shelley laugh. It was unique and a trademark, but most of all genuine. I coveted a genuine laugh or some sort of trademark. “Stop lying to yourself! Bottling up emotions never works.” She swiftly lifted her bottle of Coca Cola™ and displayed it as if she were Vanna White. “It’s like this soda bottle for instance.” She shook the bottle feverishly.
“You can stop now.” I winced, imagining the sticky beverage spurting all over the tiled cafeteria floor.
“No, that’s defeats the purpose. There has to be an explosion or you won’t understand it.”
“I think I understand it now. Shelley, you can stop. I don’t need a visual demonstration. I learn by ear.” I was too late. The cap flung off of the bottle and soda spilled out of it like a fizzy waterfall. I covered my face in humiliation. “Shelley, look what you’ve done!”
“Just like what will happen to you if you don’t emerge from this state of denial!”
“What happened?” I looked up and was baffled to see Hugo Johnson standing above me. “Do you need help cleaning this up?” He asked.
“I think we can handle it, but thanks. I’m sorry I acted like an idiot before.”
His smile widened. “You don’t have to apologize.” And then, his piercing green eyes crinkled.

“Hey, looks like there’s a new student.” My classmate, Kara, murmured to her friends Molly and Kate. I peered over my shoulders to see what all of the gossip was about. For once, Kara, who had spread rumors about other girls in the school being pregnant, was right. There was a girl in the back row. She had shiny brunette hair pulled away from her face into a sleek ponytail and green eyes, pointed at the corners like a cat’s. Her hands shook in a way I recognized. The fear that clouded her face was conspicuous to anyone looking for an excuse to push her down. I would have never imagined that here, in seventh period geometry, I would feel the tiniest ping of sorrow for Adele.

Maybe because I had spent too much time in those shoes and I knew how much the blisters hurt. Or perhaps it was because I saw the vulnerability in her eyes. But how I acted next, even I, a girl with a passion for creative writing, could not write up. That must be for the fact that in fictional stories, characters must fit together like a puzzle, but in reality, people act uncharacteristically.

I tapped Hugo on the shoulder. When he turned around, I smiled, trying to act calm and natural. But none of this was all that natural. “Hi,” he said “what’s up?”
“Can I talk to you?” I asked.
“Sure.”
“I know the new girl.”
“You do?” he lowered his voice, “Is she a patient of your mom’s?”
“No, no. Just an old friend. I can’t believe she’s going to our school.”
“Why?” Hugo seemed to sense that there was some morbid secret.
“She pushed me.”
Hugo smirked. “When, in kindergarten?”
I just kept my gaze fixated on the semi-open window. I was just starting to see the drizzle, a mid-November mist. Brown leaves skimmed the windowsill as they tumbled down the sidewalk recklessly. Was it drizzling on that night in the woods? I couldn’t recall that if it would save my life. Perhaps, I should’ve kept those details locked up inside my mind.
When I looked back at Hugo, he looked perplexed. “What are you staring at?” he asked.
I felt as if he had just snapped me out of a trance. “What? Oh no, nothing. I was just staring into space. What were we talking about again?”
“You said that you knew the new girl. You told me that she was your old friend. She pushed you apparently.”
“Oh yeah.” My voice sounded gravelly, as if I was coming down with a serious case of pneumonia. “Never mind.” I pretended to ogle my notebook, as if it would give me an answer. I felt like a possessed zombie, like someone was controlling me, watching my every move and making sure I’d get it right.

I felt cold eyes bearing into my soul, but every time I looked back, the eyes had vanished. At my locker, I heard footsteps followed by an utterance. My mind was far too full to follow, so I just stared absently. “Hi.” I heard again, this time my mind listening.
“Hi.” I parroted without hesitation.
“Do you want to hang out after school?”
My mind was so far from this request, I could barely comprehend it, and so I just agreed. I had my hopes up that I might be able to think of something else. The autumn breeze chilled me as I walked back to class.
As I walked home that day, I saw a snowflake falter in the amber sky. It finally brushed against my left hand. The first snowflake of November, I thought to myself. I remember walking up the front steps and briefly pausing. Words barely reached my ears, but then I was in the car.
I saw a red car pass by and more red cars. A few more snowflakes flounced down, but there was no storm yet. I slammed the door behind me and stared expressionlessly in front of me. Voices clouded my thoughts. I tried to block faces out of my mind, but that plan ultimately failed. A voice of a snake viciously whispered, “You do not deserve the entirety of your bliss.” I shook my head, but it was not intimidated.
Here I was. I read the signs dangling from the ceiling to confirm my accuracy. Frustration ascended my throat. I had to command my legs to continue to walk. The interconnecting hallways mocked me. I stood a tiny apple, prey to this snake. This was the leap from branch to branch. I could either tumble into the fatal fangs of the snake or I could meet the ground, but either way, I could not be considered a victor. Instead, I sneered at the snake, convincing myself that I was invincible.
My eyes were fixated on the sign that ever-so bluntly read, “Room 225.” My footsteps were slight, afraid. I felt tears obstruct my trachea. The tension in my shoulders was not only caused by the fierce chill emerging from the half-open window. A winter coat could not stifle my shiver.
I halted at the door, awaiting an indication to enter. I counted back from two hundred twenty-five phonetically in but a whisper. I was interrupted at twenty-five by the snake approaching my mind once again. The hesitation in my mind did not happen to deter my next few footsteps. I cackled to the snake, my fear sliding down my throat.
I sat on the edge of the bed with its rusted iron headboard. All was silent with the exception of machines sounding in intervals of five seconds. My attention tuned into the sound of inhaling followed by exhaling. My own breaths mimicked that pattern. All of my attempts at speaking had gone awry.
An indistinct figure stood in the doorway. The moment that figure came into view, I got to my feet.
“Why are you here?” I inquired to the guiltless face before me.
“I came to see if you were okay.” Adele not only had the nerve to answer my obvious rhetorical question, but she sat down beside me.
“I will not allow you to be here.”
“What are you going to do? Kick me out?” I was alarmed by her strident chuckle and defiance.
“If you refuse to leave, you will wish I kicked you out.” My tone was fairly even.
“Geni, I know this hurts but…”
I refused to let her finish. Whatever she insisted on saying was unimportant. She was incorrect. What did she know about me? What did she know about Hugo? The answer: absolutely nothing. Her verdicts were simply based on vague, accusing rumors that were false.
“Get away.” I murmured, “Just get away. You do not belong here. Not after what you have done to me, not after what you put me through. Keep your opinions to yourself.”

Her face did not flicker with fear, she did not even flinch, but the broken mirror behind her proved otherwise. I saw her left eye twitch, a sure sign of fear. I sprinted towards the mirror and dismantled it more. My reflection along with Adele’s reflection was undistinguishable.

“Are you out of your mind? Why would you touch broken glass?” Adele knelt down next to me.
“The answer to that question is quite obvious. Figure it out for yourself. Do not come near me.” I commanded with an authority that I did not feel, yet I pretended.
“I am sure Hugo will be fine.” Adele nearly answered my thoughts, but then again they were written all over my face.
“So am I.”
“Why do you not act like it then? You say you believe it, but your actions don’t seem to reflect it.”
“You may speak to me only if you understand it yourself.” I informed Adele without eye contact. I heaved in a breath from the bottom of my diaphragm.
“Same to you.” Adele answered as she stood up.
Blood oozed from my pointer finger, but I tried not to take notice. I could hardly believe she had just questioned me. I dismissed the absurd thought of Adele and I just looked back at Hugo. Had he just heard the argument? I could not tell since he lied there expressionlessly. I clutched my heart.

“Genevieve, are you alright?” My mother examined me through affectionate eyes.
“I am just fine.” I replied. This was the heart of our dinner conversation. Usually I had more to say, but today I could not seem to get that image of the broken mirror out of my mind.
“Honey, I know you are upset about Hugo, but he’s going to be alright.”
“Mom,” I said stagnantly, “don’t make a promise you cannot keep. It will just backfire.” I stood up and washed my dish at the sink. My mom followed me and wrapped her arms around my square shoulders.
“You’ve been so distant since that trip to France. I’m worried about you.”
“Don’t be,” I assured her, “everything is exactly the same.” As soon as my dish was spotless, I walked up to my room.
I paced around until I stopped at the mirror that was hooked to the back of my door. For a moment I just observed my reflection and I imagined my reflection in the broken mirror. The two pictures were not that far off from each other, yet they still were not identical. I imagined Hugo lying there inertly, but I also imagined how animated his eyes were that day at the park.
Just for a bitter moment, I considered smashing this mirror into a million tiny smithereens, but then I stopped myself. Instead, I ran down the stairs. My mom glanced up when she heard my thunderous footsteps. “Can you drive me to the hospital?” I asked. She nodded in return.

I heard laughter in my head, laughter that I could have sworn I was not imagining. It was a female’s laughter that much I could distinguish. There was also this tickle in my throat as if a feather was dangling from my uvula. I tried to clear it out, but that only made the tickling worse.

I perched myself on a wooden chair in the corner of the room, while my room spoke to Hugo’s mother with a hopeful gleam in her eyes, or was that a tear? My face felt flushed and my head was spinning. Even if Hugo could not see me, I tried not to stare.

The laughter in my head grew louder, almost to the point where it alarmed me, but I tried to stay focused on something else, something that had an existence that could be confirmed. I looked at Hugo. Wires were protruding from his face and his brown hair looked disheveled. I had not heard the entire story of how he had ended up in a coma, but I was certain that I did not want to.
“So how’s life?” I asked him, but then I realized how cruel that statement was. My thoughts cackled back, how do you think life would be in a hospital bed? Don’t you remember the loneliness… Oh wait, being in a coma was so horrid, you blocked it out.

I walked the perimeter of the room until I decided to sit down once again. An hour later, I found myself startled by the monitor. I was curled up on the wooden chair and my back felt like I had been in a severe car accident. It had been a dreamless sleep, a sleep that seemed almost like it had never happened. It was as if I was just staring into space for that hour.

Once I became tired of my own thoughts, I walked towards Hugo. How could this be the same friend I had met this year, the friend I had laughed with, fought with, and talked with? Life is ironic in more ways than any story could ever be. For once, I wanted nothing more than to live inside of a novel.

My mom walked in the room and nodded her head as if she had read my mind. Sometimes I wish she could. There would be a lot less talking on my part and more comprehending on hers. The monitor connected to the wires intrigued me. It was connected to the machine responsible for the incessant beeping. The sound was almost soothing. I wanted nothing more than to stay here, to live in that machine. I wanted to have some correct answers for once, instead of feeding myself these pretty lies.
“What do you think will happen?” I asked.
Her voice sounded restless, as if she detected the lump filling up my throat. “To be honest, sweetheart, I don’t know.”
“Why?” I whispered in a wobbly voice. “Why does this happen so unexpectedly?” For a moment, I covered my mouth with my clammy palm. Had I expected this?
“I know this is very upsetting to you. And at this age you probably don’t understand…”
“What is there to understand? Do you understand any of this?”
She stood before me in astonishment. An answer did not escape her lips, only silence remained.

I ran away before I could hear my mom’s answer. She would not have one anyway, so even if I had waited, I would be wasting precious time, time that could be spent praying.
I usually prayed at night, while I was in the dark, so minuscule dramas occurring during the day could not interrupt my intense concentration. Today seemed like an exception, although I silently hoped I was not asking for too much.
It was not a long prayer nor was it a short prayer. Inside of the chapel I saw statues of saints, people who would hopefully answer my prayers. I just knelt there for a moment, concentrating on these statues, my saviors.
“Please…” I begged, “I promise I will never ask for much more. All I want is my friend back. I know, I have had a pretty great life, and I am thankful for that. I promise, not a day will go by without me being thankful for all of my blessings, if you just answer this prayer…”

The lights were dim, which had a strangely soothing effect of me. It was just me, my thoughts, and these souls before me. The only light was supplied by the synthetic candles that lined the walls. There was a scent, almost of jasmine or possibly vanilla. I inhaled and stared at the exquisite stain-glass windows. The ceiling was so far above my head that when I was younger I used to imagine that if someone had been bold enough to climb to the roof, they would be escorted straight to heaven.

As I gradually stood up, I leaned on the pew for balance. I gave the statues one last glance before I stepped out. Then, I was back inside the hospital.

A peculiar omen told me to go into the gift shop. I had heard two elderly women conversing about it after I had left the chapel. For some reason, I had interpreted it as some sort of omen.

The tiny bell rang when I walked into the gift shop. Stuffed animals holding signs reading “Get Well Soon!” lined the shelves and cards were lined erratically on a revolving rack. I walked over to this rack and began to read some of the cards. One had said something along the lines of “Dear Grandpa, get well soon.” Then, another basically repeated those words except with a grandma. Most other ones were either blank, to specific, or about celebrating a birthday.

I walked the perimeter until I came to cards that blatantly stated “Get Well Soon.” I picked up a simple one that had a picture of exquisite snow and lifted it up, inspecting it. The inside was blank. After deciding to get it, I went to the cash register. The card was two dollars and twenty-five cents.

“Why are you here?”
“Geni, I came to check up on him.” She backed up, appearing innocent and pleased with herself.
“I thought I warned you the first time. Apparently you can’t take a hint.” I sneered. “You don’t know Hugo and you never will.”
Her voice was soft, irritatingly soft. “You don’t know that.” Adele was wearing a white sundress that skimmed the bottom of her knees and a gold headband atop her loose curls.
“Yes I do. And I will make sure of that.” I walked towards her without a plan in mind, but I knew one thing: I would not leave until Adele Blanche was gone.
“Geni, you can’t do that.”
“Of course I can. I know just how to get you to leave.” I said.
“You do not know much, do you?” Her voice was fairly even despite the malicious words she was uttering.
“Shall we go to court?”
“You don’t remember anything from that day, so it would be virtually impossible. You don’t even know what happened or what could’ve happened.” Her eyes wandered as if she was trying to intrigue me, trying to take me back in time to that day.
“No.” I said flatly. “I came to see Hugo, not you. If you want to talk some other time, perhaps you can stop by my house.”
“Geni, I can’t leave you here. And I can’t leave Hugo either. You need my help. I intend to provide just that.”
I chuckled at this ridiculous proposal. I did not need help, especially not when Adele was offering it.

Hugo was still mute, in the corner. The world was still spinning, but he seemed unaware. Adele seemed to be looking at him too. Maybe I was crazy for not giving up hope by now. She touched my shoulder. “He’ll be okay.” After a brief pause, she walked out of the room, repeating the number “225.” I shivered for a few minutes until my legs became tired. I sat down on the arm chair and counted the minutes until 2:25.