ZINNIA (FINALLY CHOOSING ONESELF )

The first thing Zinnia heard that morning was her mother shouting. “Zinnia!” She opened one eye. Silence. She pulled the blanket higher over her face. “ZINNIA!” Her eyes flew open. “I’m awake!” “You’ve been awake since when?” Zinnia glanced at the little clock beside her bed. 7:12 a.m. Her school bus came at 7:30. “Oh.” She jumped out of bed. “Oh my God!” Her school uniform was hanging on the chair exactly where she had dropped it the night before. One sock was under the bed. The other was nowhere to be found. “Where is my other sock?” From the hallway, Uriel shouted, “Maybe it ran away from you!” “Uriel!” He laughed. Zinnia grabbed the nearest shoe and threw it at the open door. It missed. “Violence before breakfast?” Uriel appeared at the doorway, grinning. “You deserve worse.” “You’re welcome.” “For what?” “For waking you up.” “I was already awake!” “You were dreaming with your eyes closed.” Zinnia rolled her eyes and hurried into the bathroom. Five minutes later, she came running downstairs with her hair half-combed, her schoolbag hanging from one shoulder and one of her ribbons between her teeth. Grace stood in the kitchen with her hands on her waist. “Look at you.” “Mummy, please.” “You’ll be late.” “I know.” “Did you eat?” Zinnia stopped. Her eyes moved toward the dining table. There was bread, egg and a cup of tea. She immediately forgot about being late. Uriel walked past her and stole a piece of egg. “Hey!” “You were looking at it too slowly.” “That is my breakfast!” “Then eat faster.” Zinnia reached for him. He ran. “Come back here!” “Children!” Grace shouted, but she was laughing. At the other end of the table, Novara sat quietly, already dressed for school. She watched her younger sister chase Uriel around the dining room and shook her head. “You two will still be doing this when you’re thirty.” “I won’t be thirty with him,” Zinnia muttered. “You’ll miss him.” “Never.” From his newspaper, Daniel finally spoke. “Who won’t miss who?” “Zinnia said she won’t miss Uriel when she’s thirty.” Daniel lowered the newspaper. “That’s unfortunate.” Zinnia frowned. “Why?” “Because Uriel will probably still be living in this house.” Everyone laughed. “Daddy!” Uriel lifted his cup triumphantly. “I told you I’m the favorite.” “You’re not even close,” Novara said. Zinnia smiled. For a few seconds, nobody was rushing. Nobody was angry. Nobody was worried about tomorrow. It was simply breakfast. The kind of ordinary morning nobody thinks to treasure until years later. ⸻ By the time Zinnia reached the gate, her school bus was already waiting. She ran toward it. “Wait!” The driver honked. Zinnia climbed in breathlessly. “Good morning.” A few children greeted her. She smiled and squeezed into the seat beside her friend. “Why are you sweating?” “I almost died.” Her friend laughed. “You’re dramatic.” “I nearly missed the bus.” “You always nearly miss the bus.” Zinnia looked through the window as the bus pulled away. Their house became smaller. She watched her mother standing by the gate. Grace waved. Zinnia waved back. She didn’t know it yet, but she would remember that image years later. Her mother at the gate. Her schoolbag on her back. The morning sun. And the strange feeling that she was leaving something behind even though she was only going to school. ⸻ At school, Zinnia was different. She wasn’t the loudest girl. She wasn’t the quietest either. She simply knew when to speak. During mathematics, their teacher wrote a difficult question on the board. “Who wants to solve it?” Nobody raised a hand. The teacher waited. Zinnia slowly lifted hers. “Yes, Zinnia?” She walked to the board. A few girls whispered behind her. She ignored them. She solved the equation carefully, erased one line, corrected herself, and continued. When she finished, the teacher looked at the board. “Excellent.” Zinnia smiled. As she returned to her seat, her friend whispered, “Show-off.” Zinnia whispered back, “You’re just jealous.” “I am.” They both started laughing. The teacher turned. “Something funny?” “No, ma.” “Then stop laughing.” “Yes, ma.” Two minutes later, they were laughing again. ⸻ At lunch, Zinnia sat beneath a tree with her friends. She opened her lunchbox. Rice. Egg. A small piece of chicken. Her eyes brightened. Then a boy appeared. “Can I have some?” “No.” “Just one bite.” “No.” “Half?” “No.” He stared at her. She stared back. Then she sighed and handed him the chicken. “Take it.” His face lit up. “Thank you!” “But if you tell anybody I gave you food, I’ll deny everything.” He laughed. “Deal.” Zinnia watched him run away. Her friend shook her head. “You always act tough and then give people what they want.” Zinnia shrugged. “Maybe.” She didn’t know how often that sentence would follow her through life. ⸻ That evening, after homework, Zinnia sat on her bed. The house was quieter now. She opened the small brown notebook she’d recently started using. On the first page, in uneven handwriting, she had written: MY JOURNAL She stared at the page for a while. Then she wrote: Dear Journal, Today was normal. Mummy shouted. Uriel annoyed me. Novara laughed at me. Daddy said something embarrassing. I solved a hard maths question. I gave away my chicken even though I didn’t want to. I think I’m too nice sometimes. But today was a good day. I hope tomorrow is good too. She paused. Then, underneath it, she drew a tiny purple flower. Zinnia closed the journal. She slid it beneath her pillow. Outside her bedroom, she could hear Uriel arguing with Novara about the television. Grace called someone from the kitchen. Daniel laughed. Caleb was crying. The house was noisy. Messy. Alive. Zinnia smiled into her pillow. She had no idea that one day she would desperately wish she could return to an ordinary evening like this. For now, she was only a little girl. A girl with a purple ribbon in her hair. A girl who believed tomorrow would look very much like today. And somewhere in the quiet darkness beyond her window, tomorrow was already waiting.