Chapter1;A fresh start
It was January 5th 2009.
The first Day back to school after Christmas break.
And I was so nervous that 'nervous’ was an understatement. I had even skipped breakfast this morning in fear that I would throw up due to my anxiety.
My heart was beating at an alarming rate.
I recheck my small backpack for the 8th time to see if I missed anything but I’m pretty sure I didn’t by now.
I sit on the edge of my bed, staring at my figure in the mirror, tugging at the edges of my blazer, which is obviously not my size, even though this was the smallest available.
I wasn’t favoured in the weight department, I wasn’t favoured in any of the departments a girl should be favoured in.
The white shirt tucked into my gray skirt feels stiff, the knee-high socks cling to legs that are too thin.
I made sure my uniform was neat, proper, and perfectly ironed as I like my things organized and safe. It would do me some good to make a good first impression at school today. Maybe I wouldn’t be a weirdo this time. But looking at myself, I don’t feel normal at all.
I tug my hair tighter and smooth the wrinkles in my skirt and press my hand to my stomach. My reflection doesn’t match the image I want to project at school today—the confident, invisible student who can walk through school without anyone noticing.
Instead, I see a tired girl with hollow cheeks, sharp collarbones, and dark circles under her eyes.
I look like a twig. I felt like one too.
My only consolation was the little pink bow at the back of my ponytail, it added a pop of life into my dull reflection.
“Good enough”. I whisper to my reflection even if I don’t believe it.
My stomach twists—a fresh new year and a fresh new school. A fresh start, I hoped so greatly in my heart that the world would decide to be nice to me today.
The house is quiet. Too quiet for that, that rarely happens. Silence usually comes only after the shouting and the sound of something breaking.
From down the hallway, I heard cries.
My shoulder tensing immediately, it’s almost second nature to me when I hear a cry, I turn away from the mirror and step quietly towards the door, opening it just enough to listen. The crying gets louder and sharper signaling that she’s awake.
“I’m coming”. I say quietly even though no one asked me to.
I walk down the narrow hallways and peek into the nursery. My baby sister is red-faced and restless, tiny hands balled up into fists. I scoop her up gently, rocking her against my chest
Her warmth is seeping into me grounding me in a way nothing else does.
“Shh,” I whisper. “It’s okay”.
Instead, it gets worse, I say side to side whispering nonsense, anything to calm her down.
“Shh…it’s going to be okay. You’re okay”.
I go down the stairs with her hoping some formula would calm her down. A door creaks in the hallway signaling one of them is up and I freeze in the spot.
My father's head appears in the doorway for just a second. His eyes look dull and unfocused probably from a hangover, I could still smell the alcohol on him from down here.
“Keep that kid quiet”. He mutters. “You’re giving me a headache”.
The door shuts before I can say anything and I silently thank God that’s the only interaction we had this morning.
Her cries finally settled. In the kitchen, I warm her bottle, balancing everything on the counter with one hand. I’ve learned how to do most things like this on my own at a small age.
The memory hits me suddenly of Mom, sitting in the rocking chair just like I was before, sitting in the rocking chair just like I am now, staring blankly at the wall. Her eyes looked empty, like she wasn’t really looking at anything. Her arms had been empty like she didn’t know which child to hold, which child to mourn. One twin gone. Her grief had swallowed her whole pulling her into a whole she couldn’t bring herself out of.
I’d watched her like that for weeks, watched her disappear while I fed, rocked, and soothed Elora because someone had to.
While I feed her, I watch her eyelids droop, her body relaxing completely in my arms, and that brings a small smile to my face
With time she falls asleep again, I lay her back into the crib and pull the blanket up. I stand there longer than I need to, watching her breathe, counting each rise and fall of her chest.
Only when I’m sure she’s settled do I leave.
My hands shaking slightly, I stand outside my parents’ room, too scared to go in. I just want to tell them goodbye and hope I get a hug.
“Bye”. I whisper anyway. Some money lay on the kitchen counter and I grab it without thinking and slip out the front door.
Outside, the cold air hit my face, sharp and comforting. Students walk past in pairs and groups, their uniform crisp and look like it was made for just them with backpacks that looked like it had never been scraped across the floor. I suddenly became very aware of mine.
A black SUV pulls up and someone laughs from inside it. I tug my blazer and keep my head down.
Crestwood Academy sprawls ahead under the pale Southern California sun. Black gates rise tall and polished. Stone paths wind between lawns so green they almost hurt to look at. The cream- colored main buildings framing the entrance, that look more like a college campus more than a high school.
I step inside. No one looks at me. Not really. I’m just a uniform in a sea of uniforms. But I felt the difference anyway— a lot of them paid to be here, I was here out of pure luck.
For now I keep walking keeping my head high, I stay invisible.
And for now, that is enough.
