Another day, another dread. It was as simple as that, I thought as I got up out of bed going over to my laptop glancing through emails determining which was junk and deleting them, replying to those that weren't. A new email popped up and the name caught my attention. I clicked on it opening the message. It was from my mom's best friend Isabella.
My parents had gotten a divorce when I was three. Isabella moved into our guest roomm because my mom had to go to work as a detective (cool job I know) Isabella watched me. Isabella didn't charge and only asked for food (which mostly she cooked) and a room. Isabella was like a second mother of sorts to me, because she had no children of her own.
The returned my thoughts to the email was addressed to Serena Rose and sighed, was the full name necessary? She knew it as well as anyone Serena was more than enough for me. Roses reminded me of mom and of the boy who had found me at the stream…My thoughts trailed off and I began to read her email, almost smiling as I read the contents.
I haven't heard from you in a while, I hope no news is good news. Anyway I have been occupied with my new job at the news paper, but will be free this week for the holiday. I will be heading up to the mountains for a little camping trip and would love it for you to come. My sister will be there with her son and her daughter. Her son is almost your age, he is only a year older, and her daughter is eight. Answer quickly!
A camping trip? I looked at the clock, 10 a.m. I sighed, no was one home. There was no need for me to check. I knew my Grandmother had left over half an hour ago for church. She wouldn't notice my absence anyway, so I replied a quick 'What time at the train station? ' to Iz deciding that worst comes to worst I would leave a note for my Grandmother and tugged clothes out from my drawers stuffing them into my backpack. I fished in the bottom of one of my drawers finding a crumpled piece of paper and folded it neatly before stuffing it in my backpack along with a book of Edgar Allen Poe's writings that I had borrowed from the library. I was done within five minutes and when I looked at the screen of my computer Iz had already ready replied. 'Twelve, don't be late!' She knew me so well. I decided that two hours was long enough for me to take a shower before leaving for the train station on my bike.
Setting my backpack down on my bed I went to my closet finding a pair of my abused old jeans and a tee shirt. I fingered the space where denim had been at one time before my clumsiness had led the poor jeans to tear. Satisfied anyway with my outfit choice I tugged off my shirt and pajama pants tossing them in the hamper. I then headed toward the shower turning the water on and went to search for a towel before hoping in and letting the hot water warm my skin. Maybe it was strange to take a scalding hot shower in the heat on summer, but the hot water felt good. Washing myself quickly I got out shutting of the water behind me, pulling on my jeans and tee-shirt. I opened the door to my bathroom and swung my backpack over my shoulder.
I walked down the stairs still unused to the giant mansion my Grandmother lived in. I had lived comfortably with my mother and Isabella until last year in a tiny condo with narrow hallways. I remember how homey it felt compared to these gargantuan walls and marble floors. It didn't looked lived in, the perfectly placed dinning room chairs and the velvet couches here that looked untouched. I remembered the small couch that was made of fake white leather that was just big enough for the three of us and a bowl of popcorn. You aren't going back, be happy with what you got. A nostalgic sigh was all that I let escape me as I rustled through drawers looking for a flashlight. Finding a small red one I inserted two new batteries before stuffing it into a pocket in my backpack. I had no other camping gear to bring and decided that I better write my note to Grandmother.
I opened a new drawer finding a notepad and pen quickly scrawling down the short message before dropping it on the counter and leaving the house to retrieve my bike from just outside the garage. 11 22 44 7. The lock popped open and I unwrapped the chain from the gutter of the house. So unnecessary, having to chain my bike outside when it was only inches from my garage, but the boy next door was a jerk and would take my bike just to mess with me. I hated my life here, I hated that I could no longer walk to Skylar's house anytime I needed someone to talk to. I hated not having Mr. & Mrs. Oriand next door who would bake cookies and let me play in the tree that towered over the grass that grew in their yard when I was little. I hated not waking up and going downstairs to find my mom burning breakfast and Iz laughing at my mother's poor cooking skills.
I threw my leg over the side of my bike. Grandmother kept me fed and clothed, and that's where her responsibility stopped, everything else I wanted was to be bought by myself with my own money, this bike included. The bike was bought at a garage sale three streets down with a month's worth of babysitting money. At the time it was painted red and all it needed was for me to pump the back tire, so I bought it. Now though I heard it groan under my 110 pounds, all five-foot-eight of me as the rust bike complained of the rain and snow of the past two years. Better than nothing, I told myself before pushing off the driveway beginning to make my way to the train station. I got there 11:55 exactly sliding out my wallet and paying for my ticket via the small machine that sat on the platform. I already had chained my bike to a post out front and I almost hoped someone would steal it before I returned; at least I would have an excuse to buy a new one.
The train rushing toward the station broke me from my thoughts and as it pulled to a stop opening its doors to let out a few people, Isabella jumped onto the platform hitting the ground running giving me a tight hug. She let me go and grabbed my hand. "Don't want to miss the train," she said as she tugged me toward the train and helped me step led me to where she had been sitting before and began her usual interrogation. Do you have a boyfriend yet? Are you staying social? Have you seen any of your friends from the old neighborhood? Do you like your new neighborhood yet? Are you eating well?
Same five questions that she has asked me every time she saw me since a year ago when my mother died. Same questions same answer to all of them, no. I didn't have, nor want, a boyfriend. I do not believe in love. I was never a social butterfly and my mother's death only tore me farther from the rest of the world. My friends from the old neighborhood lived too far away for me to ride my bike and they were too busy to make the trip to see me. I would never enjoy being in my new neighborhood. Nor did I want to enjoy the company of the snobby kids that inhabited it. She knew without her there reminding me to eat that I didn't. A strange thing inherited from my mom, I always forgot to eat and if I did I felt sick. I could go even a week before I even began to feel hungry. She already knew all of this already, she didn't need to ask. But she did anyway and I answered them. I asked her about her job with the newspaper as a graphic designer and we talked and drew just like we always have.
Don't hate please this is just an intro to get to know the character a little better :)
Next chapter is titled "A Proper Introduction to the Boy with Blue Eyes" which is where this story truly begins. Hope you enjoyed!
Comments are greatly appreciated!