First Love

Chapter One

It was sunny. Autumn leaves, a myriad of different shades of brown, red and orange. It was a little blur, like that kind of faded-out effect the movies had when they were trying to dramatize some past memory. But this wasn’t a movie. I was certain of it.

  The trees were really tall. So tall-it was as if they were as up high as the skies were. I couldn’t see much because it got really bright each time I looked up. I think I was running. I stumbled and fell, diving into the mountains of leaves.

  “Annalisa!”

  I woke up abruptly, lurching up straight.

  “Well, it’s about time,” Giselle was perched on my study table, wearing some bright blue thing that was too jarring for my eyes to focus.

  I shook my head, trying to clear the alarmingly orange and brown tones that seemed to have glued itself onto my brain.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked groggily, trying to focus on her.

  “Have you forgotten?” She practically danced off the table and glided over to where I was. “Breakfast? Starbucks?”

  I think I did, but I didn’t say it out loud.

  “Well, get ready. I’ll be in the gardens,” She scrunched up her hair with one hand and tossed it over her shoulder. “It’s too good a day to waste at home.”

  “It’s freezing outside,” I protested, wanting to curl back under the covers.

  “Nonsense. Hurry up!” She danced out of the door before I had a chance to answer.

  I sighed. Alright then. I don’t really have a choice, do I?

      I don’t remember how Giselle and I became friends, actually. We met a long time ago, maybe when we were six or seven? That’s the most I can think of. All I knew was that even as a child, she was so beautiful. She had everything, you know? Those thick blond curls that shone in the sun and bounced along when she ran. That flawless face, clear from the freckles that plagued me, always smiling and blushing, and gosh, I sound so full of self-pity. Even when we were young, Giselle outshone me in every single aspect.

  Sometimes, I wished I was still six or seven. I was less aware of her prettiness then, so it was alright. Ignorance is a bliss, they always say, and I agree. At that age, I thought myself her equal, and how happy I was.

  I stared at my wardrobe, picking out as many layers as I could because I knew it was going to be freezing out there. The house was silent, as usual. Cold, dark and gray. Homes usually consisted of a large fireplace, a cackling fire and mugs of hot chocolate in such weather. A Christmas tree, strung with awkward ornaments by a child too short to reach the top, and a mistletoe at the oak doors. My house was one that belonged to those princes and princesses in fairytale. Except that I was no princess. Although come to think of it, Marianne would probably fit the bill of some evil Queen who’s main goal in life is to be the ‘fairest of them all’. She’d probably stare at her mirror, with diamonds embedded in the oak wood, enjoying the sight of her own beauty. Sometimes, it felt as if I was born to be surrounded by beautiful women as some medieval torture on my soul. I lugged my clothes to the toilet and splashed water onto my face, shivering in the coldness. When I looked up, I saw tired blue eyes and lank brown hair. I was nothing compared to Giselle.

  So, Giselle grew up to be absolutely stunning, and with beauty comes confidence. She was someone I knew I could never measure up to, and it hurt. The logical thing they show in movies would be that I just leave her and find an empty table to sit at during breaks. But I couldn’t leave her as a friend. That wasn’t the right way to go. Oh look at me, speaking as if I was actually worthy of being her friend. I sound absolutely pathetic, but that’s how it really is.