Cassandra Vaughn was with Tate Langdon on that fateful day in 1994. Together in life and in death, the duo find love despite the difficulty of the afterlife. The intrusion of the Harmon family spirals into a nightmare that Cassandra uses to their ad...
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Cassandra never really liked blond hair.
She thought it was overrated. Growing up, her mother would go on about their entire lineage having been blessed with big blue eyes and flowing golden locks, sunshine from the day her and all her relatives were born. Cassandra was not so lucky.
She had come out screaming, with dark tufts of brown, bristly hair. Not an ounce of sunshine escaped her. They should have known right then and there she would always be the black sheep of the family. Her mother even suggested she bleach her natural once she reached middle school, but Cassandra refused. She grew to appreciate the differences between her and her unfavorable family.
No, Cassandra never liked blond hair. Until she saw Tate Langdon. After that, it was the most beautiful hair color she'd ever seen.
It was seventh grade. He had been sent to the private institution she attended after being kicked out of the unspeakable Hollywood public school. The children talked, insisting he was caught selling drugs or that he cut off another boy's finger. Cassandra didn't think she'd care about a new boy — the ones in her class already tormented her enough as it was.
Her pigtails were regularly yanked by the classmate that sat behind her, or her lunch tray would be unceremoniously smacked from beneath her hands before she could escape the lunchroom to eat in peace. Her mother told her it was because they liked her. Cassandra thought they deserved to be hung by their ankles.
She would sit outside, away from the commotion of the prepubescent terrors and teasing from girls that she refused to be friends with. She would smooth her plaid uniform skirt down as she rested on the grass and silently enjoyed the dependably warm weather of Southern California. Her favorite school lunch was the chicken sandwich with an ice cream cup.
She was eating that very meal when the head of blond hair creeped up next to her.
"Can I have your ice cream?" He asked, fidgeting with his hands.
Cassandra looked up at him mid-bite, and her little heart skipped. His hair shined in the sunlight, just like her mother had said time and time again. But this time it wasn't attached to some cousin she couldn't stand, or an aunt that would chastise her for sitting with her legs spread. This time it was shining like Apollo himself had stood before her. He could very well have been Apollo, inhabiting the body of a lanky twelve-year-old. She still wouldn't have parted with her ice cream.
"Get your own," she mumbled, turning away quickly.
"I had my own. They took it."
Cassandra turned to study him. His big brown eyes, dark enough to have been black. His rosy cheeks and nose, the flush slowly moving toward his ears. A speckle of muted freckles decorated his pale face. His hair curled at the ends. It didn't look like he'd brushed it.
