UnRooted

Chapter 1: Gone

The social worker arrives a week later I'm released from the hospital. They repeat what I already know. My parents are dead. So is my 12 year old sister. Dead. Gone. I never imagined losing my family. But now here I am. An orphan.

Everyone is saying I'm lucky to have survived an accident like that. But I don't feel lucky. I only feel guilty. Why should I get to live when everyone I ever loved in the world is gone?

My aunt Hannah rubs my back, and it takes everything I have to not flinch. She nods along to what the social worker is saying. I don't want to know what but I can't block out the sound. "Yes. The will clearly states that Wisteria is to live with them."Live with who? I freeze.

Aunt Hannah looks sentimental and sad at the same time. "When will she be leaving?" I sit up straighter and tighten my grip around my mug. "She is to leave on Saturday." Today was Thursday. I was leaving in 2 days. I turn to aunt Hannah. "Aunt Hannah... Where am I going?"

She looks at me, apology in her eyes. "Blossom..you're leaving for New York." I pale. New York? That's the other side of the country. And from what I've heard, it's nothing like Southern California where I lived my whole life.

I don't want to lash out at aunt Hannah. Not when the whole situation was my fault. "Why?" That's all I can manage. She pulls me into a hug. Again, I try not to flinch. "Your parents.. They wanted you to stay with their closest friends." I mentally raise an eyebrow, externally keeping my mask sealed. "In New York?" Hannah sighs. "Yes, New York." Not a suggestion. "Okay. I better go pack." I don't want to discuss this anymore. I completely ignore the social worker and quietly walk upstairs.

Instead of going to my room, I go to my sister Phoebe's room. Pink walls, pointe shoes thrown around the floor. I don't touch anything. I squeeze my eyes shut, remembering her last words to me. You're gonna go places with your art, Wis. Tears leak out of my eyes. I quickly stand up and rush to my room.

My room is the messiest in the house. Colorful hand painted walls that I painted myself a few years ago. A music stand in the corner. A table in another. I inhale sharply and knock over my music stand. It's the reason I'm like this anyway. It's my fault. I throw open my closet and pull out my duffel bag and carry on. Then I start packing.

I pack most of my clothes and other things I need in the carry on. Then I put some of my pens and other materials in my duffel bag. I put in all of my notebooks. My favorite book that mom bought me. The swiss army knife dad insisted I need. And- I rush back to Phoebe's room. I grab her ballet bag and carefully take off the keychain. A stuffed rabbit in a ballet tutu. Kiki. I rush back to my room and start sobbing all over again, no matter how much I tell myself to fight it.