It's been two weeks since we've moved in and much progress has been made in the yard. I weeded every single inch and biked to the garden supply for seeds. In the dirt in front of the fence, I planted an array of tall, crimson and maroon roses. Inside the sides of the fence and in front of the porch, there were varieties of gardenias, hydrangeas, lilacs, peonies, and orchids. I had mosaicked a large birdbath in a vibrant pattern, resembling a rainbow and placed it on the left side of the yard, planting purple, hot pink, and bright blue morning glories along its perimeter.
With Abigail and Francesco, well, that's a whole different story. In other boxes, I found Abigail's wedding dress, made of ivory silk, lace, and satin. She'd sent it back after running away from the groom. I discovered Francesco's Bible, a very used book with a burgundy leather cover and a rosary stuck on one of the gospels. It became apparent to me that they had never seen each other after that first summer of nineteen fifty-two.
For the past three days, I've been researching. There were many Abigails to pull from, as there were Francescos. The results? Still two-thousand four-hundred and twenty-three Abigails to sort and five hundred Francesco Abandonatos. But I'm very determined to have these two meet.
In four days, I will be attending St. Catherine's. We went shopping for our uniforms yesterday. Of course, Lauren will always look like a goddess, no matter what she wears. She inherited the best of our parents' appearance. While she had completely untouched dark blonde hair (never highlighted, bleached, colored), perfect-sized breasts (34C), hazel eyes, and the most-envied body in the locker room, I had extremely dark brown hair, dyed at the tips in an attempt to have better-looking hair, dark eyes with bags from small amounts of sleep, and an awkward figure. It's always been this way. I stand next to her, I'm like a hefty bulldog beside a Pomeranian-Chihuahua mix. I'm always compared to her. By looks, not intellectual standards, of course.
I woke up Monday morning before my alarm at five o'clock. Apparently, I would be going to school alone since Lauren had already made friends at the mall that were more than willing to take her to school. Whatever. I don't care.
So I put on a crisp, white dress shirt and the royal blue sweater with the crest on it. I did my makeup and hair routine and climbed down the stairs, following the smell of homemade pancakes.
"Mom, you didn't need to wake up so early," I said, sitting down at the table.
"It's your first day of school. I wanted to," she said, setting down a small stack of my favorite pancakes - chocolate chip and powdered sugar, with a full load of whip cream on top. As you can see, I'm not the healthiest eater.
Lauren sat down wearing her amplified version of the uniform and Mom slid her cinnamon pancakes with bananas and strawberries across the table. "Thanks, mother," she said.
"Mhm. You two have a good day at school. Don't forget your keys, be kind to others---"
"Yes, we know, mother. We're not little kids anymore. Just go back to sleep," Lauren said.
She then sighed and kissed the tops of our heads before leaving. "Be safe. You know what to do about rapists."
"Yes, Mom," we exclaimed in unison. And every time we did something in unison, we high-fived. It's just part of sister language.
Lauren's phone buzzed, which meant her ride was here. "Hey, I gotta' go."
"It's still early."
"Yeah, but we have two other girls to pick up."
" 'Kay, have fun. Don't do drugs. Don't text while driving. Don't get in a car crash."
"Yeah, whatever. No eye contact at school, kid," she said as she grabbed her bag and went out the door.
About thirty minutes later, I left on my bike. The morning air felt good. There was still the early fog, with the sun peeking between the trees. My face was sliced by the wind and my heart was racing, as I never was good at making friends. I had a group in Seattle, but most of them drank and went out to parties and ended up completely shitfaced the next day. That was not my forte.
I could easily just take a different route and say I got lost on the way to school.
Nah, but then I'd told my parents I'd remembered the whole city already. They'd think it was all bullshit.
I arrived at St. Catherine's fifteen minutes before first period. I'd biked past the school a few times just to imagine what it would be like actually attending the school, but I never expected it to be...you know...
The place was very occupied with students in the same uniform as me. Many were wealthy bitches, bringing their Chanel handbags and wearing some kind of designer who knows what to school. I happen to find it fucking ridiculous. Who cares if you have the same fucking bag as every other girl?
I locked up my bike and took out my schedule. First period: Psychology, Room 202, Palmer. I felt the eyes of many, heard them whisper as I passed by, "that's Lauren's little sister." So Lauren had already made an impression in the school. Fantastic.
My locker was in between my second and third period classes. Nearby, a couple were hardcore making out and another kid had his hand up a girl's shirt. So this is a Catholic school?
I placed my books inside, watching others pass by. I even saw my sister with her new group; she was at the helm, probably their new leader. My sister, the leader of the school? Oh, that must mean I'm popular as well. Nope. Here at St. Catherine's, just because your sister is Kate Middleton does not mean you're Pippa. I'd have to work to be Pippa, but I'd rather not. I'm simply a guppy in a school of fish, trying to survive.
"Hey, you're Lara, right? Lauren's little sister," a girl from out-of-the-blue asked.
I closed my locker and smiled. "Yeah. Lara. And you are?"
"Cindy Stephens, your senior student buddy! I'm here to help!"
"Oh, no, I'm fine. I've got my schedule memorized."
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah." She was way too peppy and way too preppy for me: silky-looking dark brown hair pulled into a tight bun, ironed clothing, holding a pink clipboard. Her socks were probably at the same exact length from her thighs.
"What's your first class?"
"Psychology with Palmer."
"And you know where that is," she asked, touching my sleeve.
"Room 202."
"Okay. Just making sure."
"Yeah, thanks." I closed my locker and walked away. She caught up with me. How much was it going to take until she left me alone?
"You know, you're welcome to sit at my table anytime."
"Yeah, thanks for the offer."
