Missing Pieces

Water droplets squire down my nose washing away yesterday's make up. My mom continuously nags me about sleeping in my make up, but I still do it. My reflection displays matted blonde curls piled atop my head, and black streaks traveling from my eyelashes downward. My green eyes water. The whites are slightly red from the soap. Quickly I scrub the make up away and brush out my curls.

Downstairs I can smell breakfast and hear my siblings complaining about school. After changing into my uniform, a black skirt with a button up blouse, I make my way to the kitchen. My mother eats her French toast while my two brothers poke at their plates. I open my meal package, which is also French toast, and try to keep it down.

"Good morning Brittyn! How are you feeling?" My mother spurts in her sing-song way.

"I feel terrible. My marking won't stop spinning, and it's making me dizzy." The usually indigo swirls on my palm pulse red and orange in a circulatory motion.

"That's so exciting! It'll happen soon then!" She scoops up the empty meal packages and tosses them into the compounder.

"I can't wait to see who it is Britt!" My sister Marli echoes from the stairs. Her shoulder-length hair is collected into a neat ponytail.

"Guys, it's really not a big deal. It actually sucks." I absolutely hate searching. I wish my marking would just vanish.

My mother received her calling at 17 too. The only difference, she was actually excited. She found my father almost immediately, within a few weeks actually. My marking has been glowing and spinning for months. Every morning I wake up sick and every night I toss and turn.

Our markings are supposed to match our mate's. When they're near and we are old enough for our calling the marks glow and spin.

Out the front window I can see the city train pull up to the station. I have five minutes before mine. My mother fetches her coat and prances toward the silver beast. Xavier and Xander sit at the window poking one another's arms. At the monitor Marli practices her organizing and sorting skills with math problems, probably last night's homework.

I pinch my mark watching the orange trickle into red. I decide to wear gloves to cover it up and march out the door. Damon and Emery, my childhood friends, sit on the freshly-painted red bench. Damon wears his required blue collard shirt and black trousers while Emery's attire reflects my own.

"How's the palm?!" Emery hoots. Unlike Damon, she is especially enthusiastic about my calling.

"Still loading," I push my hair behind my ear as Damon let's out a slight grunt.

"I just want mine already!" Emery cries adjusting the clip in her hair.

"We know," Damon and I recite in unison. Everyday for the last sixth months our morning conversations have revolved around this subject.

Finally, to our relief, the secondary school train pulls up. The train is already stuffed with our classmates, and there aren't enough seats for us all to sit together.

"You two sit here. I'll see you at school." Damon motions to the adjoining bench seat and wanders down to the next car.

"I think he's mad," Emery states smoothing out her skirt.

"I know. I think he really hates the calling," He actually does, he told me last summer.

"I wish I knew why," she fastens her wireless onto her wrist and spins the dial to show the time.

"So do I," But I already know why.