The Yellow Umbrella

Chapter One: Fire

Mia sat down and never looked at me again, never acknowledged my existence, probably never even learned my name. 

I accepted it. I knew who she was and I knew who I was. We were from alternate universes. It was a typical high school crush, the wallflower liked the hot new girl. Everyone knew how it ended, the nerd didn't get the girl, despite all those cheesy high school flicks. In reality, the girl always picked the equally hot athlete. The nerd would go on to make millions and return to the high school year reunion to rub in his success and maybe donate a new wing to the library.

My whole life I believed that's what high school was, one big cliché. The jocks were meatheads, the mean girls were catty, the nerds were virgins, mostly. Nothing extraordinary ever happened to me, no life changing movie moments or cliché norms being broken.

That was until the beginning of my senior year. Something amazing happened; I was in a bad mood.

A peevish mood.

Walking to class that dreary grey Tuesday, I genuinely felt at a loss. I don't remember what put me in such a mood. Maybe it was because my mom had an episode the night before and forgot to start the dryer again, leaving my clothes feeling slightly damp to the point it was kinda irritating. Or maybe it was the two hours of sleep I was running on after studying for my AP biology exam. It felt like one of those days when nothing was going to go right.

A few friendly classmates called polite hellos and how-was-your-weekends to me as I lingered in the hallway. I nodded a hi or mumbled a meek "what's up" to satisfy them. I would literally do anything to keep out of class for as long as possible. Class really didn't feel like a good idea, though it never did when high school in general made you feel like you were in purgatory. I leaned against the lockers and wondered who designed schools. Why did they have to build them so prison-like? The door leading to the parking lot was a thirty second walk past my class. I could skip, but I never actually would. There was this kid, Jeremy, who was a year or two older than me. He started skipping and now he sells cocaine. I'm pretty sure skipping didn't lead him to the cocaine, but you get my point.

My mood only worsened when I finally forced myself to go to class seconds before the bell rang. Right on entry, I saw Brandon Roberts talking to her, flashing his perfect smile at her, wowing her. I turned away, watching made it worse. She never stopped him, instead she would touch his arm teasingly, tousle his already near perfect blonde hair.

Whatever.

Brandon was like a living Ken doll, just the right shade of tan, toned, fit, crystal blue eyes, and cocky as hell. His personality was just as cancerous as the plastic Ken was made of. I loathed him.

I prayed Mia would never be the Barbie to his Ken. Everyone knows, beneath the plastic skin of a doll, it's hollow. She had to see through his fakeness, she just had to.

Even though I knew it would only make me more bitter, I snuck a peek. I don't know why I did, any flame of hope I had for Mia was long put out.

If anything, it merely flickered.

But that day was different.

That day, Mia didn't even acknowledge Brandon. Actually, she didn't seem quite herself at all. Her wild hair was usually tucked away in a bun, but that day it was free, a mop of red sitting on top of her head. She usually dressed to compliment her girl gang, but instead wore sweats and sneakers.

Still, she was the prettiest girl I had ever laid eyes on, clothes and hair changed nothing.

In a way, she looked like the same girl that walked through the door three years ago, not the product of popularity and cliques that morphed her over the years. It made my heart pound wistfully.