Seeing in Color

Five

Hazel

"Kai!" I yelled as my dog bolted out the back door when I went to take the trash out. The heavily-pregnant Aussie barked and took an energetic lap around the small backyard, her pink tongue lolling out in the wind.

I sighed and stuffed the bulging trash bag into the overfilled bin. Clicking my tongue and opening the sliding panel of the back door again, I shooed the happy canine back inside the kitchen. Her nails clicked against the linoleum as she trotted over to her water bowl.

"Hazel!" I heard my mother call from behind her bedroom door beside the pantry. "Don't forget to say goodbye to Jimbo! You forgot last time, and he got his feelings hurt."

I sighed again. "Yes, Mama." I glanced down at Kai and pat her head. Mom was going through another phase today.

Walking to the counter, I sliced up a juicy Fuji apple and slid the pieces into a Ziplock, stuffing it into my purple backpack. Slipping the strap over my shoulder, I stepped over the doggie gate and into the small living room. Turning the corner into the front hallway, I passed the guestroom and peeked inside.

A neatly-made twin bed was in the corner beside a little nightstand with a lonely lamp, the only pieces of furniture beside a dresser underneath the small window. No Jimbo.

My grandfather had died six years ago, back in New Orleans. He had never been in this room, this house, this city. He'd never been in this state before.

I sighed and turned around, walking out the front door. Locking it behind me, I walked down the brick pathway to the sidewalk. I checked my phone and realized I was several minutes early. Sitting down at the edge of the curb, I unzipped my bag and pulled out a drawing pad and my tin box of art supplies. The faded label on the container read Jimbo's Gumbo and Other Comfort Food, my Jimbo's old restaurant back in New Orleans. I can still remember the smell of his cornbread, the spice still tingling on my tongue from his famous gumbo. My mother knows the secret family recipe but hasn't shared it with me yet. She's says, just like my soulmate tattoo I'm supposed to get, I'll have to wait for it until December, when I turn fourteen.

"Hi," A voice startled me out of my thoughts, and I dropped my pencil in surprise. It rolled of my paper and clattered to the ground.

Just like my jaw.

An Asian boy stood over me, the sunlight hitting his face just right as he smiled. He had a babyish face, but muscles ripped across his body. Not that I was looking. He waved down at me.

"H-hi," I stuttered and mentally scolded myself for not putting on makeup today. This kid looked waaaaaaaaaay out of my league, but here he was, saying hi to me.

Act natural.

What's that like, again?

"May I sit with you?" He nervously asked, and I nearly sighed in relief. He was as shy as I was.

"Of course," I scooted over a bit to make room for him, since there was a mailbox and driveway on either side of us. He sat a good few inches away and slid his army green backpack off his shoulders and onto his lap.

"Are you, um, waiting for the Rolland bus?" He glanced at my outfit. I was wearing a baggy grey T-shirt with gold letters spelling shine bright like a and a gold diamond. My jeans were black, but the furs of my dog were all over it. My white converse shoes were old and worn.

"Uh, no," I shook my head and frowned inwardly as my frizzy hair flew around the place. I had tried to put it up, but my hair never stayed. "I'm going to Olympia."