One Year of You and I

April 17th

Thursday, April 17th, 2014

Holly

    “Squeeze in close girls!” 

  My mother held her camera in front of her face, facing it towards Olive and I, who had our arms wrapped around each other and smiles on our faces. She then switched over  to the Polaroid, bringing it to her eye. 

  “Say birthday!” She said. 

  Through gritted teeth, we let out in high-pitched tones, “Birthdaaaaay!” 

  With that, she pressed upon the camera’s button and it responded with a groaning and clicking noise. In an instant, a square picture popped out from the bottom. She grabbed at it and began to flick her wrist back and forth, shaking it quickly. 

  “I can’t believe it,” My mother said to us as she continued to shake the picture. “Seventeen already? Last thing I remember was the two of you bawling at the exact same time; one hungry, one needing to be changed. It’s like the two of you planned it.” 

  I laughed and took the picture from her hands. “We were quite the con artists, weren’t we?” 

  Looking down at the picture, I swallowed hard. In it, there stood Olive and I, our arms around each other’s shoulders. Though we were both smiling, only mine was genuine. Olive simply let the corners of her mouth turn upwards. No sparkle in her eyes. No rosiness in her cheeks. Nothing. She had pissed off since this morning when she had woken up and asked if she could spend her birthday at Sammy’s, to which my mother said no. When asking if he could come over for dinner, my mother denied such once again. She never said it, but I knew that my mother was beginning to think the same thing as me: we never saw Olive anymore. Sammy had taken her from us.

  Since the argument, Olive had proceeded to mope around the house all throughout the morning and continue to do the same when the bus dropped her off at home. It was so unlike her; being so unhappy, especially on a day of celebration. 

  When was Olive herself lately, though? I caught myself asking. 

  She had come home wearing a charm bracelet bedazzled with differently shaped hearts, from none other than Sammy Courtney himself. Of course, Olive had gotten tons of birthday wishes: her Facebook page and phone blowing up with constant messages coming in. 

  In my case, I had been attacked with hugs by my best friends when I had boarded the bus. Piper, Brin, and Ed had baked me cupcakes, which had me smiling instantly. The three had passed me a wrapped package, which when I had ripped it open, revealed a coffee mug in order to suffice my coffee addiction. On it was written Dreamer, which only led for my grin to widen. 

  At school, I had received “Happy birthday’s” from all of my teachers (an especially hearty one from Mr. Quarten) and I was even stopped in the halls a few times to be wished by some of my classmates. At Barthrow, I had hardly been wished a good year as all the focus was put on my sister. It felt wonderful to be noticed this time. 

  As I had been reaching into my locker to get my geography books, someone had tapped on my shoulder. Before I had the chance to turn around, I was being kissed on the cheek and hugged from behind.  

  “Happy birthday,” Luke had said into my ear. “Told you I wouldn’t forget.” 

  I believed that, six hours later, I was still blushing my hardest.   

  The oven timer suddenly went. My mother jumped up and said, “Ah! Better get that. Will you girls set the table?” 

 Olive let out an aggravated sigh before grabbing a handful of cutlery and marching into the dining room. My mother and I exchanged a look, both thinking the exact same thing but knowing that we were unable of changing her mind.