Wren
You would think that after being shaped by a tragedy like loosing a sister, and spending my entire freshman year questioning how the hell someone as wild and seemingly invincible as Haven was could just up and disappear-- the pointing, the gawking, and the little-too-loud whispering was bound to happen.
Just because I expected it when I first returned to school the next year, still going through the five stages of grief but refusing to publicly show any emotion, well, then, that doesn't exactly mean I prepared myself enough to handle it. And then to still be handling it, two years after that, senior year.
Because even though this is the town over from Chicago, and issues like missing person cases and suicides and murders were no big surprise, that doesn't mean that the people who have never thought twice about me being anything but normal wouldn't all of a sudden change their minds, especially after going through a despair like that.
Assuming this was the year it would finally stop, I whisked through the doors that morning of the very first day, made my way to the commons, and struggled with all of my being to disregard the fact that every single eye within a twenty-foot radius was totally and completely staring at me.
And if there was even one person who wasn't gazing in my general direction just yet, it took a matter of three seconds for their friend to tap their shoulder and point, and then, I could see it on their faces, too: it's her! it's the little sister!
Our district separates the tenth, eleventh, and twelfth graders from the micro-sized, still-going-through-puberty freshman by turning one of the old, vacant schools into a freshman academy.
At first, I didn't think much of it. But after the whole Haven thing happened, I was partly grateful that I was separated from people who actually used to know her and pass her in the halls and probably hang out with her on weekends.
I certainly wasn't disposed and willing to face the day that I'd have to walk through those doors, deal with those people, feel their stares.
But even though I did, and it was awful, but I lived through it by walking with my face down, staring at my feet as they moved one in front of the other all the way to my next class-- I didn't know I would be repeating that exact same process this year, and most likely for the rest of my life.
But now, barely into the second semester of my senior year here, while the staring hasn't exactly stopped, it did decrease to something I can only hope will lead to a halt.
Now, I'm used to it all, and I've learned to ignore it entirely.
"Hey," Dace meets me at the door, his body clad in dark clothing attire that made his usually inky-brown eyes seem paler and brighter.
I suppress a smile, stopping and waiting for him to walk towards me.
"Good morning," I greet him. We're not normally not so jolly and cheesy towards each other, but he was especially light-minded today, his cheekbones high.
"I have to tell you something," he says, biting his lip to keep from grinning, which made him look incredibly daring and sexy. "Follow me."
He places his fingers on the crease in my back, leading me down the hallway in a half-walk, half-powerwalk. When I look at him, he was looking straight ahead, forced to block me from the eyes just as much as I tried to block myself.
I wanted to ask him about why he ditched me on Friday, but it seemed like a better option to just forget about it. I mean, he seemingly already has, so it must've not even been a big deal. Besides, if it is, he'll open up eventually-- and I knew better than to press.
He brought me to his locker, where he quickly spun in the combination and dug around in it for a while, before his eyes widen a bit as he reveals a small, folded up paper.
He smooths it out and hands it over to me, and the first thing I see is the big, bold title at the top:
Louis' Bar & Grill: Job Application
"Louis'?" I avert my eyes to Dace, unsure about how I felt about that right away. Dace knows how I've been looking for a job for a while now. I wanted one in Chicago, but openings there were invariably difficult to find-- especially part-time ones for recently-fired teenaged girls.
"Don't worry, I'm not trying to pressure you into serving people drinks at a bar," Dace explains, leaning against the lockers beside his. "I told my friend who works there that you have waitress experience and he snagged you an application."
I smile a little. He's so sweet, helping me find an opening like a normal, caring boyfriend would do. Although I can't blame him, I've been completely distant from him lately; always job hunting.
"Thank you," I say, relieved. I didn't even know Louis' was hiring, but if I get this job, I can finally make some money and claim a car. It's irritating and completely frustrating, having to beg for rides all the time.
My time to buy came right in the middle of all the Haven stuff, when all of my family's money went to her funeral arrangements.
I mean, it was typical of Haven to clearly state in her will that she desired the most elaborate of flowers, the largest, most expensive portrait of her next to her polished cherry wooden casket, engraved with her name on the top in big, bold letters. You'd really be in for a grand monumental ghost haunting if you were stupid enough to bring disappointment to Haven's celebration of life.
"This helps a lot."
"Now maybe we can actually spend more time together," he smiles a little, his dimples exposing themselves to my view. "You know, when you're not working."
"And when you're not working," I add.
Dace is a "potentially promising" employee at the Apple Store in the mall. By that, I mean that his dad is the manager, and as soon as he retires, Dace is guaranteed to fill his spot.
He even grew up under the influence of everything his father ever learned about computers, smart phones, and the like. It's kind of scary how familiar he is with devices, and how he doesn't for even a moment forsake them for something more interesting.
"I must say, once you snag that BMW, I'm going to miss driving my girl around," he says through his shit-eating grin, and I stare at him, trying not to smile.
"If I get a BMW, God help me, I'm not driving it. Too much pressure."
He laughs, then sighs and says, deep brown eyes locked on mine, "When we get married, and become rich and famous, I promise I'll buy you a BMW, and do all the driving."
When I only respond with an eye-roll, because Dace knows how I feel about talk of the future, he just takes my hand in his and says, "Come on, Wren, I'm just joking. I'll walk you to class."
***
When Dace drops me off that afternoon, he lifts the garage door using the remote opener fastened to his pull-down mirror, and I give him a quick kiss goodbye, and pretend like I'm walking inside.
But as soon as he backs out of my driveway, his shiny black jeep disappearing at the corner of my street, I race across the yard, headed straight for the mailbox.
I've been sending in applications to different colleges around Illinois, and return letters should be arriving soon. I already got back one last week; negative.
I could feel the anxiety in my fingertips as I opened up the mailbox, pulling out all the envelopes at once and flipping through them.
Only one with my name on it, and it was an early birthday card from my aunt and uncle; sending their love from Dallas. I sigh without meaning to, knowing that my answers will just have to wait.
Once I'm inside, which, believe me, sounds swift on paper-- but after Haven disappeared my parents increased security on our house as if we had been living like cracks when we didn't include four dead bolts on our front door-- I grab a quick snack and tumble up the stairs to my room to start on homework.
If I don't start now, I'll hardly get finished with my English paper by approximately four a.m., and two hours of sleep is like a century in senior-year time.
***
sorry this chapter was boring but this stuff is important so pls pls pls don't stop reading; new character in next chapter!!!