Monday morning comes without a warning. I've barely slept, but the sun barging in through the swaying linen curtains doesn't care. I sit up on my bed and stare at the windowsill, squinting like a blind bat.
As my eyes adjust to the brightness, my gaze zeroes in on a pigeon. She's come out of nowhere and her round eyes scan my room. She's a 'mourning dove'. Her haunting cooing gave her that name. When she flies, her wings make the most amazing whistling sound.
I know a lot about birds. Five years ago, Dad thought bird gazing could become our new thing.
"We are running out of adventures, baby bee," he told me one morning. He loved showing up in my room from our former home with all these crazy ideas on how to have fun together and dodge reality that could 'bite us in the bum'—his words, not mine. I have a feeling he also wanted to dodge my siblings. Those rascals could bring the world down with one mischief.
"I was right, wasn't I?" His voice doesn't scare the bird away, I know it's because I'm the only one who can hear it. Refusing to go down that path this early in the morning, I nod and hear his chuckles.
Sure were, Daddy. I think the only cons were some questionable white marks on your vest after walking underneath those giant sequoias.
I wait for more of his beautiful laughter, but none comes. Alone again, I suck in a deep breath and stare at the dove once more.
These birds have a bad rap, but they were one of Dad's favorites. She bobs her head as she waddles back and forth, and a smile plays at the corners of my mouth. "I'm not condemning your dietary choices, you know? But if you could stop picking up bits of people's leftover lunches, I'm sure you'd irk them less." She stops mid way and gives me a loud coo. "You're right, who am I to judge?" I shrug in her direction and she flies away.
I need to get ready for my first day at this new school, and to be fair, I'd rather shrink, jump out the window and cling to the dove's feathers so I can escape this new reality that doesn't seem real to me at all. I don't want it, so I won't acknowledge it.
It's so freaking hot, my room is melting right through the cracks of the wooden floorboards into Mom's kitchen. I hear scratching outside my bedroom so with slump shoulders I waddle—like my winged friend from before—towards the door. It's Clover, our Golden Retriever, who cannot stop panting.
"Look at us, girl." I run my fingers through her thick, soft fur. "All uncomfortable. At least you look good. You don't sweat as I do." She stares at me and gifts me with a playful bark.
"Hey, don't be such a meanie. Don't agree like that. Not everybody can be as cute as you. Be grateful you don't have to go to school looking like me." I kneel closer to her—screw the heat—and give Clover a tight hug. She was a gift from my dad on my tenth birthday. Wagging her tail, she allows me to cling to her for as long as I want to. The scrape of her rough, fiery tongue drenches my cheek, twice, before I herd her down the stairs.
"Morning." I flop over the kitchen counter. Crumpled, light cotton dress on, shoes untied.
Mom scans me and sighs. She's making breakfast for me and my siblings. I've already upset her by the sudden increase of her whisking tempo. She is beating those eggs up as if they've insulted her.
"Aren't you supposed to be wearing your uniform, hon?" She's unable to hold her nagging instincts a second longer.
I peer at her. "I'll wear it tomorrow. It's still in one of the boxes and I didn't have enough time to prep it."
Mom reads my face like an open book, calling on my bluff. "Why the teal one, baby? It's all worn out. You want to create a good impression on your first day, don't you? Plus, it looks like you have outgrown it. You shouldn't wear it anymore. Please, put it in your closet, if you don't want to get rid of it."
"I will, I promise." That won't be happening soon. I should toss this dress away, but I can't.
I remember the day I got it because it was the last time we all went somewhere together before Dad died.
It was a hot Sunday morning, and we were at the Mall. Mom insisted I needed a new summer dress, Tommy and Bree wanted ice-cream, as usual, and Dad wanted peace from their whining. So, while Mom took the gremlins for a scoop, my father and I went to this clothing store and bought a pair of weird-looking socks alongside my sleeveless light cotton dress.
I wasn't sure I'd look good in it, but when I stepped out of the changing room, his face lit up. He told me I looked beautiful wearing it, that my eyes sparkled a softer green. We came out of the store wearing our purchases. His green socks had tiny ducklings on the side and my dress swooshed when I walked. Dad teased me with quacking sounds as we walked to the ice-cream parlor to meet the rest of our family. I laughed so hard I thought my face would split in half. These magical moments together made my days brighter. The love in his eyes made me 'special'.
"Are they ready yet?" says a high-pitched voice from behind me, breaking my reverie. My brother, Tommy, is six years old. His puppy eyes match the drooling of his forever starving mouth.
"Come on, Mom, we're starving to death!" says my little sister, Bree. She's the eldest—by ten months.
"Could you guys leave the chef to do her magic?" Mom waves her spatula, droplets of dough splattering onto the kitchen tiles. She's oblivious to them, but I stare at them vanishing beneath Clover, relishing licks.
Mom flips one pancake over with an arabesque. It's scorched. I smirk. She is a horrible cook. She should stick to sick kids and fixing them up. Her new hospital awaits. We are all starting from scratch today. New job, new school, new house. Same clouds over my head. Same stormy nights and heaviness of heart.
Enough, Dawn! I promised Mom I'd try harder, and I will. I look at her, laughing along with my brother and sister at the failed pancakes. I can't understand how she can be all perky standing so close to the stove in this heat.
"Did you think about which AP classes to sign into?" Mom asks.
"Absolutely," I lie. I had time to decide right after the lack-of-sleeping thing, and that I'm so-uncomfortable-in-my-own-skin-to-even-function thing.
"Be grateful you get to have an excellent education, Dawn." She places a steaming pile of pancakes in front of Tommy and Bree, who were about to salivate over the counter.
I smile, hug my mom goodbye, smooch my siblings' sticky cheeks as they squirm and head out. No point delaying the inevitable.
I grab my yellow bike from the shed and pedal my way onto the streets. On the ride to school, the crickets keep me company. They sing along from one tree to the next. They look at me and my teal dress and understand why I'm carrying it—so that my bones won't scatter all over the streets. So I can remain in one piece, peddling this bicycle as a whole person, not held together by sheer will.
I ride past other wooden houses, with other squeaky children getting ready for school. Backpacks half-open and untied shoelaces. Lunch bags ready and Daddy drives to get them on time. My mom will drive Tommy and Bree on their first day. Then they will catch the school bus.
I get to the end of a roundabout and spot a park to my left. There's a lake there, but because traffic is bawling past me, I focus, make my way under the bleaching sun and scurry across the road. My pale skin sizzles under the scolding sun. Hello, cancer. I'm your new best friend.
"Don't be so dramatic, baby bee."
Hey, Dad.
I smile because he is right. I'm being such a drama queen. The only thing missing would be those silly paper crowns he used to make me for our story time together. I still have one inside the pages of our hardcover book I carry everywhere since he left. Its worn-out leather cover is a reminder of better days and who I used to be.
"Do you remember your first bicycle ride?" His voice is dreamy, as if he's recalling the exact memory. I hurry to join him, as if sharing this brings him back to me for a moment.
How could I forget? You let go of me and I rode into a bush.
Dad scoffs. "You needed confidence, Dawn. You did great, so brave even after the fall and the bruised knee. Remember how mad Mommy got?" His voice feels like a fresh breath of wind. Whoosh whoosh and inside my soul, he gusts my sorrows away.
"Look how easy it is now, baby bee. You can even do it with no hands on the handlebars. Go on, open your arms and soar!"
I do what he says and laugh out loud for a bit, welcoming the breeze. Dad whistles and I think of doves and flying away. His laughter is gone by the time I reach the school gate.
I walk into the busy hall and ask around for the administration office. I come up empty-handed. I'm drowned by the sheer number of students walking past me. I'm also bumped aside so hard my teeth rattle and I bite my tongue. Odd enough, I don't taste the metallic tang in my mouth. I think my fern transition is now under full blow. Maybe my blood is no longer thick, replaced by transparent chlorophyll, and so I'm paper-thin and no-one can see me.
After wandering around for fifteen minutes, I find a door with golden letters that read: 'Ms. Hastings. School admissions and guidance.'
I knock twice and step in. Ms. Hastings is shuffling papers. She gives me a young-lady-you're-bothering-me look, followed by louder shuffles and half a snort.
I stand still holding my ground. When her gaze locks on mine, I give her a sorry-not-sorry-but-helping-students-is-your-job look. She raises an eyebrow and I shift the weight off my left foot. My shoe screeches, contributing to the weirdness in the air. She winces and beckons me to sit.
"How can I help you—?"
"Dawn. Dawn Gray Brooks," I earn another scowl for interrupting her.
"What can I do for you, Dawn Brooks?" She purses her pale-pink lips.
"I'm a transfer student and I need to choose my AP classes." My loud sigh gets on her nerves.
"I see. Here." She hands me the list of AP classes. I stare blankly at them as she instructs me to go to yet another door, with yet another golden inscription on it. After twenty minutes of sweating my fluids away, and more aimless hall-roaming, I get to choose the damn classes and decide I've had enough schooling for the day. It's not like they'd be calling my house. No phone connection yet. Perks of being the new fern girl in town.
I grab my bike to visit the park I saw on my way to school.
"Let's see if there are ducks in that lake," Dad says, and I wince. My real dad would've never been okay with me bailing on classes. He'd be all up in the air, telling me off and giving me the you-must-be-responsible-for-your-impending-future speech.
I ignore the sharp pain coursing through my guts. Sure thing, Daddy.
I ride my thoughts away, making haste. The crickets are quiet for a change, castigating me for my lack of judgment. I don't care. When I arrive at the park, I'm even more sweaty than I was before. My worn-out teal dress has a new collection of wrinkles. I step off my bike and push it down the trail. The forest is welcoming me, the branches from the oak trees sway in unison. They know my blood is running thinner, its red replaced by a translucent green.
"You are absorbing all the beautiful colors, baby bee. They are dancing in your hair. So pretty."
You are such a fool, Daddy. I keep going when I hear voices coming from a group of kids gathering a few metres away. Cruel snickers and a hurtful comment follows. A girl is saying I should cycle more often. The wind carries her words, slamming them in my face. I stop for a second, thrown off balance. My chest burns, and I'm self-aware. I tug on my dress to feel its fabric. It's there, holding me in one piece.
"Ignore them, baby bee. Chin up, my winged soldier."
Yes, Daddy. My vision clouds with tears, and it's hard to see what's ahead. I struggle to keep my cool. After a deep breath, I open my hobo bag and find my framed glasses. I put them on and allow them to do their magic. I know they'll conceal my eyes and the evidence from yet another wound.
As I make it past the trail and farther away from the group, an ancient swing set suspended from a thick branch peeks through the trees. I sit on the wooden plank and lift off.
"Yes, let's blast off into space!" Dad says. "I can swing you higher and make the birds sing for you. They'll shush those idiots away."
The birds chirp as if on cue, and laughter escapes my aching bones.
Let's read a story together, Dad.
I need to feel the familiar, comforting heaviness of the book in my hands. I grab it and open to a random page that washes away the fear, muting the world around me.
I'm not dumb though. It's not like those girls and boys are going to wake up on the other side of the bed tomorrow and decide to befriend me. That girl—and the others that laughed along—hated my guts because they didn't like the look of me. I'm sure this extra amount of me I carry around making my shoulders sag and fogging my mind daily bothers them too.
Whatever. I can stare at the clouds and talk with my dad and they can make fun of me all they want. Except there is this boy, the tall one. The one sitting inches away from the pack that seems different somehow. I can't tell if I also amused him.
"Why don't we find out, Dawn? He seems decent. Let's investigate."
Hush, Dad. Not now.
I smile at his cheeky suggestion, trying to avoid it, but it's too late. My gaze shoots upwards and clings to the boy's stormy eyes. I halt mid-swing and he's frowning, so I frown right back. I give him a quick once-over and settle on his sketchpad, resting on his long legs. His ripped jeans reveal the skin underneath and don't ask me why, but my breathing hitches, and I hate it. The way we lock eyes makes the chlorophyll-filled vein in my forehead throb. I'm a freak, and he knows it.
Whatever. He can join his devil friends so all these children of hell can feast on the fat girl and finish her off in a giant dramatic finale.
It's okay, Dawn. You have your teal armor and your thick ass book as a shield. Come hell or high-water.