Chaos claims the unwary.
That day was meant to begin and end like all the others.
Predictable; predictable meant safe. But in the mediocrity within my months.
The humble habits that made my day. All I am would be my undoing. A single hand, my reckoning, unraveling everything. A day that was meant to be like all the others; it marked the genesis of my end.
Nothing can stop the collision course. All you can do is watch.
¬¬¬
I finsh re-organising my self, slotting in 'The Fourth Wing' and 'Iron Flame' last. I head downstairs, running a flat hand down my hair. Soon I emerge in the kitchen and I take seat at the bedecked table. My mom pinches another buttered toast from the tray.
"You ready for your speech this afternoon?"
I shrug flippantly, drizzling golden syrup over a rolled up pancake. "No different from the hundreds I've given."
"And what about your upcoming recital?" Pride gleams in my dad's eyes. An excited smile flourishing on his face. "You've been practicing nonstop, even though you're already the best."
We trade smiles.
"I can always be better," I quote.
He sends me a wink.
"This is a huge deal." Mama inhales a dramatic breath. "Your first solo performance off school grounds. With the accolade of competitions that you've won. Berklee would be fools not to accept you."
Failing to get into my dream school would be a devastating blow that I'm not sure I would ever be able to recover from. I've been fixated on the prospect for too many years. As heart-wrenching as it would be if don't get in, it won't keep me from playing. Nothing ever will. I've been playing the cello since I was seven. Music has been a remedy that has healed even my deepest of wounds. I started playing after my grandpop died and it allowed me to connect to something existential. A harmony between body and spirit that is more than sound but a soul-tether.
When I play, every worry of the world is spirited away.
When I play, I'm free to be anything.
"The real question is if—" I use the fork to point it at him, "—you're going to be there?"
He responds with an offended look, then looks at my mom for support.
But she and I mirror the same incredulous look.
"There's nothing more important to me than the women at this table."
I fold my lips inwards, nodding dubiously. "Not even a municipal proceeding? Or whatever legislative assembly that made you absent for so many other concerts."
He lets out his regret with a pent-up breath, freeing a long sigh. "My civic oath does not take precedence over my duty as a father." He looks into my eyes with all earnestness. "I promise I'll be there."
We finish off breakfast and when we're all done. I gather the plates and pans to pack them into the dishwasher before I head out for school. When I'm at the archway, I lug up my schoolbag and just then I remember to ask if Alexia and Kenji can come over later. But when I turn around, my dad is standing right in front of mama, talking intimately and gazing into her eyes like it's his first time seeing them. Though they've been married for twenty years.
He looks at her the way I hope someone will one day look at me.
My mama's autumn-brown skin is aglow with an infatuated smile. My dad's dark pearly skin is as smooth as moonstone. Both of them untouched by time. He moves to pick up his suit blazer before he plants a long, lingering kiss on my mother's forehead. Most people get groused out by their parents showing affection, but I find it sweet.
"Amara?" Mama looks at me curiously. "Did you need something, baby?"
I shake my head then walk out of the kitchen, shouldering my bag. The entire kitchen is bathed in first light. The surrounding walls are a creamy beige, paired with warm timber flooring to amplify the golden tones of the cabinetry. I pause in front of the mirror that's mounted on the wall in the corridor. I do a quick fit check: simple oversized varsity jersey, blue and white, paired with a preppy white skirt and white converse. My forehead creases at the sight of a bubble in my hair. I pull out the band to retie my ponytail again.
My mom reappears. "Remember, after school—"
"I know. I go to dad's office and change there before the press conference."
She shoots me a thumbs up. "Just reminding you, see you then, baby."
I leave the house and Larry is waiting patiently in the driveway. I've told him countless times that he doesn't have to do that. It took him years just to accept that I didn't like riding in the back, but still he insists on opening my door. He's been chauffeuring me to school since I had to attend school. He feels more like an uncle to me than my driver.
He stands at attention when he sees me.
I walk down the steps, hurrying to the midnight black vehicle.
Larry opens the passenger door for me, gesturing to it exaggeratedly. "Milady."
Playing along, I hold up my skirt by an inch to dip into a graceful curtsey. "Many thanks, seir."
I hop inside, dropping the bag at my feet. He closes the door and rounds the car before sliding into the driver's seat. The car reverses out of the gateless property, soon cruising down the road with time to spare before first bell.
"How's practice going?"
"It's going," I say with a small laugh. "I have a two-hour lesson with my mentor tomorrow, so I'll update you with what she says about it."
He huffs like I told him a lie when he already knows the truth. "Being modest, are we? I don't need her to tell me what I can already hear; which is raw talent."
"No such thing," I refute. "Talent is no substitute for hard work."
His swamp green eyes glitter with mirth. "You're basically the female version of your father."
After fifteen minutes, we approach Braidwood High. The drill is simple; he drops me close enough to the school but far enough not to draw attention. My life is under a spotlight enough as it is. I wave Larry goodbye before I make the short journey to the front entrance. I stroll into the main structure with a dark brick exterior and a light grey metal panel interior that wraps completely around a landscaped courtyard. The ultra-modern design has echoes of the historical elements that they kept from the original architecture.
The school's leopard mascot spans across the gymnasium's outer masonry façade. Splashes of colour peek through the brick envelope to highlight the punched window openings, playfully organized on each façade. A superior architecture befitting the elite status of a prestigious school.
I get to my locker to fetch my textbook for my first class of the day. Biology. Which is after register period, we go to our assigned homeroom before the start of the official school day. It's just a time to be informed of the upcoming agenda for the week or general announcements.
"Amara."
I close my locker, hugging the heavy textbook to my chest.
Alexia Patel ambles to me with a half-hearted smile. Other than me, there are only a handful of brown-skinned people in Braidwood. I'm the only black person in my grade and she's the only desi. We became fast friends. The only difference between us is that I got into the school because of good old-fashioned nepotism. She earned her place here, she's originally from, what the locals call, the Badlands of Braidwood. She got in via scholarship. Her transition here was grueling, but many people steered clear of her because her social skills imitate one of a T-rex.
And also because her boyfriend is Alister King, son of Valencio King; one of the founding fathers of Braidwood. Which makes him small-town royalty around here. Besides the fact that he's the embodiment of perfection being our team's soccer captain and student body president.
"You know, it wouldn't hurt to try another colour."
She examines herself, looking at her all-black outfit: black jeans, black combat boots with a multi-strap top that crisscrosses over her chest like a web.
Alexia plucks a piece of the fabric. "This is grey."
I offer her a smile. "Baby steps."
She isn't an emo, but she definitely has that grunge girl aesthetic down to the last shade of black.
"We're still doing pizza tonight?"
I make a high-pitched unsure sound. A moving figure catches my gaze. "Not sure." Kenji tiptoes behind her, preparing to make a sneak attack. He slams his index finger on his lips, demanding my silence. "Haven't asked my parents yet. You know how it can be with my dad and all."
"Yeah, he's usually cool about it—"
Kenji looms over her menacingly, raising his arms like a raring wolf ready to pounce.
"—and if you don't back up, I'll break each of your fingers," she says whilst looking at me but addressing the fool behind her.
Dauntless, he gives a blank-faced Alexia an over shoulder hug, wrapping his arms around her neck from behind. She doesn't respond, but she doesn't rip his limbs from their sockets either. Major improvement since when I first introduced him to her.
"We are coming over, right?" He releases her. "We have a record to uphold. We've never missed a movie Monday marathon. And you know that movie with Margot Robbie is next—and you will not take that away from me."
"Relax, the show will go on. I'll just make sure with my parents."
"That's what I like to hear."
Kenji and I do our handshake, ending with the classic one-arm hug.
Alexia rolls her eyes. "You two are literally so annoying."
Kenji ropes me into a side hug, his arm laced around my neck. "And yet you were desperate to join our iconic duo."
"By desperate you mean you begged me, and I only accepted out of pity?"
They begin their banter, bickering like an old married couple.
"Okay guys—"
A pair of dark eyes seize my gaze. I suck in a jagged breath. Impossible. I barely recognize the face and the broad-shouldered stature, but I will never forget those deep, dark eyes.
Vanko. He's back.