MARCH 9, 2012 - 3 YEARS BEFORE

FLORAL ARRANGEMENTS MADE for some of the prettiest subjects.

I leaned over a bouquet of lilies, baby's breath, and eucalyptus, closing my right eye and peering through the viewfinder with my left. The click of the shutter was never any less satisfying, and a small smile curved my lips at the thought of the image being forever captured. Lowering the camera, I glanced around the room, surrounded by succulents, roses, lilacs, tulips, and countless other greenery, looking for my next target. Having a florist for a father often came in handy when I was in the mood to shoot still life.

My dad had opened Lou's Flower Market when I was twelve, after a knee injury took him out of commission, and made him unable to work down on the docks by the marina, catching and selling fish to various restaurant owners, and locals. At such a young age, I didn't quite understand the mental toll that being physically incapable of doing things you used to do with ease could have. But I remembered him going very quiet for a long period of time, and whenever I would express my sympathy, he would pat me on the head fondly. That's just the way life is, sweetheart, he would say with a sad smile. You learn to deal with what you're given.

After a while, he began to view the injury as a blessing in disguise, saying it gave him a chance to focus on a different, more fulfilling passion: bringing beauty to the lives of other people.

His love for sharing beautiful things must've been genetic.

I snapped a picture of a potted philodendron, feeling a surge of excitement at the thought of getting this roll of film developed.

A pair of footsteps joined me moments later, but I was busy fiddling with the petals of a peony, trying to showcase them in a way that would be the most appealing for my next photograph, my camera hanging from the strap on my neck.

"What are you still doing here?" Dad's voice was incredulous, and I turned to look at him, noting the way his eyebrows were raised in surprised.

His brown skin was creased with years of laughter lines, and his coal black hair was beginning to pepper with gray. I knew my parents were aging, but it didn't make noticing the visual signs any easier.

I frowned at him. "What do you mean?"

He made a show of looking at the clock on the wall, then looking back at me, wiping his palms on his black apron, a faint limp in his step. "I mean, you're going to be late."

I followed his eyes, my own widening when I caught sight of the time. I'd planned on just stopping in and saying hello on my way to school, and ended up losing track of the time once inspiration struck. Holding back a curse for my father's sake, I slid my corduroy backpack, decorated with various colorful pins, from my shoulders, and hurriedly—but carefully—stuck my camera inside among my school books.

Heaving it onto my back again, I rushed over to my dad, planting a kiss on his cheek as he chuckled. "Thank you!" I called on my way out the door, weaving through tables of potted plants, past the front counter, ignoring the crooning voice of Bill Withers urging me to stay a little longer, and bells chimed overhead, signaling my exit.

St. Mary High School tended to be quite strict about attendance and punctuality, and it wasn't like me to be late. Running down the sidewalk, I pulled my phone from my jacket pocket, checking the time again. If I went as fast as possible, I would still make it before the final bell.

March in Cape Vincent toed the line between winter and spring, and I was glad I'd opted to wear my large turtleneck beneath my jean jacket, my breath coming out in short puffs in front of me. The sky was a mix of blue and gray, as if it couldn't decide what it wanted to be, and there was a thin coating of frost on the grass of the lawns in the neighborhood. I appreciated the scenery as I ran, trying to keep up my speed and ignore the urge to pull out my camera again as my mind wandered to the day that stretched out ahead of me.

In my opinion, school was a necessary evil. I enjoyed learning; I got good grades, liked my teachers, and tried to procrastinate as little as possible. There were definitely days the subject matter felt mind-numbingly boring, and I would rather run off somewhere to take photos than memorize the names of the bones in the human body, but my parents had instilled in me the desire to work hard, and I could never truly relax until I knew I had finished everything that needed to be done. For the most part, I didn't mind St. Mary's.

But then there was the matter of having to socialize with people on a regular basis.

I'd always been quiet, content to stay out of the way and mind my own business, and I was quick to be intimidated by people my own age. It was easier to hang out with my family, or the elderly regulars at Bartley's—minus the creeps—or Claire, who unfortunately attended Cape Vincent Secondary across town. There was nothing I dreaded more than group projects, or being forced to talk to my classmates in any capacity. I'd gone through all of high school with a handful of people I felt comfortable conversing with, and I didn't think I'd ever even seen any of them outside of class.

Though I had to admit, now that I was a mere few months from graduating, I kind of regretted not making an effort to reach out to anyone and establish significant connections. But it seemed like a waste of time. If I made friends with someone, one of us would inevitably end up leaving town at some point, leaving the friendship to slowly fizzle out as if it never existed at all. I preferred to finish out the school year alone, rather than mourn something that was doomed to begin with.

Edie Jensen was one of the people I spoke to on occasion. We were in many of the same classes, and it seemed to be an unspoken rule that whenever we were faced with harrowing group projects, we would be partners.

After making it to English 12 just as the warning bell rang, I took my seat next to her, lifting a hand in greeting, feeling too out of breath to speak. She pursed her lips in a polite smile over her braces, waving in return. Her curly black afro was a contrast to the white frames perched on her nose; she switched them up on a regular basis, and it was always interesting to see what pair she deemed appropriate for the day.

"I didn't think you'd make it," she remarked.

I grunted, still panting slightly, though I didn't have time to say anything more before Mrs. Pelletier began taking attendance.

My first two classes were uneventful, as they always were. English consisted of discussing the deeper meaning of several short stories written by indigenous authors, and statistics was. . . statistics. I liked numbers, and organizing things, but it wasn't enough to keep my mind from drifting the moment Mr. Young opened his mouth.

I was exchanging my books at my locker before third period when I thought I heard the sound of my name being called.

Pausing for a moment, I realized I must've heard wrong, since I was far from a sought-after person on campus, and I doubted Edie would be in a rush to speak with me about anything. I pulled out my chemistry textbook, ignoring it.

But I heard it again, closer this time.

"Vivienne!"

And I recognized the voice instantly, cheeks warming despite my valiant effort to keep the blush at bay.

I turned around to see Will Tucker approaching my locker, a hand held up in greeting, smiling easily.

Clutching my textbook to my chest, and suddenly overcome with a nervous feeling in my belly, I waved back timidly, somewhat confused. I'd finally gotten the courage to text him on Wednesday about Claire's party, the day after he had given me his number. We chatted back and forth briefly, with me telling him when and where it was, and him asking how he should dress. But the conversation had petered out after that, and the party wasn't until Monday night, so I didn't see any reason for him to want to talk to me at school.

Despite this, he sidled up next to me, leaning against the navy blue row of lockers, winning smile intact. "Hey."

"Hi," I murmured, unable to meet his eyes for very long.

Claire had cursed me by pointing out his attractiveness. Now it was all I could see.

"So. . . I kind of have some bad news. Looks like I can't make your party, after all," he said apologetically, regret evident in his expression. "I totally blanked and forgot I have a game that night."

"Oh," I replied softly, surprised that I felt a large flicker of disappointment. It was a miracle that he'd even offered to come in the first place, I shouldn't have been let down that it wasn't going to work out. This made much more sense, and I was grateful I hadn't mentioned anything to Claire about his attendance. "That's fine, no worries. It'll mostly be family, anyway."

I figured that was all he had to say, so I gave him a small smile and a parting nod, preparing to walk to my next class.

"But," he said quickly, holding up a finger to stop me. "I have a counter offer."

Turning back to face him, I frowned, staring at him in bemusement. "What do you mean?"

"Well." He lifted his shoulders, shrugging sheepishly as a half-smile captured his lips. "I promised you a party. I don't like breaking promises, so. . . Duncan is having some people over tomorrow night. It would be fun if you were there too."

It took me a moment to process the sentence.

When I did, I couldn't help the startled laugh that escaped. "You're inviting me to a Duncan Fitzgerald house party?"

I'd only ever overheard rumors about his infamous parties. Mr. Fitzgerald was often doing business overseas, Mrs. Fitzgerald spent a good chunk of the year down in Arizona, and his older brothers had moved out and gone away to college years ago, so Duncan had the house to himself most of the time, which made him a favorable and frequent party host. While people seemed to really enjoy them, and arrived at school the following Mondays with loads of stories to tell, the parties never got completely out of hand.

Even so, I had absolutely no desire to attend.

"Is that bad?" Will asked, grimacing, suddenly unsure of himself.

I cringed inwardly at my knee-jerk reaction. "No," I blurted. "Not at all. It's just. . . not really my thing, I guess." My cheeks warmed, and I reached up to toy with the ends of my hair, which was pulled into a side braid. "I've never been."

"There's a first time for everything," he encouraged hopefully, his bright blue eyes earnest.

Chewing on the inside of my lip, I considered. I couldn't deny the fact that I was flattered he'd thought to invite me, and the idea of spending more time with him was both tempting, and altogether terrifying. But the anxiety of being surrounded by intoxicated teenagers I barely knew for hours on end was overpowering.

"I actually think I have something up," I lied, making an effort to sound remorseful. "Thanks for inviting me, though. Maybe another time."

He nodded, his shoulders drooping ever so slightly. "Sure," he agreed, before pausing. When he spoke again, he almost seemed a little nervous, giving me a hesitant smile. "Let me know if you change your mind. We could go together."

"Okay," I replied, having a strong feeling I wouldn't be taking him up on his offer.

The bell rang overhead, and we both blinked as if we'd forgotten where we were temporarily. He gave me another half-smile, waving quickly before heading off to his next class. Sighing, I blew a stray curl out of my face, making for the chemistry classroom.

Glancing up at the clock on the wall, I pursed my lips in frustration.

My eyes dropped down to my history book on the coffee table, and I realized that I'd been rereading the same line over and over again. Groaning, I rubbed my eyes tiredly, and Murphy chose that exact moment to wriggle himself onto my lap. I patted his head, looking down at him with my lips pulled into a vague pout. For the past hour, I had been trying to work on homework but it was useless, I was distracted.

Will's invitation was all I could think about.

After our brief chat in the hallway the day before, I had resigned myself to the fact that going to the party would be a mistake, and I would regret it, so the smart thing to do would be to stay in. I still believed all of that, but I couldn't shake his look of disappointment from my thoughts. Even though I'd only really known him for a few days, I didn't like the feeling of letting people down. I was always met with a tsunami of guilt set in motion by the word no. I always felt the need to justify, to over-explain, to apologize, to provide a valid excuse.

My gaze flickered to my cell phone, sitting face up next to my textbook, and my fingers itched to text Will, to say sorry for being unable to attend, and to wish him a good time.

The party had most likely already started, and I imagined he and his buddies were a few drinks deep. He wouldn't notice my absence. He'd probably already forgotten he even invited me.

Nodding once, I tried to convince myself of this, poring over the passage of the book again in an attempt to get back to my assignment.

Murphy began snoring from his spot nestled in the crook of my legs, and I found myself thinking of what Claire would say if I told her about Will. There was no doubt she'd tell me to go; she was younger, and bubblier, and made friends easily, so if she were in my position, attending the party would be a no-brainer. I imagined she would say something along the lines of, Viv, you're going to be graduating soon! Do you really want the time you and Edie Jensen scored the same on a math test to be your best high school memory?

I groaned again, leaning back against the sofa behind me, causing Murphy to stir from his sleep with a start, waddling a short distance away.

And then, before I could think better of it, I closed my book with a flourish, rising to my feet and heading to my bedroom to pick out something socially acceptable to wear.

Plucking my phone from the table, I typed up a new message, sending it quickly enough to keep from second-guessing my words.

I changed my mind. See you at Duncan's.

┅

song: safety bricks - broken social scene

vivienne is probably the most personally relatable character i've written. there are a lot of things about her/her experiences that are like me. i'm really enjoying getting to know her better.

what do you think of the story so far? also yay, another party chapter coming up lol. would it really be a wattpad book if it didn't include parties?

thank you for reading ミ☆