I thought I saw her today. Her face in the lunch crowd, her ponytail bouncing up and down in PE, her long outstretched fingers sliding a scrunched-up portrait of me across the table in biology when she should have been focusing on the whiteboard. I always think I see her. But I never do.
A couple of months have passed already but this isn’t getting any easier. I’m still so confused about what happened, why it happened, and why I let it happen.
My phone beeps from under the pillow, and I think it might be Trina or Lucy. They text me now. Lucy invites me out for a tea after school, Trina asks if I’m OK. I didn’t really know Lucy until this year, until…everything happened. But she’s different now. Everything is much different at Birchwood.
Another beep fills my empty room, void of any light from the lamp. I raise the screen up to my face and for a split second, I think I’m going to see Sophia’s name. One of her old messages.
Do you want to come over to watch a movie this weekend?
Have you listened to the new Ed Sheeran song yet?
Do you want to go shopping on Saturday?
Have you done your biology homework yet?
Steve isn’t texting me back. Is he with Aiden tonight?
I kept all of our old text threads, and I probably always will. But I might delete the ones from the past couple of months because that’s not her. That’s not the Sophia that I knew. That was a very different Sophia. One that stepped out into the middle of the road to end her life.
That’s not my Sophia.
But it’s not her on my phone screen. It’s Aiden. He also texts me a lot.
I’m downstairs. Can you come outside for a minute?
I rush to my window and peer down. A hooded figure stands in front of my house, at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the front door. I know that sweatshirt. I know that stance.
I won’t ring the bell. I just want to see you for a second.
The hallway is empty so I creep downstairs, avoiding the fifth stair which creaks. My feet hit the last step, softly landing on the carpeted flooring at the bottom. I look back at the closed kitchen door and hear a clash of ceramic. Mum is setting the table for dinner. I glance back one more time before turning the Yale lock so it clicks open. A gush of air rushes in.
Aiden stands, a couple of steps from the top, his hands in his pockets. His face immediately softens when our eyes meet. ‘Sorry, I know I shouldn’t be here again. And I definitely don’t want to get you in trouble. I just didn’t know what else to do. You weren’t at school again today. I wanted to make sure you’re doing OK.’
I step out into the warm early evening in my bare feet. ‘I’m fine. What’s been happening at school lately?’
‘This anti-bullying campaign is really blowing up. Did you see how many followers Birchwood’s page has now? It’s crazy.’
‘Yeah,’ I whisper, playing with the fabrics at the bottom of my sleeves.
‘They’re filming for the YouTube campaign over the next week. Almost everyone’s signed up for a spot. Will you come? Will you join in?’
I laugh and rub my forehead, warm tears stinging my cheeks again. ‘It’s a bit late now, isn’t it?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Well, I do.’
‘No, Ulana, it’s not. Maybe it is for Sophia, but not for other people.’
His words pinch my insides and I know deep down, he’s right. It’s not too late. Not for real change. Maybe this is our opportunity. Maybe today’s my opportunity for change. ‘OK. I’ll be there.’
He smiles and reaches into his back pocket. Still smiling, he holds his arm out to me and slowly uncurls his palm. Inside are tiny yellow buttercups. Yellow was Sophia’s favourite colour too.
‘Are those from the meadow behind school?’ I ask him.
He nods.
‘Thank you.’ My voice is no more than a whisper between us.
‘Do you need anything? I mean, I’m here for you if you need anything.’
I nod and hold out my hand for him to join me.
Aiden steps up beside me and hands me the buttercups. His fingers linger a little longer on my hand and I bite my lip fighting back the tears. He holds out his arms and I collapse into him, like he’s a part of me. I know the buttercups are getting squashed as he holds me tight, not letting go, but I don’t care. I don’t want to move. I feel safe here. I’m where I should be.
Inside, my dad’s voice stretches out from the kitchen.
‘I should go,’ Aiden says, sliding his hands down my arms. He lets me go and takes a step away from me. ‘Can’t let your dad see me again.’ He glances over my shoulder into the house, then leans in and kisses me gently on the forehead. His lips are warm and familiar. He pulls away and turns to leave.
‘Wait,’ I say, taking his hand. I lock my fingers into his and tug him inside with me.
‘Ulana…’ He tries to pull away but I keep him close to me, leading him further into the house.
We stand at the kitchen door, my parents’ voices soft and muffled.
‘What are you doing?’ he asks, tiny creases spreading across his forehead.
‘Something I should have done a long time ago. I’m sorry I didn’t.’ I push the door open with my hand.
‘Ulana? I’m glad you’re joining us—’ He stops when he sees Aiden behind me and quickly rises from his chair.
‘Dad, you remember Aiden?’ I stutter, my lips trembling.
My dad nods, ‘Yes, I remember your friend Aiden.’ He glances between us, waiting for one of us to explain more. I feel my mum behind me, the smell of her perfume in the air around us. It smells like the flowers from home. Oleander and hibiscus. I realise then that both of these things are important to me – that both Aiden and my family are important. Both him and my family feel suddenly connected. My relationship with religion and my relationship with him give meaning to my life, and with everything that’s happened over these past few months, I don’t feel like I should have to choose one over the other anymore. Both are a big part of me. Both should have a place in my life. As difficult as it will be, I know now – I see now – that that’s not an impossible task.
‘Mum, Dad, I want Aiden to stay for dinner tonight.’
My dad’s brow furrows and he looks at my mum who stands beside him, plate and tea towel in hand. She’s setting the table for dinner, but she doesn’t put the plate down. She continues to hold it, as she flickers her eyes between us and Dad. ‘Ulana—’
‘I’m not asking to bring him upstairs to my bedroom. I understand we can’t be alone together under your roof. I will respect your wishes. I always have. I’m just asking if he can join us for dinner because I’d like for you both to get to know him.’
I glance at my mum. She doesn’t seem angry to see Aiden standing here, beside me. She doesn’t even seem surprised. She clears her throat, and eventually parts her lips to speak. ‘Are you hungry, Aiden?’
Aiden nods quickly, a small smile creeping across his face.
She places a firm hand on my dad’s shoulder, as if to soothe any unspoken concerns. He looks up at her, then back to me.
‘Good. I’d better set another place at the table then,’ she says.
I follow my mum into the living room to get the extra dinner set for Aiden. ‘You’re not angry?’ I whisper to her.
‘Of course not. We trust you, Ulana. We always have.’
I wrap my arms around her and rest my cheek on her chest, the scent of oleander getting stronger. She smells of apricots in the summer. I hug her tighter.
‘Besides, at least now you don’t have to sneak around with him.’
I pull away, my cheeks feeling warm. ‘How do you know—’
‘Ulana, I’m your mother. I know you very well. And I also remember what it feels like to be seventeen.’ She smiles. ‘Now come on, we’d better get in there.’
‘Is Dad angry?’
‘You’re his only daughter, and you just brought a boy home. Give him some time. But I think once he gets to know him, he’ll like Aiden a lot. We both will.’
When we return to the dining room, Aiden and my dad are talking, just about football. But they’re talking.
A soft silence washes over the table when we sit down. I bite my lip, wondering what to say. Then Aiden clears his throat. ‘So I heard you like the Beatles, Mr Alami?’ he says, leaning in.
A wide grin spreads across my dad’s face as he launches into an animated conversation about the Sgt Pepper album.
I pull out the squashed buttercups from my pocket, and set the yellow flowers down next to my silverware. I smile – Sophia would enjoy this story.