Hopeless

II

"In fact, hope is best gained after defeat and failure, because then inner strength and toughness is produced." – Fritz Knapp

Somehow, I found myself experiencing the first day of senior year for the second time in my life.

It was not entertaining; it was not exciting. I absolutely did not stay up late the previous night wondering if there would be any hot students or teachers, or worrying about what combination of clothing would fit better for such important day. Call me pessimistic but in my head, that would be another wasted year and some giddy, fake excitement the night before would change nothing.

Aunt Maria, on the other hand, was exhilarated that I got a second chance at life; that's what she thought that was. I tried seeing it from her perspective, tried convincing myself that going back to school to finish a grade I've already been on once before was something to be grateful for; something to wake up every morning. An opportunity given to me in order to get my life together. It turned out to be something a little bit more destructive (or disturbing one might say) than that. The first few days seemed hopeful, though and surprisingly the very first day was, in fact, one of the most memorable days of my life.

I had gone to school earlier than usual, aunt Maria having no control over her joyous emotions. The level of eagerness that she had for me to go to school was so much that she woke up an hour before she needed to, something very unusual for my aunt to do since she moved to New York. Back in the day, before she even met Rick, she and her friends used to stay up late after having a successful meeting, or a random sort of celebration like a dog's birthday or something.

No one could claim that aunt Maria was ever on time for anything, actually. But that day was special. She even decided to drive me herself to school instead of just ordering me a cab or making Howard, the sweet old man that my aunt had hired to take her wherever she needed, drive me to school. When we arrived, she looked at me and she sparkled. Her blue eyes eased me every time that I crossed them with mine. And I could see it; I could actually she that they carried so much love for me and had so many stories to tell. She gave me a kiss on the cheek and wished me good luck.

Since I was almost an hour early I was not expecting to see anyone there. I walked inside and greeted some teachers that quickly passed me by through the hallways, all with a fake smile on their faces like they were actually happy to see me. I felt welcomed and a bit relieved, even though half of the teachers I greeted did not even remember who I was. Walking through the empty halls and classrooms of the school, remembering my previous year there and reminiscing on the times I used to cry myself through the day, I decided to sit on the bleachers and read my book just to savor the last moment of peace and quiet I'd have before having to attend the first class of my second year as a senior.

'Hey, do you maybe have a lighter?'

That was the first thing she ever said to me. I was too focused on the book I had on my lap—a habit I have grown to adore, burying my face in the pages of any literary book, trying to escape my reality— to give her, from the start, the attention that I so desperately wanted to give only a few days later. It took me a couple of seconds too much to divert my gaze from the words of the book to her blue eyes.

I hadn't heard what she said; only the sound of her voice managed to break through the wall of my focus. So, with my voice shaking and a dry mouth, I asked her;

'Excuse me?' She laughed and I was in heaven. My cheeks got instantly heated and a rose colored color quickly coated them. She stood tall in front of me, with a confidence that almost took my breath away. It was cloudy that day and it looked as if it was going to start pouring rain any second, but she was in shorts and a tank top. She was not carrying a bag or anything to put her books in, her hair was messy and I could not help but notice her blond roots that differed from the rest of her black hair. She smelled of weed mixed with cheap perfume and the skin under her eyes was shadowed, almost purple.

But the color of her them popped out the most. They were the most vibrant blue I have ever seen in my entire life making me feel all sort of things that I could not explain and certainly had not felt before.

'I asked you whether you have a lighter or not.' I didn't have a lighter with me. Why would I? I didn't smoke, I didn't have friends that smoked and candles made me feel dizzy. So there was not one reason that could make me carry a lighter with me, yet I cursed myself for not thinking to put one in my bag. She waited for my response and I felt like an idiot under her stare. She had asked me a simple 'yes or no' question and still I took several seconds to answer. Not because I couldn't, but because I didn't want to.

Because if I answered, she would say a simple 'alright' and then leave. And I didn't quite like that scenario.

'Uh...no, sorry. I don't carry one with me.' I managed to voice. She let out an exasperated sigh and placed the unlit cigarette she held between her fingers, right in the middle of her slightly parted lips that softly wrapped around it. She sat next to me, after roughly shoving her hands on each of her pockets, and in her grip appeared a small black lighter.

The wind was becoming more and more forceful. Both of our hair was fighting against it, getting in the way of clearly looking each other. Yet through the mess that was caused by the cold air, I noticed her winking at me.

'I guess I should have looked in my pockets.' We laughed; the atmosphere filled with something different; something unique. 'My name's Nova.'

I smiled; a teeth-showing smile. That was when I discovered I had dimples. That day was the first time I smiled in nine years and it felt... terrifyingly beautiful. 'Zoe.'