Olivia's story

Prologue

I hate this day. And my mother hates it, too. Today is the twenty-ninth of August, the day my mother's whole life was divided into before and after. Rose Rebecca Nielsen, my mother's name, loved-no, rather, adored-my father, Alan.

He died, right on the same day I was born. Exactly nineteen years ago I was born, and exactly nineteen years ago my father died. My mother said he was very kind, very handsome, and she gave me a picture of him to prove it.

He really was very handsome: soft delicate features, rainy gray eyes, a sharp nose, brown hair. In the picture he is wearing a light fall black jacket, black jeans, and an orange and yellow scarf carelessly wrapped around his neck. And the leaves, orange, red, yellow, there's even a bit of pink, froze in the air in the photo, as if, on purpose, they let themselves be photographed.The photo itself is old yellow, rubbed by time in places. I'm afraid his beautiful face, looking right at me through the picture, will one day be erased, too. His smiling eyes, his soft smile, it's all just on one simple piece of paper, but so dear! I never knew him. Never. And I regret it very much.Mom immediately decided to leave this town that she and Dad lived in, it's called Saffron Falls. Next to that town is a beautiful town, just twenty kilometers away, Lavender Heights.My mother and father used to go to this town on weekends to give themselves a little break from work and various problems, for example, my family had a lot of debts to pay. But at one point, when I was about fourteen, she pulled herself together and worked double shifts to finally pay off all the creditors. And she succeeded, I'm proud of her.

Rose is an iron lady on the outside, but deep down she is so vulnerable, delicate as a rose petal. My mother's hair is blond, like mine, and she has green eyes, so pure and bright, you just want to scoop a bucket of kindness from them.

She cannot stay in one city or country for more than one year, since her husband died on August twenty-ninth, which is the day she tells me to pack my bags and fly, drive, or sail to another city.My mother doesn't blame me for my father's death, she doesn't love that day, but she loves me and my birthday. And this is the nineteenth time I've gone somewhere with my mother. The last city was London, I was disappointed in that city. Not in the city, but in the people I met there. But I liked the atmosphere of the city, a lot of rain, and I love rain. I am, you could say, a pluviophile (that's what they call people who love everything that has to do with rain).Even though I'm an adult and could have stayed in the town I liked instead of going with my mom, I decided not to leave my mom on such an important, sad day. I am, after all, the only thing she has, well, besides her mother Rebecca.

The car rocked slowly, putting me to sleep. The curls of my wavy hair bobbed lightly in time with the rocking car. I watched serenely out the window as the small raindrops on the other side of the window overtook each other, sliding across the glass."Olivia, honey! Happy birthday to you!" said Mom, taking a gift from the passenger seat in a lilac gift wrap."Thank you," I said, taking the gift from her hands. I tore the gift paper off the gift and saw a handbook with a dark green crust that read, "All About Haland Academy. This handbook wrote the rules of the academy, the history of the academy, how to enter it, and so on. I looked out the window again, the woods ended, and I saw a rusty "You have arrived in Lavender Heights" sign. 

"Lavender Heights? Why this particular town, the same town where you were with Daddy this weekend!" I asked bewildered. 

A shadow flashed in her eyes, but she quickly said: "Near that town is Haland Academy, where you dreamed of going! Or did you change your mind?"

"But Mom, you know the tuition there is very expensive, I don't want you to get into debt again!" I objected.

"And who says I'm going to pay your tuition? You'll get in on a budget," she said without taking her eyes off the road. She clearly underlined the word enrollment. The car stopped, and my mother and I got out of the car, the light scent of lavender wafting up my nose. I looked around: we were standing in the parking lot, behind me there was an archway through which we entered the town, and in front there were hills, to be exact, there was a hill in front of me and a hill to the left, and in the middle there was a little street that leads to a huge lavender field. If you go further, there's a lake, an embankment, and there are white and gray houses on the hills.There are no colorful houses here, that would disturb the harmony of this town. Mom took out several of my suitcases and a big bag, unknown with what, there was also a picnic basket, a sports bag, two tennis rackets and a ball and a lot more. My mother did not take her suitcases out of the car. Naturally, all these bags wouldn't fit in one trunk, so during the ride I sat in the backseat hugging the bags, with the bags on the passenger seat on the floor, too.

A light westerly breeze blew on my face and I smiled that easy dreamy smile and my hair slowly developed in the wind. I realized that a new chapter was beginning in the book of My Life, chapter number nineteen.