The Baleivian Scrolls-The Hidden Realm

First Day of First Grade...Again

Clover

The piercing blare of my alarm cuts through the tranquil fabric of my dreams, yanking me from their ethereal embrace. It's the same dream I've had for a week—two bright stars illuminating my path in a vast, dark expanse. I wander through this shadowy landscape, searching for something I can never quite remember upon waking. The stars reflect off crystal-clear waters, their light dancing on the surface while a gentle mist brushes against my cold face. I can almost smell the freshness of the air and feel the soft caress of the breeze. But just like every dream, it slips away as I awaken, leaving only fragments behind.

Today is no ordinary day; it's my twentieth birthday. And, to my chagrin, I'm still living at home. Today marks the beginning of two new adventures: I've just been hired as a teacher. This was not part of my life's grand design, but sometimes fate has a sense of humor. Here I am, embarking on this unexpected journey, hoping to save up quickly and finally break free into the world on my own.

I rub my face, stretching my arms toward the ceiling in an attempt to shake off the remnants of sleep. With a reluctant sigh, I roll over and indulge in a few more precious moments of solitude. The sun streams through my window, warming my skin and forcing me to squint. I fervently hope to sneak in a coffee run before work—my small daily pleasure.

Glimancing at the clock, I realize time is not on my side. I scramble out of bed and make my way to the kitchen, drawn by the mouthwatering aroma of bacon and eggs. My mother has been busy cooking for the early riser—my younger sister.

"You look so pretty, Clover!" a bright voice calls out, pulling my attention. I peer at the short brunette with silky, long hair—the spitting image of our mother at her age.

Rye. My younger, undeniably more beautiful sister. My closest friend.

With a radiant smile, Rye begins to sing the "Happy Birthday" song, her enthusiasm nearly blinding.

Clover. What a ridiculous name. Of all the names in the world, I got stuck with Clover. The number of people who've told me their rabbit's name is Clover is astonishing.

"I look like a mom," I scoff, running a hand through my disheveled hair.

"No, you don't! But you do look a bit tired," my sister chirps, tucking a stray lock of blonde hair behind my ear. "Aren't you going to be late?"

"If I don't get a move on," I grumble, slinging my purse over my shoulder.

"Goodbye, Clove! I'll see you after work. Maybe we can finish the movie!" Rye calls, following me to the door.

I crouch into my car, careful not to bump my head—a common hazard for someone of my height in this tiny vehicle. The bruises just below my hairline are a constant reminder of my forgetfulness. Honestly, someone of my stature shouldn't even be attempting to drive such a compact car.

Rye stands in the yard, watching me drive away, her smile still bright and cheerful. I can't help but chuckle at her innocence. Rye is like a burst of sunshine, radiating positivity—or perhaps just a delightful dose of sass.

I give one last wave before driving off, my hands gripping the steering wheel as nerves flutter in my stomach. It's already too late to grab my birthday coffee if I want to make it to work on time.

When I arrive, my eyes fall upon the sign: Private School for Troubled Kids.

Troubled kids... what could that possibly entail? What have I gotten myself into? Just keep a positive outlook, Clo. Nothing is going to go wrong. You're prepared for this. Act like an adult, and you won't get walked over. Be confident. Be cool.