The Hunt for The Wallflower

Chapter 1

I knew she would die, but part of me hoped that she would live on forever, struggling with her disease until she herself was 99. So it still came as a shock to me at night when my phone rang to 'Polytheme Pam', the caller ID showing "Abby Mother". I answered, the hollow feeling in my stomach opening wide and clear.

"Hello."

"Emily."

That word was all it took. I screamed. Click. I screamed in pain, loss, anger, grief. My mom and stepfather rushed in.

One look, and they knew. And they quietly closed the door.

It was about 2:00 am when my screams quieted in little mewls. After that, I think I fell asleep. I must have, I suppose. To stop feeling the hole.

~~~~~~~~~

I felt so empty at school the next day. I put on a white attire. It was my way, I suppose, to show the school that Abby once walked the earth, that Abby was once alive. That she was good, and pure, and I would mourn for her in my own tradition, not everyone elses. I wanted the whole school to know that I'd been mourning. I was still. I didn't need my vision anymore. I knew everything they were teaching. I was smart enough to not learn anything in class and still pass, but I wasn't smart enough to save Abby. I could feel everybody's eyes on me in the lunch room, whispering, murderer. You killed the person we loved most. You killed Abby.

The days went by, silent and tense. Meaningless. There was no Abby to cheer me up. Everything reminded me of Abby. The bench, the school, even the smell of the air. Abby always had a makeup routine that she made me memorize: Foundation, concealer, setting powder, eyebrow plucker thing, eyebrow pencil, eyeliner, eye-shadow, mascara, highlighting, blush, lipliner, lipstick, lip gloss. Alot, I know, but she never looked unnatural like some of the other whores at our school.

Now, the guys reading this have no idea what I'm talking about. It's okay. I don't too, most of the time.

It was about a month after. There was the funeral. I wanted to look like the way Abby wanted me to, but was in refusal about makeup.

I walked outside, to our garden, under the apple tree. There's quite a romantic story behind it, actually. My dad and mom had lived in the house together as boyfriend and girlfriend, and then, one day, he just took her out to the garden on her birthday and asked her to marry him, when she said yes, he planted an apple tree right where she said yes, and also because apple was my mother's favourite fruit. They put my room right where I could see it, but it was also a stab in the gut somehow; Abby and I used to hang out there. I don't know why it's still there, I thought Stepfather would have chopped it down by now.

It's probably because of Abby.

Once, Abby said, jokingly,"When I die, this is where you'll find me. This place is awesome."

So I went down. and sat, a fire growing through my body as I did so, it hurt so much.

"Abby."

"Abby."

"Abby."

It hurt. I needed her to hear me. And I guess she did, because suddenly I knew what to do.

That was all it took to shake me out of my stupor. I knew, suddenly that all my clothes were too small for me, and I need to clean my room up.

"MOM!"

I tore through the kitchen, where my mom was baking. She's small, about 5'4, Vietnamese and gentle.

"Mom! I...we need to, I don't know, you and Abby were talking about it...I..."

She smiled.

"Okay, sweetheart."