Losing Mira

Chapter 1

If there ever was beauty, it was in Mirabelle. She had the kind of beauty that was made of pure kindness, radiating from within. It bled into everything. You just had to be around her for one day. It was as if flowers would grow from her footsteps, reaching to get closer. she had that kind of influence. Everyone around her could feel her magnetic pull, her need to be with others, and their need to be near her. She was. You could always just tell she was d that kind of infectious, picking up the small things about the people around her, showing everyone the bright side.

Her appearance showed her personality. She had soft waves of dark brown hair, floating to her back. Her emerald eyes, constantly full of ideas, were paired with olive skin. Her perfectly imperfect smile, just barely crooked, always lit up her face, bringing life to statuesque beauty. Her smile was framed by almost unnaturally pink lips, always just shimmering. Mira's head was naturally tilted to the side, as if in thought.

She was small in stature, only 5'2", easily the smallest in our class. She was minuscule to my 6'1" frame. What she lacked in size, she made up for in personality. She had a calm, full voice, her presence able to calm an audience, like no one else could. Her mere presence calmed down the rowdiest children.

Sure, she was quirky. Anyone could see that. She had little odd things, like always wearing mismatched socks, and humming under her breath. You could always tell she was different, even just slightly. Maybe it was the way she tilted her head, or the ever light way she walked. She strived to be different, to be unique. She was one of one.

I, myself, was quite the opposite. At every bit of 6'1", filled out from my many athletic pursuits. I inherited strawberry blond hair from my mother, a stunning beauty, married right of high school, to her sweetheart. My father had known my mother since they were 12, and have been together just as long. My father grew up royal, his parents dying when he was only 2, leaving him with only the royal name York, 14th in line for the throne(which makes me 15th in line) He brought our small family, consisting of my parents, me, and my younger sister, Sophia. I was only 4 when we moved to Kingston, Maine. Sophia, 4 years younger than me, was but a twinkle in my parents' eyes.

I retained a slight accent, and a different dialect, barely noticeable, until you got me angry. I'm named Aaron, but I have a variety of different nicknames, depending of the crowd I'm in. Aaron York. utterly normal, in every way.

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Mirabelle was my best friend from the first time we met, in Ms.Winsdor's pre-k class. I could already read, at 4 years old. I lived in the reading corner of the dusty pink room, the musty pillows my fort. I would retreat there, escaping the ever present harsh words of those who heard my then-heavy accent. (4 year olds can be quite vicious.) I stayed in the corner, and read. One day, Mira joined me.

"What are you doing?" Mira asked, in her calm voice with just hints of confusion.

"Reading. It's about a bunch of funny fish." I replied, my voice soft, hoping she wouldn't notice my accent. I cringed, hearing the thick London accent, hoping the little girl wouldn't notice.

"Could you read to me?" She asked, her voice becoming shy.

I gladly obliged, greatly relived she hadn't commented on my accent. I read to her, and every day, we read another book. It took her about a week for her to notice that I said things differently. She asked about why I talked funny, and the answer I gave was because I was born that way. I was terrified that I would lose my only friend, that my weirdness would repel her. Instead, she liked my accent, that everyone else hated.

We were always an odd pairing, almost complete opposites. She was the shortest, I was the tallest. Mira was contained to her small frame, whereas I was filled out my large frame, fit from my athletic pusuits. She was wildly artistic, soaking up music and art, random facts, skills. I strayed on the more traditional path, reading where she sang, seeing geometry where she saw art. I was clumsy with my hands, she was deft. Mirabelle would pick up any instrument, and make it play. She could pick up a broken trinket, and make it work. This was her favorite thing: fixing.

Mira was always a fixer. She would fix everything- broken bikes and injured birds, it didn't matter. She could solve 2nd grade drama like no teacher ever could.She always took it upon herself to be in the middle. Everyone else's problems were hers, as well. She took the weight of the world on her shoulders. She always looked for a challenge, and that got her where she ended up.

Mira was the social butterfly, out of the two of us. She was the chameleon, fitting in with whoever she was with on that day. She was well liked everywhere- every teacher, every neighbor, every child. Everyone loved her, and she loved everyone. She always had a joke, or a thought, a complement for everyone. I was the sidekick, the ever present entity. I was known by them, as well, but only as Mirabelle's friend, the tall one. The background suited me as well as the spotlight was Mira's.

As much as I craved the background, it loved me. I would float below the radar, being the person there, yet not quite. My friends were books, stories being my escape, only intruded on by Mira. I was smart, maintaining a 97 average, but not bright. I was soccer captain, and a guard in basketball. I was a decent athlete, but no superstar.

I was the kid everyone knew. I was that kid they always saw jogging, the lifeguard at the local pool. I was the face. In school, I was the child who teachers liked, and kids knew. I could sit at any table, and be welcomed. But I never belonged. I was liked, but never popular. No, that was Mira's job.

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Author's note

Sorry guys, this took forever. I'm just a slow typer. Input appreciated. Enjoy!

~Kalyn