Fell For You

Not So Exciting

The shrill sound of my alarm clock drags me out of a dream I can't remember. I groggily slap my hand over it until the ringing stops. With a satisfied sigh, I flop back onto my pillow, sinking into the soft warmth, ready to drift again—

Riiinnnggg.

I groan and hit it harder this time. The ringing stops, but so does something else—my clock.

I blink one eye open and tilt my head toward the nightstand. My stomach drops. The clock's in pieces.

"Oh, great," I mumble. "Goodbye, Mickey Mouse. Guess those protein bars weren't such a great idea after all."

I gather the broken bits and drop them into the bin beside my bed, rubbing my face to wake up. Morning light spills through the milky curtains, painting streaks of gold across the mustard ceiling. Dust motes float lazily in the beam, spinning like tiny galaxies.

It's peaceful for a moment—until I glance at my watch.

Monday. February 1st. 6:15 a.m.

Wait. Monday.

That's today.

My heart jumps, and I shoot upright. Then, like a delayed spark, the excitement hits me. "It's today," I whisper, grinning like a lunatic.

In seconds, I'm on my feet, padding toward the window. I pull the curtains apart and squint into the pale morning sun. The air outside looks crisp and clean, and the ocean's scent drifts faintly through the cold breeze.

My room's the only one with a balcony. I push open the glass door, lean against the railing, and call out, "GOOD MORNING, LA PUSH!"

Somewhere in the distance, a familiar voice yells back, "MELODY, GO BACK TO BED!"

I laugh, recognizing Jacob instantly. Three houses away, and he still manages to be my alarm clock.

Still grinning, I shut the door, grab my towel, and collect the usual armful of bathroom supplies—shampoo, conditioner, toothpaste, toothbrush, lemon-avocado soap, and my scrub.

Hey, don't judge. I don't share bathroom stuff. Not even with family.

Steam fogs up the mirror as I finish showering. My hair smells faintly of citrus and rain when I step out, towel wrapped tightly around me.

For my first-day outfit, I pull on fitted blue jeans, my knee-length brown boots from Auntie's Alaskan tribe, and a black-and-white sleeveless shirt with a short jacket layered over it. My hair falls into loose curls, still a little damp at the ends. A quick touch of foundation, a swipe of cherry lip gloss, and a soft smile at my reflection seals the look.

"Not bad," I whisper, adjusting my collar.

My watch reads 7:05 a.m.—plenty of time for breakfast and a pep talk.

After putting on my silver studs, I grab my blue-and-white polka-dot bag and skip downstairs, humming to myself. But halfway through the hallway, I stop.

A quiet sob breaks the rhythm.

The lights are still off, the air thick and heavy with something unspoken. My boots thud softly on the floor as I move toward the living room.

Mom's sitting on the couch, crying into Dad's shoulder. His hand rests gently on her back, his eyes red-rimmed. The sight freezes me in place.

"Dad?" My voice is barely a whisper. "What's wrong?"

He turns slowly, and his expression tells me before his words do.

"Honey," he says softly, "your Uncle Henrik died last night. There was... a fire."

The words sink in slowly, like pebbles dropping into water. I don't even know Henrik. Dad's never really talked about his side of the family in Alaska, but grief doesn't need familiarity to sting. It hits me anyway—a cold ache that seeps into my chest.

Mom wipes her tears and forces a trembling smile when she sees me. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. We're ruining your first day. I'll... I'll wash up." Her voice cracks as she stands and walks out of the room.

Dad sighs and looks down at me with a faint, tired smile. "Don't worry about this, pal. Just go to school, okay?" His eyes glisten, and he pats my shoulder before leaving the room too.

I sit quietly at the counter, staring at the plate of blueberry pancakes in front of me. The smell of maple syrup fills the air, sweet and warm, but the taste feels muted. I chew slowly, trying to swallow the knot in my throat.

I didn't know him. But somehow, I feel the loss all the same.

By the time I glance at my watch again, it's 7:35. School starts at eight. Seth and Jacob should've been here by now—

The doorbell rings.

I grab my bag and drag my feet toward the door, still half lost in thought. When I open it, Seth's standing there, grinning wide. His eyes widen slightly as he looks me up and down.

"You look nice," he says softly.

I mutter a quick, "Thanks," and turn away. "I'll get my bag."

He follows me into the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water. "You okay? You look... off. Less bubbly. Less you."

I hand him the water and sigh. "It's kind of hard to explain. My uncle—Dad's brother from the Sipaku side—died in a fire last night."

He pauses mid-sip, his expression softening. "Oh, Mel... I'm sorry. But you didn't really know him, right?"

"No. I just—" I shrug, unsure how to explain it. "It feels weird. Like I'm supposed to feel something, even though I don't remember him."

He nods quietly. "Makes sense. You've still got that connection. Blood's blood, you know?"

I give him a small smile, grateful for his gentleness.

"Cheer up," he says after a beat, his voice brightening. "Jacob's got your journal. And guess what?"

I raise a brow, the faintest curve tugging at my lips. "What?"

"Mandy's out with chicken pox. She won't be at school for weeks."

A real smile breaks through. "No way."

"Way." He grins.

And for the first time that morning, the heaviness lifts just a little. Not completely—some grief stays quiet in the corners of a house for days—but enough for me to take a deep breath and step out the door.