Bumble bee

Daffodils and Daisies

It was just any old Monday morning when I first saw her. I was strolling down the road towards the bus stop, earphones in, probably listening to Dodie Clark and Jon Cozart's song A love song/ a non-love song, when a car drove past in the opposite direction. This wouldn't be out of the ordinary, cars do happen to drive about on the roads, some going the same direction you are, some going the other way. the road was empty bar this one car, so I glanced at it as it approached me.  An aged, blue Mini Cooper trundled along the road, driven by an elderly man, probably late fifties. He was laughing, his greying hair a contrast to the beaming smile on his face. I looked to the passenger seat to see what or who he was laughing with. And that's when she appeared. 

A girl with mocha skin and dark freckles was singing her heart out in the passenger seat. Her eyes were squeezed tight and her nose was wrinkled in the cutest way. She had dark curls that fell in front of her face, but a small section was braided and pinned back by a yellow flower pin. A daisy.

But in a flash, she was gone, driving down the road behind me and into the distance.

I was rooted to the spot, staring after the beaten up Mini as it faded and turned down another road. I shook myself back to life and walked the rest of the way to the bus stop in a dazed stupor.

Already at the bus stop was my friend Jasmine. She was posed with her foot against the wall, her leather-clad shoulders only just brushing the top of the bricks. The top of my head didn't even reach the top if the bricks.

She looked up from her phone at me, her fiery red hair in a fishtail braid swinging over her shoulder. She grinned her mischievous grin and turned her phone so I could see what she was looking at. The article I wrote for the school website lit up the screen.

"One thousand five hundred reads. that's about three-quarters of the school. Look at you, gaining fame, little Miss J.K.Rowling," she sang, her voice breaking the dull rush of the cars beside us. I rolled my eyes.

"It was about prom, of course people are gonna read it. It was about venue and tickets. If my article about my club got that many reads, then I'd be happy with some recognition. And J.K.Rowling isn't a journalist or a poet." I said, leaning against the wall next to her. Jasmine pulled out her pack of cigarettes and offered me one, which I declined like I did every morning.

She took a long drag after she lit it and she looked at me.

"You should come out article form. That'll get you the reads," she stated. My throat closed up.

"Jasmine I love you but are you fucking insane? This isn't about the reads I get, I don't care about that, but there is no way in hell that I'm coming out. Article form or not. You know this Jasmine," I whispered frantically. She was the only person I had told and the fear I shouldn't have said anything knawed deeper and deeper. A sudden worry appeared in her kohl-rimmed eyes.

"Noah I was kidding, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean it, you know I wouldn't do that to you. It's okay don't cry," she pulled me into her chest as I sobbed quietly. I couldn't stand the thought of everyone finding out. I knew it would then go back to my dad. 

That could not happen. Ever.

I calmed down after a while, and pulled away from her, wiping my eyes on my black coat sleeve. The coat was an old thing, now looking it's age and becoming very worn.

Jasmine looked at me with her brilliantly cold blue eyes in a way that me feel bad for making her feel bad. She gave me that sort of half smile of condolence and worry, the kind of smile you give when you pass someone you know, but not well enough to talk to.

"It's fine Jazzy. Just don't talk about it."  I muttered, staring down and my muddy leather shoes. Fuck, I'd literally only cleaned and polished those two days ago.