First days at a new school suck; first days at a new school in a foreign country are worse. I remember it clearly - the rush in the morning, my reluctance to enter the classroom. Everything was different. Everyone looked different, except to them I was the one who was different.
I imagine the teacher said something about me, the new foreign student who didn't know any of their language, but I had no idea because I didn't speak any mandarin back then. She barked something at a girl sitting at the back, who cleared the desk next to her for me to sit.
"Thank you," I said in mandarin, and she smiled, presumably at my warbled pronunciation. "What's your name?" I glanced at the name on her books with a frown. It could've been an Egyptian hieroglyphic and I wouldn't have been able to tell the difference.
"You can just call me Lily," she told me with a wide smile, in English. I'd like to say I wasn't shocked, but I was - and also infinitely relieved.
"I'm Keaton," I murmured back, and she repeated the name like she'd never heard it before. Maybe she hadn't, I thought, and that sparked a tiny bit of happiness inside me.
YOU ARE READING
combustion
Short StoryWhen paper burns, it doesn't just turn to ashes. This is the story of Lily and Keaton. Of the boy who was hopelessly lost, and of the girl who was his oasis in a sea of strangers. Most of all, of how he found himself turning paper to ashes.
