Awoken: COMPLETED

Chapter 3: The Last Normal Day

Cassie Winters

The strangely normal conversations I'd been having with my family were at the forefront of my mind as I walked to school, careful to avoid slipping on ice and snow. Winter had never been my favourite season, and ever since tripping and breaking my leg while skating three years ago, I'd hated it with a vengeance that was far from typical for a Canadian.

I swore inwardly as I came across a street with a sidewalk that hadn't yet been shovelled. It had snowed half a meter last night, but schools weren't cancelled, hence my walking to school. I felt snow slide into my boots, and resolved to walk a different way on Monday. It was too late to find another route – I had a school newspaper meeting that I was already running behind for.

By the time I got to school, my legs were numb and soaked, and my mood considerably dampened. But I could hear my mom's voice in my head: Glowering and acting moody in a place of learning gives off far from a good impression. I made an effort to stand up straight, I while I couldn't quite manage a smile, I put on a mask of neutrality as I dropped off my coat at my locker, and traded in my boots for running shoes and headed to the meeting.

The halls were silent – it was still half an hour before school was due to start. There was nobody around as I navigated the halls, except a slight figure moving towards me. Something about them made me feel strange. I felt my pulse quicken, and barely noticed as I slowed my pace, trying to get a good look. Long black hair... It was the girl from yesterday, the one I bumped into. Her head was lowered, with earbuds in her ears. Maybe I should apologize? Wait, no, that's weird. It's been more than twelve hours. She probably doesn't remember.

This internal battle preoccupied me so much that I didn't notice that the girl was long gone. Shaking my head, I made my way to the meeting. The classroom was almost completely occupied, but there was a seat near the back I took. I jotted down notes as our student head spoke about upcoming deadlines, trying to push the strange girl out of my mind.

"Please, can someone write about the upcoming basketball game? Mr. Woodward specifically emailed and asked if we could get someone to cover it. We hardly ever get requests. Anyone want to volunteer?" Emily, our student head, was a senior. She was so unbelievably kind that I always felt guilty denying a request of hers, but I already had an assignment - covering Model UN.

 After a few long, silent moments, a scrawny kid in the front raised his hand. "I can do it."
And at last, we were free to go. In the few minutes before the bell, I made my way to my next class, trying my best to navigate the hallways now filled with melted snow and people. Luckily, I didn't trip anyone this time around. I had French first period. I stifled a groan as I walked into the class. Out of all of my classes, I got the worst grades in French.

"Hi Cassie. Thought you weren't going to show up, after that horrible grade you got on the last quiz." It was James, sitting at the desk next to mine, playing a game on his phone.

I rolled my eyes. "You should really be over that. It was two weeks ago, practically ancient history."
"Do you know what else is ancient history? You being the top student in the grade. Those days are over, my friend." James had moved here from New York at the start of the year, and he'd been providing a real challenge for me in all my classes. Though he tended to get on my nerves, I enjoyed the competition – and besides, he was one of the only people who talked to me.

I pulled out my French binder just before class begun. As usual, it took Madame Roseau no time at all to calm the class down, and it was dead silent within seconds. It was just a standard class: a brief oral discussion about what we were going to do on the weekend, a grammar lesson, and about five pages of worksheets. My head felt like it was spinning by the end of class. It was filled with passé compose, and the conjugation of être. French is the worst subject ever.

Next was Geography. It was far from a quiet period, with screaming debates about politics as our teacher tried to get everyone back on track. For some reason, the whole class was super opinionated about steel tariffs. I guess I missed the memo. I walked out of Geo with a headache from all the noise, and spent the lunch in relative silence – reading Moby Dick in a relatively deserted hallway. My choice of novel was a calculated move. Good impressions have to be maintained. I could hear my mom's lecture in my head almost every day, and it got to me more than I'd admit.

The only other people nearby were James and his friend Luke, who were watching something on a laptop a few lockers down. They laughed occasionally, and made a few comments, but otherwise, there were no sounds to be heard. I loved the solitude – it was something that was hard to come by in high school.

"Today is Friday, a day four on your schedule, and you have five minutes to get to class."
At that sound, I put my book into my bag and reluctantly stood up. The halls began to fill with students, signalling the end of my moment of peace. My first class after lunch was Science, and we spent almost the entirety of the period filling out repetitive Bohr-Rutherford diagrams for every single periodic table element.

"I'm not sure if that can legally be called a circle," James said, looking down at my latest diagram.

I glanced down at my page. My diagrams were getting progressively worse, to the point where my most recent one resembled a cat. How, I wasn't sure.

"Well, I'm no artist. I don't have to be. This is science." I pointed out.
"Yes, but there is a general standard in school of being able to draw better than a two-year-old." James looked like he was about to laugh.

"That's completely unfair. I draw like a four-year-old, give me some credit." I said, with mock indignation. Though, even during this lighthearted conversation with a classmate, the mention of art made me think of my sister. I wonder how well Ashlyn can draw today. She always was exceptional.

"Oh, I'm so sorry for not giving you the credit you deserve," James apologized, but my mind wasn't really on his words. It was revisiting a night, so many years ago...

~~

"Case closed? What do you mean the case is closed?"
"You know exactly what I mean, Joseph."
"Ashlyn's been missing all of three months. It's too fast to declare anything without any concrete evidence!"
"And what evidence do we need? The proof is right here. The proof is that our daughter is nowhere to be found. Children run away from home all the time."
"She would never –"

"I know she wouldn't. But I couldn't very well tell my department the truth, could I? And why do you care so much if the case is closed?"

"I miss her. The others miss her. How are we supposed to tell the rest of our children that Ashlyn ran away?"
"I'll miss her too. But Mackenzie knows what she's talking about."

I sat there with wide eyes, concealed behind the kitchen half wall, listening to my parents listening to my parents speak about my sister. I knew one thing for certain. They knew something they weren't telling me or Angie or Mark, or even mom's coworkers in the police department. They knew what happened to Ashlyn, but more importantly, I learnt she was alive. All I could do was pray I'd see her again.

~~

"Earth to Cassie! Hello? Cassie, you listening?" James was looking at me, a slightly concerned look on his face. "You dozed off while I was in the middle of complimenting your...", he glanced at my paper and shuddered, "interesting art skills.

I forced my lips to part in a smile. "Yeah, I'm fine, just daydreaming." Checking my watch, I realized that it was only a minute until math. I packed my books in my bag, and waited for the bell to ring. When it did, I raced out the door. Only one more class until the end of the day. The thought was comforting. One more class and I have the whole weekend to unwind. I just have to get through math.

Besides, it's not like an hour of algebra can change my life.

~

Yes, I am aware this is currently moving at a snail's pace, but don't worry - this is the last chapter of setup. The next chapter is where the action begins. We'll see how a math class can change a person's life forever. 

What do you think of Cassie's parents? Are they more involved in Ashlyn's disappearance then they let on? 

Be sure to read and review!