The Becoming of Ocean Wilde

t w o

o c e a n

People say I look just like her. My mother, I mean. The eyes, the nose, even the face shape.

They say my mum was different. Loud, out going, eccentric.

Her name was Rainbow.

They say she was just as colourful as her name an I believe them, based on what little flashes of memories I have left of her.
Obviously, weird names run in the family because her mum's name was Butterfly and she named me Ocean.

Ocean Hope Liberty Mary-Sue Desereé Sierra Wilde. My name literally sounds like patch-work.
They say she had to have married the man with the surname of Wilde simply because she was her. Wild, free, uncaring.

They said I'd probably turn out just as beautiful and crazy as she was. They're right about the crazy part, just not in the way they'd like to be. And I'm not beautiful. Regardless of what those around me, of those who think they know me, think. I'm not even Ocean. The sweet, loving child I was nine years ago. I honestly don't even know who I am.

Who I'm meant to be.

As I look in the mirror now I smile, the smile not even reaching my eyes. It looks all wrong on my face, but I go through the flaws, smoothing them out, until it is almost impossible to tell how I'm really feeling apart from my one tell.
My eyes.

My light brown eyes, just like my mum's, are sad, but I can't change it. Trust me, I tried.

My phone rings from my bed side, breaking me out of my trance, and I quickly flip the full length mirror over as if it had burned me. I hate looking at myself. I resemble everything I have ever wanted and everything I have ever lost. My mum.

I blindly scrabble for my phone, ignoring the lamp as I knock it over, but it stops ringing. I drop it into my bag, zip up my leather and down my coffee, letting it scold my throat as I leave and lock the door behind me.

Today is my first day of school. My first day of school in a totally different country. As I speed off, I smile. I smile the first genuine smile I've smiled in a long time as I realise something: I'm going to a new school.
Somewhere no one knows me. Where their first opinion of me is whether my outfit clashes our not.

Where I can be me, or the closest thing to myself I can be.

l u c a

I breath in the humid air and wait for Noah and the rest to turn up. Currently sitting on the steps leading into school I can clearly see the whole of the courtyard, surrounded by the enigmatic chatter of students .

It's at least 39° out here and I think everyone feels it, but only a select amount of girls take that as an opportunity to wear as little clothes as possible.
The same group of scantily-clad girls, somewhat 10 meters in front of me trying to get my attention. Well they normally didn't wear much clothes, not that I'm complaining, but at least now they have a good reason to.

Just as I'm about to approach them, my attention is drawn to the sound of a motorbike revving and I look up just in time to see one pull up into a spot across the courtyard from me.

And the bike is sick.

Although it's an older model, it had been renovated and customized nicely, and instead of the trade mark black, the panels on this Harley Davidson had been painted an aquamarine color but had dark blue flames running down the side.