Synonyms For Better

Chapter 1 - A Yellow-and-Purple Striped Shopping Bag

I WAS NOT in the mood for strawberry gum.

I declined as the person sitting next to me offered me a piece. Of course, they couldn't have known that chewing gum in this situation could be possibly fatal for me. Yes, fatal, either because (1) this road wasn't smooth and I could feel every dent in the concrete as the taxi rumbled along, so chances of the gum flying the wrong way were high, or (2) I was so nervous that I would think about how I'd almost missed the bus here, panic, and inhale the gum by accident. Either scenario ended with my choking on that sweet piece of strawberry gum, and I was not about to commit social suicide like that, thank you very much.

So instead I focused on the address that I had scribbled in pen onto my left palm: 111 Baker Street, L1T XXX, Bayport. I could barely go two seconds without glancing down at this address before looking back up, as if staring at it could make it arrive any faster (it wouldn't, I tried).

Before I knew it, though, we'd arrived, and after I paid the driver and the taxi rumbled off, I found myself staring up at the house at 111 Baker Street. It was a big house, a sturdy three-story residence secluded on a neatly trimmed lawn that was slightly yellowing, the way grass gets when it can't stand the summer heat. The neighbouring houses were spaced luxuriously, with this lawn ending and the lawn of the other house starting at least ten meters away. It would be a pain to mow this lawn, I imagined, but it had been visibly taken care of with love and a critical-eye. The house had beautiful arched windows with folding wood doors stained a slight pink, while the front door was a beautiful bright blue. The brick was mostly beige, and the roof had cadet blue shingles. The house radiated something, an x-factor, something pleasant that I couldn't pinpoint.

I hoped this was the correct destination. Hopefully, English hadn't changed overnight and Baker Street didn't read Airfryer Street or something.

If this was the wrong house, then I didn't know what I could do, because I only had enough money left for one meal and a single bus ticket. I guessed I would probably have to haul my belongings and become homeless until I saved enough money to rent a straw hut.

I walked up to the front door, but before I could even set my bags down to ring the doorbell, the door was thrown open. A chubby woman with short, curly red hair quickly sized me up, her kind eyes flashing with recognition and warmth.

"Cora?"

"Aunt Cheryl!" I exclaimed, stretching my arms for an embrace, just slightly awkwardly because my bags were still in my hands. She laughed, pushing forward and crushing me in a hug. "Oof," I chuckled as my bags slipped out my arms forcefully and landed with a thud.

"The last time I saw you, you were obsessed with Twilight and had never-ending conspiracy theories about vampires," Aunt Cheryl said with endearment, tearing up slightly.

I winced and gave her a faux-irritated look as we broke off the hug and pulled my bags into the house. "You really could have avoided that piece of non-information about me."

She snickered. "I didn't mind them, honestly. That sparkling vampire was quite..." She made a chef's kiss gesture and I gasped. "Aunt Cheryl!" She just laughed it off, and I shook my head amusedly as I followed her into the house.

The house was nice and tidy, with polished wooden floors and a graceful banister that curved up to the second floor. Right after the entrance was a small living room, and then it split into the kitchen doorway and another hallway that led to the other living room and the staircase. I caught sight of a pretty black and white striped glass vase and I mentally took note of it. It looked exactly like the type of thing that I would accidentally knock over on any good day.