Sang Sorenson, for all that she'd been warned away from men, had never been warned away from women.
So girls had never felt that scary to her. Not when they braided flowers into her hair, hugged from behind as a hello, held her hand in the dark. Not...
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i. the sunset is pink (so are my cheeks)
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Dakota Lee, Lee Residence:
The sky is turning several shades of pretty, all pink and orange and white. Much like a specific flag. The sun sinks below the horizon gradually, until the only light left is what is reflecting off the moon. The color spreads throughout the night like watercolor paints against stock paper. Rain clouds are gathering to hide it all away, and Dakota Lee is not looking forward to taking her golden retriever out for a walk in what would inevitably become dreary weather. She has to, because her little brother got him all excited by play fighting with him, and now he needs to go out for a bit so he can tire his canine self out.
She's sitting at her desk in her slightly chilly room, and spread out in front of her are small stacks of papers she's organised for her team, her family. Her markers, pens and highlighters are laid out like a rainbow, neatly placed along her desk with even spaces between them. Her entire room showcases exactly how her brain works, that everything is done with a purpose, even with the scattered belongings of other girls in each and every corner.
Post-it notes are littered across her door, messages left in several different types of handwriting. Some say things like, Love you, Kota! Don't think too hard or else your brain might explode from your genius in loopy writing, tiny hearts bordering it. Some are in two different types of cursive, though one sits proudly in the middle of the door; The way you laugh makes me want to compose pieces in an attempt to make something half as beautiful as that sound - Tori.
Pictures of girls are pasted up there as well, from when the people in them were 12 all the way until the present day. The happiness and love can be felt through the photos, and the smiles only get bigger the older they get.
Her room tells a story of both herself and all of the people she lets in. Make-up palettes that don't belong to her are stacked next to a book about nutritional values (that also does not belong to her.) Her scuffed converse sit next to bright red sports sneakers, both on top of her little brother's skateboard. Her mother's spare name tag is stored safely on one of the higher shelves.
