Mimic [ON HOLD]

Chapter Four: Fit In

However, the days at the Bisset home dragged on, and after a month of no parent claiming me, it was decided that I'd have to go to school. Personally, I was overjoyed. My days were long and boring: alone with Mrs. Bisset in the farmhouse. I took to wandering the forest in an effort to get out of her hair. It was that or sit in my turreted room all day doing nothing. Day after day, I tried to shapeshift into different people. Some attempts were successful, although most weren't. One day, I saw a girl with pale blonde hair driving a convertible down the road, and I hid away in the forest until nightfall to hide my white-blonde locks. Try as I might, I could not figure out how to control it; my ability to transform myself seemed to come and go with a mind of its own.

The best part of staying home, though, were Fridays. Mr. Bisset had the day off, so he and I would spend the day together. Sometimes, we'd go on drives to see lakes and museums, and sometimes we'd just play pool in the basement. Mr. Bisset could never stop smiling when I spoke French with him. He told me that he'd always wanted a daughter, and that's why he persuaded his wife to start fostering. When he realized I could speak his language, he was so happy because it was almost like I was his real kid. And somehow, he started to feel like a real father to me too.

One such Friday, we were reading on the hanging swing on the porch. I had a book in Portuguese, and his was in French. Somehow, I knew Portuguese as well, which I didn't find out until I was halfway through the book and Micha asked how I could understand it. I must have had some good language education before I lost my memory, because I didn't even notice what language it was until Micha brought it up.

"Anya, we need to talk," Mr. Bisset started, speaking French. He was always a lot less shy in that language. I closed my book and looked up.

"Yeah?"

"Anya, it's been a month. I hate to put a damper on your hopefulness, but I simply don't think your parents are going to come."

I nodded slowly. I'd come to this conclusion myself. Perhaps I was always an orphan. Even so, you would think I'd have family friends who cared enough to search for me at least.

"I understand."

"So perhaps we should start thinking about putting you in school?"

I set my book down on the floor and prepared for the inevitable conversation. "Yes, I think so."

Soon, we had decided to register me at Micha's high school, St. Bernard's, in freshman year. It was sad to admit, but nobody knew my birthday or age, so we just hoped for the best. I would get a ride with Micha every day, there and back. If I wanted to, I could even join extra-curriculars and make friends (Micha's idea, which I quickly shut down. Who'd want to spend more time with unassuming strangers than necessary?) I'd have things to do all day, and I'd even learn things in the process. A fool-proof plan, it seemed, but on the day I started as a St. Bernard's Hound, I felt like I was going to throw up.

"Come on, Anya!" Micha yelled, already outside in his car, an unassuming red sedan. I grabbed my backpack, which I loved. It was a gift from Mr. Bisset: a tan satchel-style bag. Inside was my lunch, a few school supplies on loan from Micha, and my phone (an old model bought used). I ran outside and into the passenger seat of the car.

"First day first day first day!" Micha cheered and I elbowed him.

"Stop. It's nothing big."

"Uh, yes it is, Miss I-haven't-had-social-interactions-since-I-can-remember!" Micha said, pulling onto the street. "Don't screw it up. I mean, I accept you're a witch and I love you for it, but I don't think your new friends will be as tolerant."

"What do you mean, new friends?" I replied. "And don't call me a witch."

"Anya. You can't just go in there and avoid everyone. People will want to talk to you. You don't want to scare them away. You can't be totally a loner."