Mira L. and Mrs. Simke

I know that I’m different. You don’t have to tell me. I know I don’t see the same way you do, or learn the way you learn. But what makes me different, it shouldn’t separate me from others. It shouldn’t push me into a zone where everyone is labeled. Only my label…

It isn’t good.

I always imagine what the stars look like, when the night is clear, and clouds have gone away. I always wish to see it, every day. Although, it’s more like wishing for super powers. It’s never going to happen. The night is my friend, the day is too, though I’m closer to the night. It makes me feel normal, so no one will judge me. I love the dark, and I’m not afraid of it, because I can’t see it. I can’t see the light, or the dark. The stars, the sun and the moon. In fact, I can’t see anything. I used to, but that changed. Everything changed. And that was when I turned thirteen.
I was a popular girl in school, okay not that popular, like Katrina Williams, but I had enough friends to label me as popular. My friends used to call me a supermodel, which I don’t like, because it’s highlighting my natural beauty. I wish I could just be like everybody else, mediocre and average. I stick out like a sore thumb. I have dark golden skin, almost bronze, and dark brown hair that looks like a chocolate waterfall. Literally. My hair reaches my wing bones, so not that long, and it falls in waves. When I dance, and spin, my locks of hair dance with me. I have green-ish hazel eyes. They are sharp and alert, and long, dark eyelashes usually would blink up at you. I have baby pink lips, all natural, and a smile so dazzling and white, you could go blind. I don’t mean to sound arrogant about my body, and I don’t mean to brag. I’m just stating the facts.
My two best friends are– Oh, I mean were– Charisse Adams and Veronica Dunwitt. I have a lot of friends like Maybel Carpenson and Georgia Thompson. Charisse has peachy, but pale skin, fiery red hair, and almond-shaped green eyes. And I mean green eyes. They are gorgeous. Veronica, on the other hand, has dark skin, and jet black hair she always keeps in braids, and brown eyes.
They aren’t my friends now. Let’s go back to my thirteenth birthday party, and the day everything changed.
“No, I am not telling him that!” I giggle, and the girls laugh with me.
Charisse speaks up. “Come on, Aurora, tell him!”
I shake my head. “Nu-uh. I am not telling him that. What if I get completely rejected?”
Veronica snorts. “Then shrug it off! It’s no big deal. You’ve liked Cade for so long, I’m sure he already has a pretty good idea of what you are going to tell him!” I laugh loudly, and the girls come over, their legs slipping out of their wrinkled sleeping bags. They come to me, and cozy up by my sides.
“You can do whatever you want, Aurora. Your mind, your choice,” Charisse says in a wise tone.
“Thanks, you wizard,” I say to her. Veronica’s snorts turn into cackles. The three of us crack up into peals of laughter. “Oh, no, I mean witch.”
Charisse gasps, aghast and offended. “I am not a witch!”
Veronica tickles her. “Yes, mistress.”
“Stop, stop!” Charisse says, sounding serious. Veronica and I exchange glances before stopping.
“What?” I ask, worry edging into my voice.
“I’m serious. It’s your mind, your choice. You don’t have to tell him if you don’t want to.”
Veronica nods. “I agree with Reese. I know it seems like we’re forcing you, but we’re not.”
“Aw, Nica, thanks. But this really isn’t that big of a deal.”
“Ok,” Charisse breathes. “You have exactly an hour and twenty-three minutes until you become a teenager. What do you have to say for yourself?”
“Wow,” is all I manage to say. “Just to think, I’ll be labeled as a teenager. And you two will still be tweens.” I pretend to cry. “This is so sad!”
“We should make the most of the time you have left before you become a teenager. C’mon, the minutes are ticking!” Veronica says.
“Since we are such volleyball experts, let’s play some ball!” I suggest.
“Where?” the girls ask in unison.
“Front lawn?” I say. We look at each other, excitement building inside our bodies.
“We’re in pajamas!” Charisse exclaims.
“So what?” I say, “Let’s have some fun!”
Veronica picks up her glow-in-the-dark volleyball, and we run outside. The grass is damp from just being watered, dew sparkling from the glare of the street lamp against the dark starry sky. Us three girls step barefoot onto the lawn, not caring in the moment of getting our feet wet. Veronica hits first, her hands flying, and the ball bounces off her wrists, over the net, and I hit it back, the ball stumbling onto the green, freshly-watered, grass.
“Yes!” I shout. “Woohoo! One point for me!” I serve the ball, and this time, Charisse slams her fists against the ball, and it rolls, out and onto the street. The street lamp flickers, and then turns off. I race to go get the fluorescent ball, easy to spot in the darkness. I run across the street, to get the ball, and as my fingertips brush against the soft surface of the glow-in-the-dark volleyball, tires screech, a blinding pain erupts from my toes and spreading upward, and a faint scream is heard before darkness engulfs me in its embrace.
I wake up, unable to move my head and my legs. Or I become conscious. I’m not sure if I’m awake, because everything is still black. I wave my hand in front of my eyes, but I see nothing. I panic, terrified, and a scream rips out of my throat. My mom’s voice. I hear it.
“I can’t see!” I cry, “What’s wrong? What’s wrong? Why can’t I see?”
My mom touches my hand, and I jerk it away. “Who was that?”
“Me,” Mom says, terror creeping into her voice, her voice breaking. “It’s me, Aurora.”
“Why can’t I see?!” I roar, salty tears streaming down my face.
I know what she’s going to say, but I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want her to finish the sentence.
“… Blind. Honey, you’re blind, I’m sorry.” My mom strokes my face.
“Stop touching me!” I snap.
“I-I’m sorry!” Mom cries. I can almost hear her heart break in front of me.
“No… I’m sorry… Mom, I’m so, so, sorry. Why did this have to happen to me?” Tears stream down my face. Why? The word hangs there, the air thick. No one can seem to answer. No one has an answer. And eventually, it’s only me in this world.