Ophelia's Arc

Chapter 2 of 3

Ophelia woke in her new room and looked at the stack of boxes by the wall. For the first time, she didn't feel like a guest. She pulled the first box open and set her books on the shelf. Her clothes went in the closet. Her photos leaned along the windowsill. Each thing she placed made the room hers. She lined up her boots by the door and smiled. This was a room she could keep. A home she could bring friends to. Downstairs, a pan sizzled. She followed the smell to the kitchen. Connor stood at the stove, flipping eggs, his sleeves pushed up. Gray showed in his black hair. He hummed while he worked, which he never did in the old towns. He slid two eggs onto a plate and set it at the table. "Sit," he said. "You need a real breakfast today." Ophelia sat and picked up her fork. "You're up early." "First day at the new job." He rubbed his beard. "And your first day too." He set orange juice beside her plate. "School starts this morning. Whispering Hollows High. You ready?" Her fork stopped halfway to her mouth. She had unpacked all night, imagining friends. But the real test was the school, not the boxes. Her stomach tightened. Seven schools in ten years. She'd learned to be new and forgotten fast. "What if it's like the others?" she asked. Connor pulled out the chair across from her. He looked at her steady. "It won't be. We're staying this time. You start today, and you keep them." He tapped the table. "You don't have to leave anyone behind now." Ophelia ate her eggs and thought about that. In the old towns she never let herself care. Caring hurt when the truck packed up again. But the boxes were empty upstairs. Her books were on shelves that weren't going anywhere. "Okay," she said. She stood and grabbed her leather jacket off the chair. "I'm going." Connor blinked. "Right now? Class isn't for an hour." "I want to walk it," she said. "I want to see it before everyone else fills it up." He studied her, then nodded. "Look at you. Deciding to stay before I even finished my coffee." He handed her a set of keys off the counter. "House key. Yours now." She closed her hand around it. The metal was cold and real. A key to a house that stayed. She pushed it into her jacket pocket. At the door she stopped. "Dad. I'm going to make real friends here." "I know you will," he said. Ophelia stepped out into the cool morning. The garden hung heavy with green. She looked back once at the stone house with its steep gables and arched windows. Her home. Then she turned toward the school and started walking, key in her pocket, ready to be new one last time.