By the Floral Ash ceremony, I had slightly, slightly mentally recovered from. . .whatever THAT WAS! But I still felt kind of shaken up and anxious about everything that transpired, more doubtful of myself and my actions and worried if that lady in the royal uniform would report some misdeed that didn’t really exist to the King and get Shanville in trouble. Jeez, I felt so ridiculous. I felt like Damian. All the things he had been talking to me about this morning; about the King not liking Shanville’s traditions, about Shanville getting into trouble if King Tidon was not pleased, I felt like my own brain was mimicking all his opinions. I had called him crazy and unpatriotic and pessimistic but now, I couldn’t help but wonder if he had been right. Maybe I had been TOO optimistic. Too naïve.

As the King of the Ocean, our king, was sprinkled with ashes from our thirteen different types of famous Shanville flowers, I felt no beauty or awe for the moment, like I had thought I would feel when I had voted for the Floral Ash ceremony to be performed for the King. All the BS about it being poetry, something deadly and used for killing between our races, becoming a symbol of understanding and trust and comradery between them, sounded like horse-crap now. How could the King NOT find this insulting? This would be like if at an Ocean ceremony, to honor the KING OF THE EARTH Sea-dwellers held his head underwater till he almost blacked out and drowned, and then claimed it was a sign of respect and true understanding and peace between ours races. The King could be very easily extremely hurt or killed by being shoved hard enough into the bonfire, just yards in front of him. HECK, one of his own citizens, one of his OCEANIC citizens, which had been the people he’d been entrusted and sworn to lead and protect for MUCH, MUCH longer than 26 years, almost got cooked into a fish stick less than twenty minutes ago! And ggreeeatt! Just great! Now I was having racist thoughts! Why in all of the Ocean Empire did that Sea-dwelling woman have to use that word?! Now it was in my brain! Gosh, I wished I could just forget it!

The point was, the magic was a little ruined for me. This whole night was. And it wasn’t even close to being as ruined as it was going to get.

I found Amy at a feast table later, with her family, which was her two parents, and her Aunt Rose, who had an intellectual disability, and lived with them. Her grandpas and grandma and her Uncle Wolf and his kids must be somewhere else.

“Aims?” I asked tentatively as I approached, already dreading this more than I dreaded waking up at six am in the winter to go out and start making deliveries.

I had asked Damian if he would go with me to talk to Aims and he just shook his head; looking super disappointed in me, eyebrows creased down in equal parts pity and disapproval. “Listen, Lauren, this is something you need to do on your own.” Lauren, he had called me, not ‘Laurey’, not ‘Laurels’, so that was a sign of how bad it was, and how bad it was to come.

She didn’t even look at me, her back was to me, facing her father and mother, who glanced at me, from across the wooden picnic table that had been set up for the feast.

Her long amber hair, shining in the torchlight from the torch stands and the electric glow of the lanterns on each table, seemed to glare at me angrily, as if she had a second set of vengeful green eyes on the back of her head, glaring at me from beneath the amber curtain. She wore a beautiful purple and black dress that I knew she made herself and it WAS gorgeous and I SHOULD have been there to see her show it to me, and to help straighten her hair and do each other’s makeup.

Instead, she looked beautiful, though mad, and I looked like a hot mess, with more feathers and sequins taped on me than a five year old’s dress up princess closet.

“Aims?” I tried again, inching closer.

Her mom and dad gave me a sympathetic smile and Mr. Hoffmann said, “Amy, Lauren is here to talk to you. 

She glared up at me, soft, fair face, pulled tight with resentful anger, and-her bright green eyes widened and her face softened in surprise as she took in my dress, the one we had made together two years ago during that most magical of summers.

She stared down at the wooden table her family was eating at and then looked up and said, “Let’s go talk somewhere else.”

Amy’s mother, Mrs. Hoffmann, had told her to ‘go easy’ before we left, so I guess even Mrs. Hoffmann knew how absolutely screwed I was.

“What the HELL is wrong with you, Laurels?!” Amy cried as soon as we got to a place in Town square, out of the way, close to the edges without any people. I frowned at her, guilty, as she cried, “I waited HOURS for you!” I could see the pain more so than the rage on her face and that made it hurt more. 

“I know!” I cried, “I’m sorry!”

“Sorry?! Damian told me you ‘FOR SURE’ and ‘DEFINITELY’ would be there!” She did finger quotes around the appropriate words.

I flinched, tossing the flimsy excuse, “I know! I’m sorry! Something came up!”

“Something came UP?!” she paced around, I flinched; she was FLOORED. 

Amy, unlike Damian, was like a flame. She burnt fiery hot and then went ice cold. If she loved you, she loved you like a blazing hot passion consumed her soul, and if you hurt her, OOHHHH, the bill would HAVE to be paid.

“Something came UP?! Something ALWAYS comes up with you, Lauren! How many times are you going to blow me off before I just have to get it through my THICK head-?!” She grabbed the sides of her head tightly, “that you just don’t want to hang out with me anymore?!” 

Tears exploded in my eyes, “THAT’S NOT TRUE!” I sounded shrill and desperate and a little whiny, even to myself, “LOOK AT WHAT I’M WEARING! I LOVE YOU!”

She scoffed, pacing around ragefully, casting my badly made dress we made together, a resentful, yet hurt, look, “And what is THAT supposed to be? A guilt trip?”

“NO!” I shouted, tears rolling down my cheeks, “It isn’t! I WANTED to come tonight, Aims! I REALLY did!”

“Then why didn’t you?!” Amy shot, “Why did you make me WAIT for hours?! Like some STUPID, STOOD-UP date, thinking you were COMING?! You couldn’t have even had the decency to run by and tell me you couldn’t make it?!”

“I’m sorry, Aims! I knew I should, but-“

“But WHAT?!” she exclaimed and I cried, “Listen, I was just helping my parents out with the shop and-“

“The shop?! Always that stupid, little-ugh!” She fisted her hand and slapped it into her other hand, while marching around angrily back and forth, “You ALWAYS work at the shop!”

“I’m just trying to help my mom and-“

“So?!” she shot back, stopping her pacing and glaring at me, “What about YOUR life, Lauren?! I NEVER see you anymore! You bailed on me to go shopping two weeks ago!”

“I-I had to make deliveries!” I fought, my mind struggling to even remember turning her down, though I was sure I had.

“And a few weeks before that I asked you if you wanted to go get our nails down and you said, SURE! Only to get Dame, to come tell me you couldn’t like TWO HOURS before our appointment!”

“Well, I-I-“

“Well I-WHAT?!”

“I don’t have any money for nails, Aims!” I admitted, flushing darkly. She paused, emerald green eyes widening as I blurted, feeling humiliated, “The shop isn’t doing well, OKAY?! That’s why I’m helping out so much! Because it’s ROUGH for my parents, okay?!” I didn’t even want to mention I literally overheard them worrying about how they were going to pay for my school tuition earlier today. THAT was a can of worms even ‘I’ couldn’t deal with right now.

Amy blinked widely and I stared down at my brown school shoes, kicking lightly over the dirt, “’I’ WANT to hang out. Trust me,” I felt my eyes welling up with tears again, “’I’ want to hang out more than anything, with you, with Dame,” I squeezed my eyes shot, “to go back to that summer. . .”

Amy was silent and I didn’t dare look at her expression. Did she think I was pathetic for hanging onto the past for so long? Did she think I was a stupid romantic kid? Some idiot poor loser?

“I would do ANYTHING for that.” I fisted my hands tightly before looking up, bleary eyed, “But we can’t go back.” My voice broke a little bit, “We can never go back to that time.”

Her eyes looked at me like two twin green-cloaked judges and her face was set in a harsh, angry line.

“So what?” she asked harshly, her sharply white teeth flashing between her lips, “We never make any new memoires again?”

I looked at her, startled, as she said, harshly, volume more reserved but tone no less scaldingly, “Do you think I’m so thick-skulled I don’t know the world is changing? That seemingly overnight all the stupid adults pushed their stupid problems onto us! That they expect us to just be alright dealing with all their problems!” She took a sharp inhale and then blew it out, like the air personally offended her. She looked up at me straight and squared her shoulders and cocked her head, “I get it, your parents’ shop isn’t doing great, but honestly, how is that your problem, Laurey?”

I stared at her with teary eyes as she asked, her face looking less angry and more broken, “Who CARES about money? What about you? What about what YOU want?”

I stammered, “I-I want to help my parents, they’ve done e-everything for me-“

“Yeah, sure.” Amy cut me off, “But you never asked to exist.” I looked at her with wide, confused eyes, as she explained, scratching behind her head, “Providing for you is kind of their responsibility. They shouldn’t be working you to the bone like this. It’s not your fault, THEY made bad money choices.”

“Stop.” I said and she looked up at me with a creased brow. “Just stop.” I stammered, I stared down at the ground between us so I didn’t have to look at her, “Don’t talk like that about my parents.”

“. . .”

“. . .”

It was tense between us for a second.

“So, that’s it then,” Amy started, making more tears run down my face, “you’re just choosing them over me?” I shook my head no, as she demanded, “You’re just going to let them control your life forever?!”

“NO!” I blurted, looking up, “’I’ am choosing my life, Aims! And I WANT to choose you too! I want to be with you! But I can’t always do that! I’ve got responsibilities too!”

She blinked widely and looked just beyond shell-shocked.

“All you’ve got. . .” she said finally, “are burdens.”

A cold anger ran through me. “. . .I’ve got to go, Aims.”

She was silent for a second, then she said, more softly, “You’ve always got to go.”

I turned my back on her and walked back to my parent’s flower cart.

Sales were good.

I helped with them; angry, hurt, confused. Handing flower bouquets into costumer’s hands a little more aggressively than I probably needed too.

How could Amy say that?! That my parents were burdens?! My parents LOVED ME! And I loved them! How would she feel if I called HER PARENTS burdens?! Or her Aunt Rose?! Gosh, I felt awful just thinking that, but STILL, how could she say such a horrible thing?! Does she not realize how it would FEEL?!

I exhaled sharply as we started packing up the cart. We had sold everything we had brought. Mom was grousing about how she ‘knew we should have brought more’. Abruptly, my dad laid a hand on my shoulder. He smiled at me brightly and said, “Thanks for helping out, kiddo. You did amazing tonight.”

“Thanks.” I said weakly, looking up at his genuine smile. My dad had brown mousey hair like me and brown boring eyes, some people’s brown eyes were beautiful, with depth and mystery and different shades to them, but dad’s were just flat boring chocolate brown. Still, they were comforting to me. 

“I hope you enjoyed the King’s speech tonight.” he said and I nodded and smiled, “I did.” which was sort of true; I had enjoyed the first part, before all the craziness happened, which I hadn’t told my parents or anyone else about. Heck, ‘I’ wanted to forget it. I was just too tired to think about it, or process it, and I was sure everyone else would be too. That’s what Amy didn’t get, that if I just said ‘Screw you, Mom and Dad, I’m not helping you out at the shop’, the problems she was yammering on and on about wouldn’t go away, they would just be pushed onto someone else. Someone else who I loved, who I didn’t want to suffer and if I had to suffer a little bit so they suffered a little less, I thought that was a pretty damn good deal to take.

“The dancing is still going on.” I looked over to the crowd, which, while definitely waned some, was still very much alive. The tables at the been moved, and thankfully, oh my gosh, the bonfire had been put out, and now the live music band was playing lively dancing tunes. “You could go join in now.” My dad said, he smiled hopefully, “There’s still time.”

“Thanks, Dad.” I said, my eyes searched the crowd; I saw Damian, sitting at his family’s table, nibbling on some day lily petal brownie he was served. When he caught my eye, he waved to me weakly. I waved back. Amy on the other hand; she was nowhere in sight. “But I’m good.” He looked at me with surprise. I kneeled down and started collecting the money box and locking it up before putting it in the bottom of the cart. “I have a little bit of homework to finish for school, plus I promised Mom I’d water the seedlings in the nursery.”

My dad frowned, “Are you sure?”

I didn’t look back at him. “Yeah.” I said.

Dad looked like he wanted to protest more when Timmy came over and pulled on his pants’ leg, “Daddy, I’m tyurd.” he slurred. Dad smiled lovingly and scooped him up his arms.

Mom smiled over at them lovingly as Dad cooed, “Then let’s get our Tim-tim home, shall we?”

Mom rolled her eyes lovingly and muttered under her breath, “But ‘I’m’ not allowed to pick him up?”

Dad was still carrying Timmy, who had fallen fast asleep, so I was pushing the cart, Mom plodding along beside me. She was holding her lower back and I asked with concern, “It hurt?”

She scoffed, rubbing her forehead momentarily, “Not any more than normal.”

“Do you think you should go see a-?”

She shot me a warning look. Right, I looked back to the cart, feeling like an idiot, we probably couldn’t AFFORD to have a doctor look at her in the first place. That made me feel so sad. My own mother couldn’t even see a doctor when she was in pain and Amy wanted me to do what, just abandon them?! My own parents?! That was NEVER going to happen!

“What’s up with you and Amy Hoffmann?”

I startled, looking over at my mother. She didn’t look at me, just straight ahead, as I stammered, “N-nothing, why?”

“Well, you went to talk to her during the feast but then I couldn’t find you at her table.”

“You went looking for me?”

Mom scoffed, “Yeah, I did. Silly old me. Paranoid, I guess. With all the Sea-dwellers around.” She sighed before saying, “Yeah, I know, I know, you’ll scold me sayin’ ‘Ma, no, we can’t say that’ or ‘Ma, stop, in school they tell us-‘.”

“No, it’s okay.”

Mom looked at me with shock as I said quietly, looking down to our empty cart of flowers, “I. . .I think maybe I was wrong. N-not about cooperation or peace between Sea and Land dwellers!” I added quickly, scared she would misinterpret me, “I still think and believe that’s very much possible, that it’s happening; working! But. . .” Mom stared at me with big, shocked eyes as I said slowly, staring down into the empty cart, feeling my eyes get watery, “I think it’s pretty ignorant of me to tell you and other adults how to think about these things, and I’m not sure we are at the point where that ‘understanding’ I’m always preaching about is really realized. If it were, I wouldn’t have met the first Sea-dweller in my entire life TODAY, even though I’m sixteen years old. How good could the relationship between our races really be if that was true? . . .”

My mom observed me thoughtfully, “Nothing bad happened, did it?” I looked at her with a forlorn confusion until she added, “With a Sea-dweller?”

“What?! No! Goodness no!” I assured, taking my hands off the cart to flail them wildly, “Absolutely not! The first Sea-dweller, I met was like SUPER, DUPER NICE! As nice as the King!”

“Heh. Funny you use HIM as an example of kindness.” Mom replied, a sardonic smirk growing on her face.

I blinked widely and asked, “Is he not kind?” But even as I asked the question, I wasn’t sure I would accept any answer that he wasn’t; just the way he sounded and the words he said tonight, they were so moving and so genuine sounding, about his true desire for continued peace and comradery between Land and Sea Dwelling people. I couldn’t possibly believe he was faking that. If he was, he would have to be the best, most amazing, most charismatic and convincing actor on the planet. 

Still, this morning, I may have not have been willing to listen to my mother, but tonight, even though not that much time had past, I somehow was able to, willing to. My mother had been alive during the war, hadn’t she? Even if she was young? She never talked to me about it, neither did Dad, but I suddenly was realizing, was it even arrogant of me to never have asked about it? 

Mom looked thoughtful for a second, the electronic light street lights that were installed only a few years ago, allowing me to see her considering face.

“No, I wouldn’t say that. 26 years ago I might have said that, but. . .he’s left us alone all these years. Let us thrive. Grow flowers. Get married. Make babies.”

I flushed a little at that.

She looked forward as she thought aloud, “It’s so easy to want revenge, to say ‘they hurt me, so I’m going to hurt them’.” As I pushed the cart along, Mom plodding along beside me, I listened attentively to her words, “They took his wife ya know. His unarmed, young wife.”

       “. . .The. . .humans?” I asked hesitantly, pretty shocked by this information.

I was a history buff, but there was very little information on King Tidon’s only wife, Anabella Deleen. She was significantly younger than him when they married. He was 311 and she was 172. The only other thing I knew about her was that for many years everyone, probably even herself, thought she was unable to have children. But the King’s love for her was so strong, it is said in the history textbooks that he would rather have his brother’s son take the throne after his death than divorce her and take another woman as his queen. His love was said to be so strong that every year on her birthday, he collected all the blue whales that existed in the ocean and had them perform a dance for her, because that was, apparently, her favorite animal. All the history books said about her death was that she was killed eight years ago, by rogue human extremists pirates. Most of the texts and papers that mentioned her death talked about it as the inciting incident of The Five Dark Days, a tense, political standoff, caused by the Queen’s murder, in which the Kingdom of Man and the Ocean Empire almost went BACK to war after almost a decade of peace.

Mom smirked at me, “Yes, the humans, Lauren.”

I put a hand over my mouth, “My apologies.” I felt a little obvious, I guess that didn’t really need to be said.

       Mom cackled half a laugh and replied, “Land-dwellers, yes.” She looked forward down the street to where Dad was off in front of us, humming a lullaby to Timmy, whose brunette little head slept safely in his arms. Mom continued on, saying, “When that happened, the Queen was killed, I was sure, then, finally,” I watched her with concerned eyes, “what I always thought would happen, would happen. The other shoe would drop and he’d come for us. . .but, the King, you’ve got to give him credit- he believes his own spiel. He could separate us and them in his mind. Bury his hatred down. Try and replace it with love. Forgiveness.” Mom sighed, “So, yes, I guess I do think he’s kind.” She gave me a tired smile, “He’s left my family well and good enough alone, even when other Land-dwellers didn’t return to the favor for his own family.” Mom shook her head softly as if thinking something to herself, “I always wondered how his kid turned out. Poor little guy, didn’t even know what his mama was dying for.”

We had gotten back from the Feast and Celebration welcoming the King and I had gone right upstairs to my bedroom. I got started on the Chemistry homework I had been assigned by Mrs. Abella. I hadn’t meant to put it off so long, but other things just seemed to always get in the way of things I wanted to do. And now, I was way past wanting, I NEEDED to get it done. It was due in the morning. Yawning, I rubbed at one of my bleary eyes, and tried to refocus myself. My body felt like it had just run a marathon; its tank sputtering near empty, but my willpower was strong. If I ever wanted a chance of working someday as an assistant teacher at RHAY-RC, then I was going to need stellar grades and that meant- I couldn’t afford to not turn in this homework. Putting mind over matter to the test, I focused on the questions in front of me.

After completing a few, I remembered something. Shoot! I thought, standing up quickly, Mom was going to kill me! She had made me promise to water the seedlings in the nursery behind the shop on our way to the Speech and I had like-totally spaced it. I quickly left, my still unfinished Chemistry homework on my small, very heavily loved desk, which sat conveniently right next to my door, so close that when people threw it open it about hit me in the face, and headed into the hallway; en route to the nursery.

I was surprised to hear, as I stepped quietly down the stairs, voices coming from the shop, on the first level. I had been slinking down hear quietly with the idea that no one else would be up at this ungodly hour but would rather be asleep snug in their begs.

“I just don’t see how it’s possible, Oaken.”

“But she loves it so much, Tamaria.”

“I know she does! I’m not THAT oblivious! But I’ve been reading up on it and Mrs. Parker, you know her? Her husband works at the bakery on Iris Blaudavair?”  

“Yeah, I know Bob.”

“Well, his wife speaks WONDERS about it! Says it’s saved them a ton of cash! And you know, we’re tight on it.”

“I know we are but Lauren will hate it.”

“Hate what?” I asked as I entered down into the back of the shop.

My mom and dad both whirled around to see me, both sitting at their chairs pulled up at the kitchen’s small, brown, worn wooden round table. Their eyes were as big as their heads.

“W-what are you doing up?” My dad ran his hand nervously over his balding head, and my mom looked at him excitedly.

“She’s up, Oaken. Let’s just bring it up to her now. You know it’s the reasonable thing to do.” Dad looked unconvinced but Mom pressed, “Just until things are a bit more stable.”

He sighed, rubbing over his head again- a thing he did when he was nervous; which made me nervous.

“Come over here.” Mom ordered. I came and plopped down into my assigned chair. His Majesty Timmy had assigned us each them and threw a temper tantrum if anyone strayed from the seat they were supposed to be in. He wasn’t here right now, but-the habit had stuck, I guessed.

Mom smiled at me with a bright gleam in her eye, as she asked suddenly, “What do you think about homeschooling?”

“What?” I recoiled in my seat, being taken completely off-guard.

Dad sighed and said, “Way to rip the band-aid off, Tamaria.”

She ignored him, plowing ahead, “Your father and I were thinking that, you know,” Her expression softened, “that money is a little tight sometimes,” I would scoff and say that was an understatement if I wasn’t still reeling. “and we pay an awful lot for your tuition at that fancy school Mrs. Abella runs. We were thinking, that for a while, just a semester or so, I could homeschool you instead.”

“Y-you? H-homeschool me?” I still hadn’t quite gotten it through my head.

“Yes, and your dad would help out too when he had time.”

Dad looked more apologetic as he leaned over and placed his large, warm hand on my shoulder, “Just for a semester, to try it out, or until things get more. . .stable around here, f-financially speaking.”

I looked at him with wide, scared eyes and I ended up blurting, “B-but what about the sales we made at the speech tonight? W-we sold a lot of flowers, didn’t we?!”

Mom scoffed and said, “Sure we did, but those were small peanuts.”

“A-and what about the orders we got from the Town Council itself to provide flowers to the Feast?” I stammered on.

“That was a bigger peanut but. . .” Dad sighed heavily, folding his hands on the table in front of him. “You know we work on razor thin margins, Lauren.”

I stared at him hopelessly as Mom grumbled, “Yeah, because of those dang Ashleys! They keep their prices so low, nobody else can eat if they want to compete with them!”

Dad stared at me, more on topic, and explained calmly, “You know how competitive the flower market is in Shanville.”

Then why didn’t you go into something else? I thought, only in my mind, in sad frustration. I heard Amy’s voice yelling at me from all the way back in the Town Square at the Feast.

‘So?! What about YOUR life, Lauren?! I NEVER see you anymore!’

‘So what? We never make any new memoires again?’

‘I get it, your parents’ shop isn’t doing great, but honestly, how is that your problem, Laurey? Who CARES about money? What about you? What about what YOU want?’

‘But you never asked to exist.’

‘Providing for you is kind of their responsibility. They shouldn’t be working you to the bone like this. It’s not your fault THEY made bad money choices.’

‘You’re just going to let them control your life forever?!’

‘All you’ve got. . .are burdens.’

As her harsh, angry words flew through my head, I still fought them- I still disagreed with them. That was just who I was. Family stuck together. My parents NEEDED me. I didn’t get to just draw lines in the sands. That wasn’t in me; not in my blood. But still-it hurt. It made me almost angry, not at my parents, but at Amy. Because I felt like her stupid, thoughtless words had validity.

I WAS letting my parents control every part of my life and it wasn’t the life ‘I’ wanted but my sense of love and responsibility to them made me accept it. I KNEW they needed help. I KNEW they HAD made bad money choices, but what exactly was I supposed to do right now?

I had overheard them earlier today, which felt like a lifetime ago, stressing out about how they were going to pay for my tuition. My mom was trying to put a positive spin on it but they weren’t just deciding on homeschooling on a whim, it was because the tuition was so much and the checkbook was so dire.

What was I supposed to do with my stressed out, worked to the bone parents? Scream and throw a tantrum like Timmy did when we didn’t sit in the seats he picked out for us? Cry and wail that they didn’t love me enough?! Make a big scene? For what! At the end of it, my struggling parents would be just as poor and the business would be floundering just as much. Now they’d just be upset and poor, instead of tired and poor, and I couldn’t do that to them.

Mom was reaching over and dragging my limp hands onto the table, insisting, “I bought all these textbooks and workbooks, second hand of course- those new things cost a fortune- and I can be JUST as good a teacher as Mrs. Abella, I promise! We’ll do your school work surrounded by the shop’s flowers, won’t that be great?”

Dad added, “You’ll be able to go back to Mrs. Abella’s school, if things are doing better, next year. We promise.”

“Yeah.” Mom echoed, “But until then, we’ll have fun together, right, my baby Lauren?”

Fun? I was NEVER going to see Damian and Amy now, especially Amy. The only guaranteed time I got to see them was at school after all.

And doing school work surrounded by flowers at the shop? That was just going to be MORE TIME WORKING AT THE SHOP! Every time I took a break from math problems, I could fill my brain break with a flower delivery order or helping a indecisive customer pick what color lilies they wanted!

And Mom and Dad being better teachers than Mrs. Abella?! Mrs. Abella was a highly educated woman; she had gone to Wealth of Mankind College in the heart of the Terrestrial Empire. She knew just about any history question I could spring up on her and was always lending me books on history and culture and military tactics and warfare. Mom and Dad couldn’t get me any of that stuff!

My half-baked dream of being an assistant teacher at RHAY-RC would be in shambles. I mean, would they really want a girl who took spend half of her sophomore year being taught by her floral shop owner parents as an assistant teacher?!

I could see so clearly see now how distracted my parents would be in our ‘lessons’, a customer comes in with a complaint, Timmy is crying over some spilled milk, a regular comes in and wants to chat, and how I’d most likely be left alone to have a workbook and textbook as a teacher instead of one of them.

I knew all that-I hated all those facts-but-!

I forced a smile over my pressed together lips. “Okay.” I said softly.

The desperate gleam in Mom’s eye faded and she pulled back in surprise, her hands leaving mine.

I grabbed my two left alone hands together as I said, the mature thing, the right thing, “I understand things are. . .hard right now. I can be homeschooled for a. . .while. P-plus, this way-“ I tried to force some cheer into my voice, “I can help out more at the shop.”

“You don’t have to do that.” Dad said quickly, “We feel guilty enough as it is. You really are an amazing girl, Lauren.”

I smiled at him and rested my eyes closed a moment, begging the wetness I could feel in them to vanish.

“Yes.” Mom agreed, “You’re a real trooper, Lauren. I swear, I’ll be a great teacher. Take it seriously! We’ll have fun together! I’ve been asking Mrs. Parker for all kinds of tips. She does it with her daughters, you know? You can talk to them about it, if you want. I’m sure they’ll love having a new friend who is homeschooled too.”

“I bet.” I said with a smile that felt precarious. I gently stood up, trying not to seem like I was rushing, and assured both my parents, who looked up at me with a mix of disbelief, relief, and unsureness on their faces. “I’m really fine with it. . . .It might even be a good change of pace. It’s no. . .problem. I-I’m going to go water the seedlings now.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that.” Dad said, an expression of guilt on his face.

“It’s fine.” I assured, “I’m up anyway.” And I tried to fake a cheerful jaunt in my steps as I went towards the back doors and fled into the nursery.

I made sure the door was closed behind me tightly.

I waited a moment to make sure I wasn’t being followed.

My parents muffled conversation came through the door.

It was dim in the nursery, the subdued nighttime lighting being on.

I wandered over to the watering can, put it under the sink it sat beside.

I tried to keep my emotions in check. Tears dripped down my face into the watering can.

I made it to the first row of seedlings-but no further.

I collapsed on the ground, crying- just crying. About what? I wasn’t really sure.

Petty concerns I guessed. The concerns of a child.

When was I going to get to see my friends?

When was I going to learn about the things I wanted?

When was I going to get the dream job I wanted that probably wouldn’t ever come true anyway?

I cried and cried and cried; snot and tears running down my face; so much so it was probably making me dehydrated.

But I cried quietly.

Like an adult.

My parents didn’t need to feel inadequate and guilty when they were trying their best. When they took care of me and Timmy the best they could. When they never gave up on us. Loved us. Protected us.

In the reflection of myself in the dropped metallic watering can, even I knew how ridiculous I looked.

I was sixteen years old, hardly a child. Huddled on the ground, holding her knees in a fetal position like some huge overgrown baby; weeping in her purple pjs about how she was going to be ‘homeschooled’. Oh, the horror. The drama. Some kids were so unlucky they didn’t get to attend school at all. Some kids went to horrible schools, where the teachers didn’t care about their learning and the other kids didn’t either. Some kids’ parents were so poor they probably had to start working at the family business a lot younger than I had and had to drop out of school entirely. My parents weren’t asking for that, they were literally going to take their own precious time and energy to try and teach me stuff, and it was only for a semester-probably.

Slowly, I cried myself out; the emotions having an escape and I felt less trapped; less like I was struggling. Less like I was sad. But I still was. Struggling. Sad. But I wanted to make my and their sacrifice worth something. So, I got up, I dusted off my pajama pants. They were my nicest pair and I got dirt on them. I picked up the watering can. Hoped my parents wouldn’t ask questions about the spilled huge puddle of water there from when I dropped it like an overdramatic drama queen.

I returned to the sink, refilled the watering can, returned over to the place I was supposed to be in the first place, and then-I watered the seedlings.