Chapter 19
19
DAISY
I get to school Monday morning early enough that the parking lot is completely empty and the prime spots are mine for the picking.
I’m not the worst driver per se, but it’s definitely nice to have the time to get my car perfectly straight and in the centre of the yellow lines without anyone watching and judging how many attempts it takes.
My book bag is heavy as hell as I pick it up from the ground and drape it over my shoulder. A stack of Duo-Tangs, binders, and my planner fill my arms next before I head for the school doors.
A deep magenta and fiery, orange-coloured sunrise streaks across the crisp fall grass, and as the biting breeze nips at my cheeks, I’m grateful I tossed on a jacket before leaving the house.
Bryce’s leather jacket that I never returned after stealing Saturday night.
The same night I felt a few of the bricks from Bryce’s walls crumble to dust with our conversations. We’ve never spoken so much about ourselves before. It was like we were interested in digging deeper than what I had originally thought when we first agreed to this .
With a bit of struggle due to my full hands and aching shoulder, I make it inside the building and down the hall to my classroom without dropping anything. It’s completely silent besides the squeak of my Converse on the freshly waxed floors, and I smile, taking a long breath, soaking in the first-day nerves.
My inhale rips right back out of me the moment I see my classroom.
Yes, I did put a bit more work into finishing it before we went to Peakside Saturday night so that I wouldn’t be embarrassed to have students and parents come inside, but it wasn’t perfect yet.
There certainly weren’t new chalkboards hung for the kids to scribble on between lessons or multicoloured lounge chairs and a rainbow bookshelf in the corner of the room for reading and visiting. I know for a fact I hadn’t purchased a yellow, flower-shaped rug for beneath my desk either.
Pinching the skin of my wrist doesn’t change the view in front of me. It’s not a dream, then. I clutch the binders and books into my chest and gawk at the classroom of my dreams.
“Oh, wow! You totally beat me in the classroom department. It’s so cute.”
I jump and spin around, the unfamiliar voice coming from behind me. The woman leaning in my doorway isn’t one I remember ever meeting before, but she seems kind enough at first glance.
She has her bright blonde hair up in a braided ponytail and deep emerald-green eyes open and clear beneath lightly mascara-coated lashes. Cheeks pinkened with a natural blush and freckles splattered over her narrow nose and forehead, there’s something incredibly dainty about her. Her height adds to that, and it’s almost hard to believe that someone can be that much shorter than me.
Dressed in a loose-fitting, ankle-length skirt that matches the mossy colour of her eyes and a white blazer with a simple top beneath, I feel an instant comradery with her and her sense of style. My vintage, light-washed jean overalls with hand-painted daffodils are a bit more casual than her attire, but I have a feeling we’ll match often in the future.
I keep my voice light as I skip toward her. “Hi! Thank you. I can’t take full credit for it; I believe my girlfriend and her best friend had more to do with this than I did. I’m Daisy Mitchell. I’d shake your hand, but I’ve got my arms a little full.”
“Here, let me help you.” She reaches for my binders and takes two from my arms before striding past me and setting them on my desk. “I’m Delaney. It’s nice to meet you. Any relation to Rachel Mitchell?”
I drop the rest of my things on the desk beside the binders and huff, leaning back against the side of it. “She’s my mom, actually.”
Light sparks in her eyes. Recognition, rather. “That’s right! She mentioned her Daisy girl to me a few times in the past.”
“How do you know my mom?”
It’s not a surprise that Mama’s been talking someone’s ears off about her kids. She doesn’t need much provoking to do it the majority of the time. But I am curious why she would tell this woman in particular about us.
Delaney’s easy stare sweeps over the classroom as she takes her time answering. I don’t push, but my curiosity does grow an inch at her silence.
“She was my therapist for a few years. When I moved back to town after graduating university.”
Regret slashes through me like a knife. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to push. We just met!”
Her laugh is delicate, like the ice on a lake after winter’s first overnight freeze. “It’s alright. I’m not ashamed of seeking therapy. Your mom helped me a lot back then.”
“Still, I shouldn’t have pushed. I’m glad to hear that, though. I’m sure she’d feel smug about knowing she left a lasting impression on you and your life.”
Delaney smiles reassuringly. “Anyway, I’m teaching third grade right next door. If you need anything, just wander on over. Is it your first school year teaching?”
“What gave me away?”
“Honestly, nothing. It’s just a feeling I have.”
“Do I look prepared enough? I feel like I’ve forgotten a million things,” I admit, rubbing my hands together nervously.
“One of the things I’ve learned with teaching, especially when it comes to little kids, is that you’re never properly prepared. Every group of students is different, and what works for one won’t work for the next. The best thing to do is just feel it out as the days come. You’ll adapt to their craziness.”
“You know what? I think I like that perspective,” I say, grinning in appreciation. “I sense a budding friendship here.”
“Yeah, so do I, Daisy.”
“Do you have a lot to do before class, or are you up to grabbing a coffee with me first? I thought I had more to do, but actually . . . I’m feeling pretty confident now.”
I need to text Bryce. My gut is telling me that she was the one behind this classroom transformation, and if I’m right, she deserves the world’s biggest thank you.
This wasn’t part of our agreement. She didn’t have to take time out of her weekend to fix my problems for me. But . . . she did, and my chest feels entirely too small to confine my swelling heart. Combined with the fluttering sensation in my belly, I fear I’m one second away from floating into open air like a balloon.
Her absence from the house on Sunday makes sense now. I hadn’t wanted to ask where she was or what she was doing out of fear of looking like a real-life clingy girlfriend. Now, it’s looking like I won’t have to.
“I wouldn’t mind a coffee,” Delaney accepts my offer.
I beam at her while shrugging off my bag and letting it fall to the desk with a clunk. The only thing I grab from inside of it is my wallet before leaving the room with a new friend at my side.
“Walk or drive?” I ask.
“Drive. Always drive. ”
“Mind if we take your car, then? Trust me when I say that you don’t want to have to watch me try to park again once it starts to get busy here.”
“Only if you excuse the mess. I’ve got a big dog, and she’s one hell of a shedder.”
I keep my pace easy and languid despite my growing excitement. Without thinking twice about it, I decide she’s going to be my friend and seal the deal with a nickname.
“Sounds good to me, Della.”
“So, you mentioned a girlfriend?” Delaney asks. The mug in her hand is full to the brim with a steaming latte decorated with an elegant sketch of a leaf made from cream.
I went with a shot of espresso and a croissant to soak it up with after contemplating ordering a drink infused with more sugar than coffee. That’s more my brother’s preference. Our sisters are similar to me in their coffee tastes.
My teeth sink into the cushion of my lip. “Yeah, I guess I did. Her name is Bryce.”
“Lemieux?”
I don’t miss the tightness in her voice, unable to skip over it. She might as well have told me she doesn’t like Bryce, which doesn’t sit well with me. Straightening in my seat, I lean over the table and pin her in place with an expertly disguised smooth stare. I’m not angry, but I am on high alert.
My gentle, welcoming persona isn’t to be mistaken for weakness or acceptance.
“Yes. Is that a problem?”
She toys with the end of her braid, expression flighty. “The friend that helped with the classroom . . . is Darren?”
“It is.”
The colour leaches from her face, her natural flush disappearing in the blink of an eye. My oversensitive heart doesn’t like knowing that I’ve upset her. It’s a curse.
Delaney hasn’t taken a single sip from her latte before she discards it on the table and checks her watch. Wetting her lips, she swallows hard and stands, hovering.
“I remembered that I have a few more things to do before class this morning. We should go now.”
My stomach falls when suddenly, her flighty attitude makes a bit more sense. The emotion in her voice isn’t kind. It’s brutal.
Soul-crushing agony that has me flinching back in my seat.
Bryce has nothing to do with it. She can’t. While Delaney was stiff about her, I hadn’t sensed this . . . tortured brokenness scraping below the surface.
This is all because of Darren.
I immediately rise from my seat. “Do you want me to ask the barista to transfer your coffee into a takeaway cup?”
Delaney softens a smidge, a flicker of light appearing through the thickness in her eyes. “You wouldn’t mind?”
“Not at all.” I take the cup from the table and bring it to the front counter.
The barista gets to making the swap with a simple smile. Inching over to the waiting section of the counter, I pull my phone from the side pocket of my overalls and open my messages with Bryce. There’s a new one waiting from her, and I smile like a fool as I read it.
Bryce: You didn’t pack a lunch. What’s the point of a lunch box if you forget it in the fridge and don’t bring it with you to actually eat at lunch?
My reply comes easily.
Me: I was a little nervous this morning and must have forgotten about it. I’ll find something for lunch. Have a good day at work!
“Your to-go cup, ma’am,” the barista says, drawing my attention.
The “ma’am” makes my skin itch. I’m way too young to be called that, but I take the cup from her with a thankful nod as my phone buzzes.
Bryce: See you later.
It sounds ominous. Or maybe that’s just me hoping that it means something more than it does. There’s nothing quite like pushing through a nerve-racking day and being comforted with a surprise visit from a friendly face.
Is Bryce that type of person, though?
Two weeks ago, from what I knew about her in passing, I’d have said it’s unlikely. Now? My gut reaction is to expect the best from her. The caring actions that I’ve seen from her over the past few days have me wondering if everyone’s too quick to judge her. Myself included, even if I’m not someone who naturally expects the worst of a person.
What a stressful life that would be.
Bryce might look and act tough, but I’m certain there’s so much more hidden below the surface, and I wouldn’t mind being the one to test that theory.
I think I’ve already decided that I will be.
“I said I needed oat milk. Not regular. Are you incompetent, or can you follow a simple instruction? Redo it.”
The cruel tone is all wrong for a place like this, a soft, comforting coffee shop nestled into the only busy street in all of Cherry Peak. While I may only remember having heard this voice once before, there’s no mistaking the owner of it.
Peakside Pamila scorns the sweet barista with a jabbing finger and square-shaped nail hovered above the counter. The barista looks mortified, her ears and nose tipped with red as she shakes like a leaf behind the cash register.
Not only is it too early for this type of behaviour from anyone—let alone a grown woman—but it’s completely uncalled for. I kept my mouth shut at Peakside when she insulted not only Bryce but me as well. It wasn’t my place to start an argument in such a public setting when I didn’t even know half the story behind her disgusting comments, but that didn’t mean I hadn’t wanted to.
For the first time in my recent memory, I contemplated what it would feel like to slap a woman across the face. I’ve never turned to violence for anything. Not when I was an angry child and Johnny would pull my hair and pinch me when he didn’t like something I’d done or later on when he’d use our sisters against me to get what he wanted. He was always the more impulsive twin. I enjoy thinking things through so I don’t wind up in situations that I won’t know how to maneuver my way out of.
But seeing Bryce upset because of someone else’s ignorance and hatred? That pushed me further than I’d been pushed in a long, long time. I felt . . . stabby .
If I hadn’t been shoving all my focus into keeping her from jumping over the bar and doing something that would have absolutely crushed our night, maybe I would have been the one to stand up to Pamila instead of Poppy.
Is it normal for me to have been jealous of Poppy in that moment? I don’t even know anymore.
Not having been the one to stand up for Bryce has unsettled me a little. It feels like it should have been my job.
There’s an odd burning sensation in my chest, and I linger behind Pamila, not going back to Delaney yet. My body is on a different wavelength than my brain. If it weren’t, I’d be doing what I always do and leaving this to the people involved instead of butting in.
“I’m sorry. I’ll make you a new one now,” the barista rambles, her sneakers squeaking on the floor as she rushes off.
Pamila chuffs at her and waits at the counter with her nose in the air like she’s the queen of goddamn coffee or something.
“You know, it costs nothing to treat people with kindness.”
I know my eyes have blown wide at my outburst. It’s so unlike me that I’m not prepared for her to whip around and glare at me .
“What did you say?”
My swallow is thick, but I attempt to play off my nerves with a shrug. “She didn’t mean to mix up your order. I’m sure if you had noticed it wasn’t right and asked her nicely, she would have still fixed it for you. Instead, you chose to belittle her.”
“Mind your own business, Daisy Mitchell.”
“You’re a bartender. Do you appreciate it when customers speak to you like this when you make a mistake?”
“I don’t make such stupid mistakes.”
I fold my arms over my chest and keep my head high, not allowing her to make me feel weak. “Lucky you. Not everyone is as perfect.”
She scoffs coldly and faces forward, opting to give me her back instead of responding. It’s sad, really. How angry people can get at others over problems with such easy fixes. I feel bad for her. You have to be incredibly upset with your life to take your pain out on others this way.
Something angry and not yet sated pinches at me. An urge or pull that might as well be forcing my jaw open with eager fingers.
“Just a bit of advice, Pamila, but from now on, I suggest you keep your snide remarks inside when it comes to Bryce. She’s not a person you want to be attacking like that.”
Fascination lining the dark, ugly brown colour of her eyes, Pamila gawks at me over her shoulder. “I’m not afraid of her or her sidekick, Poppy.”
“Good. Be afraid of me.”
Holding her gaze, I do something I’ve never done in my entire life and bare my teeth at her.
In my head, I imagine that I look vicious. Like a savage beast standing over an unprotected cub ready to fight my way to the death.
In reality, I know I’ve got to be nowhere close. A yappy dog nipping at someone’s heels, more like .
But still, Pamila’s scowl wavers before she twists forward again, a silent way of telling me to screw off. This time, I let her.
I catch the barista’s watery eyes behind Pamila and give her a thumbs-up. This is only a job for her, but she’s still a person with real feelings, and I don’t enjoy the thought of them hurt because of this woman.
She tugs her mouth up into a small smile before mouthing thank you to me and finishing up the new drink. That unsettled feeling from earlier smooths out slightly, enough for me to stop thinking about it.
Delaney is waiting for me by the door, appearing naive to what just happened. I think there’s too much going on in her mind right now for her to have been paying attention to me.
Yanking open the door for her to exit, I keep my sights trained forward instead of back to gather one last glance at Pamila. It’s not worth it, and as I follow behind Della onto the street, I make a silent promise to myself.
The next time someone attacks a person I care about, I’ll be just as brave as I was just now for that stranger. Especially when it comes to a certain ice queen who really isn’t all that frozen after all.