Wildflower

Naomi McGregor

I found myself back on the island, searching for food. With my trusty bow resting across my shoulder blades, I moved through thick vegetation toward the shore where Mom and Dad were probably preparing something to eat.

My soft-soled boots allowed me to glide without a whisper through the dense foliage, each step calculated to avoid disturbing the teeming life around me. Familiar creatures rustled in the underbrush, their presence a comforting reminder of this wild sanctuary. Ahead, a plump centipede wound its way across my path, utterly unaware as I carefully stepped over it and emerged into the sunlit clearing.

“Ah, there she is, my little wildflower,” Father called out warmly as I emerged from the dense greenery. Mother chimed in right after, “Come join us, Naomi—we’ve got something special waiting. Your father caught those fish using his new fishing rod.” Their voices mingled with the sizzle of cooking as they worked at the stove Dad had built near our home.

I settled near the crackling fire, the warmth seeping into my skin as Dad draped an arm around my shoulders. A broad grin spread across my face. “That smells amazing,” I exclaimed, eagerness coloring my voice. My stomach growled in anticipation as Mom carefully set a generous slice of fish onto a simple wooden plate before me.

I glanced at my mother and father, their presence a comforting embrace, a source of warmth that eased the day’s weariness. “What’s the matter, baby?” Mom asked gently. “Oh, nothing,” I replied softly. “I’m just happy we’re back on the island, together.”

I heard the sky rumble as a distant voice called “Naomi!” Startled, I glanced around—Mother sat directly before me yet the voice seemed to come from somewhere else entirely. Father met my puzzled gaze with a gentle smile. “Come back again, my little wildflower,” he murmured reassuringly.

Once more that faint call reached my ears, echoing my name through the air. “We’ll be here for you, baby,” Mother reassured me, her words washing over me like a comforting embrace.

My eyes fluttered open as my real-world mother nudged me awake, her voice soft. “Good morning, baby,” she greeted with a warm smile. “Did you sleep well?” I gave a slow nod, my throat tight. “I dreamt about Mom and Dad on the island again,” I murmured, a tinge of sorrow in my tone. My mother’s expression softened with understanding. “Was it a nice dream?” she asked gently, and I managed a quiet affirmation that it was.

Mom gestured for me “Come and have some breakfast!” I nodded, “I’ll be right there” I said as she smiled and walked out of my room. I got out of bed making my way out to the hallway and into the bathroom.

As I descended the stairs in these clothes I use only for sleeping, I entered the kitchen to find Marcus, Dominic, and Mom already seated at the dining table. “Your plate’s ready, Naomi,” Mom announced. “Good morning, Naomi,” Marcus greeted me. “Good morning!” I replied, taking a seat across from him. My gaze remained fixed on the table; the memory of choking him unconscious still lingered uncomfortably in my thoughts.

Mom glanced at her wristwatch. “I need to head out soon,” she mentioned offhand. I felt a familiar pang knowing she’d be gone most of the day, often returning well after nightfall. Marcus chimed in proudly, “Same here.” He’d recently landed a position at a paper company and seemed quite pleased with himself. Mom turned to him with an affectionate smile. “I’m really proud of you, baby,” she said before leaning in to kiss his cheek. Her expression softened as she added playfully, “Just don’t mess this one up.”

“Dominic, shouldn’t you be heading to college by now?” Mom asked, eyeing him closely. He let out a weary sigh. “Morning off, class isn’t until later,” he explained. Mom raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Hmm, alright then,” she replied before turning to me. “Naomi, with school starting soon, how are you feeling about it all?”

I wasn’t sure how to feel. I’d seen enough TV shows where the boys were after the girls and those girls just giggled along like it was the best thing ever—seemed pretty silly to me. I figured if those boys came at me with that nonsense, I’d just put them to sleep without thinking twice.

“I don’t want those boys chasing me,” I stated plainly. Mom nearly sprayed her coffee, her eyes going wide. “What?” she sputtered, clearly caught off guard. Marcus frowned at my words. “If they give you trouble, Naomi, you just let me know,” he insisted firmly.

“That’s not what school is all about, baby.” mom said trying to reassure me, “It’s about learning, they will teach you things, important things” she said “They didn’t teach me shit!” Dominic chimed. “Language, Dominic!” she snapped.

Anyway, I got to go,” she said abruptly. She rose from her seat and moved around the table, planting a quick kiss on my cheek before doing the same for Dominic. Then she paused beside Marcus, leaning in to press her lips firmly against his in a lingering kiss that went on just a little too long. My eyebrows knitted together as I watched them; even now, seeing Mom kiss Marcus still struck me as strange and unsettling.

Before heading out, Mom turned to me. “Naomi, will you be okay?” I gave a quick nod. “You’ve got your phone and the house keys—call me if you need anything, alright?” I assured her, “I will, Mom!” She offered one last smile before stepping out the door. My shoulders sank as I watched her leave; she would be gone all day again. City life really bites and sucks.

Marcus stood up. “See you later, Naomi! Don’t go climbing trees okay?” he chuckled as I nodded. I didn’t get why he laughed - I hadn’t climbed one for a few days, and that was because of those vicious animals out there that people have tied to a rope.

Now alone with Dominic, he announced, “I’m heading to my room to play Fortnite for a bit before I take off. You gonna be alright by yourself?” His question hung in the air as he awaited my response. “I’m good,” I answered casually. “Might step out for some fresh air.” He gave a curt nod and ambled down the hallway toward his room, leaving me truly on my own.

I felt suffocated in this place; every step outside bored me to tears, and even climbing a tree drew complaints from nosy neighbors. They refused to let me carry my weapons outdoors—the officers in blue would haul me away—and hunting was off-limits too, all because they insisted on protecting wildlife. Nothing about city life held any excitement for me.

I pulled out my phone and called the dad here. “Hi, Naomi,” he said. I grinned when I heard his voice; even though he wasn’t really my dad, he sounded just like him. “Hi dad! I’m bored,” I told him. Then I heard him chuckle on the phone. “You seem to get bored a lot,” he mentioned. So I asked if we could meet again like we did the other day. He went, “Uhh, okay! You mean for lunch?” I nodded yes but forgot to say it out loud, so he asked, “Naomi?” because he didn’t know I had agreed. Finally I said, “Yes.”

Ian McGregor

“Alright, Naomi, I’ll catch you in a few hours then—same spot?” I confirmed before hanging up. That call marked another chapter in what had become our routine these past two months. Ever since Naomi found herself stranded here without her parents, I’d been stepping in where I could to support Aisha in looking after her. Whether Naomi needed practical help or simply craved the comfort of familiar company, I made sure to be there. What surprised me most, though, was how genuinely fascinated she seemed by my engineering work.

She was undoubtedly Ian’s daughter, I mused, since neither Miles nor Emily ever expressed interest in engineering. It made me wonder if they were even my children.

Aisha had truly embraced the role of Naomi’s maternal figure, showering her with care and affection in ways I longed to emulate yet struggled to achieve. My hesitation surprised me, especially considering our shared bloodline. Adjusting to treat Naomi as my own daughter proved unexpectedly challenging, despite her carrying my genetics. Navigating this new dynamic left me grappling with unfamiliar emotions.

Occasionally, Aisha called to share updates about Naomi’s adjustment, her tone filled with pride whenever she spoke of the girl. Her obvious delight stirred something within me. I felt genuine happiness for Naomi, though I understood she missed her real parents terribly; the unfortunate circumstances were beyond her control.

I was in a meeting with the executives when my phone buzzed. Glancing down, I saw Naomi’s name flash across the screen. Knowing how anxious she became when I didn’t answer immediately, I excused myself from the room. “Yes, Naomi,” I answered, trying to keep my tone steady despite the interruption.

Her voice came through, laced with concern. “Dad? Where are you? I’ve been waiting.” I glanced at my watch; less than two hours had passed since we last spoke. “Naomi, it’s only been a short while—I’m still tied up with work right now.” A pause followed, then a soft, dejected “Oh...” that tugged at my heart.

“Just wait a little bit, I’ll be with you shortly okay?” I urged gently. After a brief silence, she murmured her assent: “Okay.”

In the cafe where I had purchased lunch for Naomi, she savored her macaroni and cheese. While I picked at my low-calorie chicken Caesar salad and sipped coffee, Naomi drank a Coke. “I hear you’ll be starting school soon,” I remarked as she tried speaking with a full mouth. I supposed table manners hadn’t mattered much on the island.

“Yeah,” she mumbled mid-chew, “you know, you need to be careful with eating too much carbs, you’ll put on weight fast.” I paused, catching the flicker of confusion in her gaze. Gesturing subtly toward an overweight patron nearby served as my unspoken illustration. Her eyes widened slightly as the implication sank in.

I warned her about the Coke, noting its high sugar content. Naomi was so nimble and athletic; I hated to see her develop unhealthy habits from fast food. She still craved adventure though, and with Aisha’s permission—her now deserved mother—I planned to take her to more exciting places.

“How do you like living with your mother and brother and Marcus?” I asked, curious about her feelings as I continued getting to know her. Naomi possessed a unique spirit, unafraid to follow her own desires without concern for others’ opinions—a refreshing trait born from a life free of such worries. I hoped she’d hold onto that independence; it offered a distinct advantage in navigating the world without external pressures clouding her judgment.

“I like my mom,” she replied with a warm smile, “she’s really good to me. Dominic’s nice but spends most of his time playing stuff in his room, and Marcus taught me this game called Poke.”

My brow furrowed. “Pokermon?” I asked skeptically. Naomi shook her head, correcting me with a playful grin. “I think it’s called Poker.” I let out an uneasy sigh, hoping Marcus wouldn’t lead her into gambling next.

I glanced at my watch, realizing I had another meeting to attend. These days, my engineering breakthroughs came less frequently, though I still found satisfaction in mentoring emerging talent. I couldn’t help but imagine Naomi following a similar path—one where she could channel her creativity into something substantial. “Naomi, I need to get back,” I said softly, noticing how her gaze fell to her plate with a hint of disappointment. Sensing her mood shift, I added, “But how about this? Let me show you where I work and what I do—it might interest you.” Her eyes lit up instantly. “Really?” she asked with genuine excitement as I nodded, motioning for us to go.

Aisha Johnson

Seated at my desk, I sifted through my email queue. “Damn,” I muttered under my breath, “still need to wrap that up.” I jotted a note to address it next. A meeting with an irate client couldn’t slip through the cracks. As I worked, my phone buzzed—caller ID showed Ian. I answered immediately. “Yes, Ian?” I said firmly. “Sorry to disturb you, Aisha,” he began, “just letting you know Naomi is here with me at my workplace.” My brow creased slightly. “Is she okay?” I asked, concern coloring my tone.

“Oh it’s nothing,” Ian continued, “she wanted to meet me for lunch so I decided to show her around and what I do. Just wanted you to know she’s with me.” He paused, then added thoughtfully, “She seems quite taken with the work here—could be a promising career path for her someday.” I exhaled slowly. “Ian, don’t go planting ideas in her head. She starts school soon and I want her focused on that.”

He countered firmly, “It wouldn’t distract her, Aisha—in fact, it might keep her mind engaged.” Hesitating briefly, I mulled his words before conceding quietly, “Fine... Can you drop her off later?”

“Of course,” he replied without delay.

Later that day as I got home, Ian had already dropped off Naomi before I arrived. She was watching TV when I walked in, and greeted me with a cheerful “Hi mom!” I smiled back warmly. “Hi baby,” I said, genuinely curious about her outing. “How did you go today with your father?” Hoping she’d enjoyed herself, I listened intently as she recounted her experience. “It was really exciting,” she began enthusiastically, “Dad showed me a lot of cool mechanical stuff—he had little buildings on a table and demonstrated a leverage system. The little gear drove the bigger one, multiplying the force behind each turn. It moved slower but with far more strength.” Her explanation left me bewildered; those technical terms were new to me. Still, seeing her so captivated by what she’d learned made me smile—it sounded interesting to her, and that was a good thing.

“Dad said he would take me to the science museum of engineering next time,” she said excitedly. “That’s wonderful, Naomi,” I replied, genuinely pleased for her enthusiasm. But then she asked, “Can you come with us?” My expression fell; I wasn’t keen on that idea. The notion of Naomi inviting me along with Ian felt uncomfortably like she was trying to reunite her real parents. “We’ll see,” I answered vaguely.

Naomi McGregor

My mother hadn’t given a definite answer, and I couldn’t help but wonder if she wasn’t fond of my dad being around. Their separation felt so strange to me, especially whenever my mother kissed Marcus—I’d always look away. Deep down I knew they belonged together, yet something about their union still felt wrong. And then there was Dad with Helen; she was nice enough, when I saw him kissing her and being affectionate, it felt like a puzzle that didn’t fit.

The following days, Mom purchased my school uniform—a crisp white blouse with delicate buttons, a soft blue cardigan, and a structured blazer. But the worst part was the stiff navy skirt that fell awkwardly at my knees. “Why can’t I just wear shorts instead?” I protested, examining my reflection in the mirror with a frown. Mom shook her head apologetically. “Shorts aren’t allowed, baby,” she explained gently. I grimaced at the unfamiliar outfit; the heavy black shoes pinched my feet with every step. To make matters worse, the blazer bore a prominent embroidered emblem ofPacific Ridge High School. In that moment, staring back at myself, I felt utterly ridiculous—like someone dressed up in clothes meant for a different person entirely.

Mom stared at me, her hand flying to cover her mouth. “Oh Naomi, you look adorable!” she exclaimed, though my own reflection in the mirror filled me with dismay. I shot her a skeptical glance. “Adorable? I look ridiculous,” I argued, gesturing at the stiff skirt and heavy shoes. “How am I supposed to walk in these things?”

Aisha Johnson

Despite Naomi’s obvious discomfort, I had to admit she looked lovely in her new uniform. She’ll adapt soon enough, I reassured myself. Watching her hobble around dramatically in those stiff shoes, I stifled a laugh as she overplayed each “Ow” with theatrical flair.

I adjusted the stiff collar of Naomi’s uniform, a familiar gesture that brought memories flooding back. “I used to do this for Dominic when he started school,” I murmured, fingers trembling slightly as I worked the top button. My vision blurred at the recollection of his childhood scowl so much like hers. In that wistful moment, Naomi’s voice broke through. “Do you think Mom and Dad are okay?” she asked softly, perhaps sensing my thoughts drifting to them. I offered a reassuring nod. “I think they’re just fine—I’m sure they miss you terribly.”

Regarding Naomi’s legal status and establishing her as my daughter, I had reached out to Tasha Reynolds—the very contact Aisha provided before leaving for the island. Tasha directed me to the appropriate legal professionals, and while the process was still underway, they assured us there would be no complications.

I had insisted that Naomi take my surname, Johnson—a decision Ian wholeheartedly supported. This choice greatly simplified the paperwork involved in formalizing our arrangement.

That night as I lay beside Marcus, his breath heavy with exhaustion from his demanding new job. I admired his dedication, feeling my affection for him deepen with each passing day. My thoughts then drifted to Naomi and the profound loss she carried—ripped from her parents without warning. The abrupt separation would have shattered anyone; she was still wrestling with grief, often reminiscing about her idyllic life on the island. She spoke fondly of their cozy home, built by her father’s hands; of exploring the lush jungle with her mother and splashing in clear streams—a cherished past now distant and dreamlike.

As I finally drifted off to sleep, I found myself engulfed by a dense thicket of trees and vines. The ground beneath me was uneven, tangled with gnarled roots jutting up like skeletal fingers. I wore my crisp red corporate dress paired with sleek, expensive heels—an utterly incongruous sight in this wild setting. A sudden chill prickled my skin as panic seized me. Where the hell was I? My eyes snapped open wider when a massive, grotesque creature slithered near my feet, its hideous form freezing me in utter terror.

From the shadows of the dense foliage, a figure emerged. “Aisha?” Ian called out, his voice steady yet edged with confusion. “What are you doing here?” he pressed, studying me intently. It struck me then—I stood on the very island where Naomi had been born, an unsettling realization that sent my pulse racing. “I... don’t know,” I stammered, bewildered by my surroundings and the sheer absurdity of it all. Ian extended his hand to guide me forward. “Just step over the centipede,” he instructed calmly as I grasped his offered support. Only then did I notice the enormous creature slinking nearby, its segmented body confirming that this was indeed a monstrous centipede.

He guided me toward the shoreline where Naomi’s childhood home loomed before us, its sprawling size rivaling that of a small mansion. “Honey, look who I found wandering in the jungle,” Ian announced as Aisha emerged from the residence. Her eyes widened in disbelief as she recognized me. “Aisha?” she called out, her voice laced with astonishment.

She rushed forward to wrap me in a tight embrace while my mind reeled from the disorienting turn of events. “How’s my baby?” she murmured, her voice trembling with concern for Naomi. I managed only a frantic nod, my throat tight as I whispered, “She’s adapting and misses you terribly.” Tears began streaming down Aisha’s cheeks as she covered her mouth with both hands. Ian stepped closer, his own composure wavering as he added softly, “Tell her we’re always here for her when she needs us.”

I jolted awake, blinking in confusion as reality slowly seeped back in. Oh my god, that had been a dream—but it felt horrifyingly vivid. Naomi must have experienced similar visions; being so absorbed in her life had begun to affect me deeply.

As I prepared for another day at the office, Naomi busied herself getting into her crisp school uniform, ready for her first day of classes. I resolved to accompany her to the entrance, wanting to mark this new beginning with a small gesture of support.

After a hurried breakfast where we bid Dominic and Marcus farewell, Naomi and I stepped outside together, our shoes clicking in unison along the pavement. As we approached the crowded school entrance swarming with students, I turned to her with a reassuring smile. “Remember, call me if you need anything at all,” I said gently, receiving only a silent nod in response.

Naomi Johnson

As we reached the gates, clusters of teenagers filled every corner. Girls huddled near the entrances, chatting animatedly while clutching their bags. Boys lingered nearby, some joining conversations with the girls, others holding hands as they walked together.

As Mom finished saying goodbye, I adjusted my rucksack on my back before stepping through the doors. Clusters of students loitered in every corner—girls huddling near entrances while chattering excitedly, their arms wrapped around books and bags; boys lingered nearby, some joining in the conversations or holding hands with their partners. Amid the buzzing crowd, a few glanced my way with curious stares while others smirked, prompting me to frown slightly in response.

Pushing open the heavy double doors, I found myself adrift in a sea of rushing bodies. Everyone seemed to know exactly where they were going, weaving through the crowded halls with purposeful strides. I tried to keep pace, but it was like swimming upstream—students brushed past me impatiently, one even bumping into my shoulder without so much as an apology. Frustration prickled at the edges of my awareness as I scanned the unfamiliar corridors, searching for any hint of direction amid the chaos.

Mom had mentioned that I needed to report to the reception desk and register my name—they would then direct me where to go. However, I didn’t have the faintest idea where the reception was located. In a moment of desperation, I attempted to ask someone for directions, but everyone seemed engrossed in their own hurried affairs, brushing past me without even a glance.

Then a girl approached me. “Are you lost?” she asked with a knowing smile. I nodded sheepishly, explaining, “I’m trying to find the reception.” Without hesitation, she smirked and offered, “I’ll show you—come with me.” Intrigued, I fell into step behind her. She was striking—a creamy complexion framed by cascades of golden hair that tumbled past her shoulders. Her uniform skirt appeared deliberately shortened; its hem flirted daringly high on her toned thighs, leaving little to imagination.

“You’re going to enjoy it here” she remarked, “What’s your name?” she asked, “Naomi” I responded, perhaps she wanted to be friends I thought. She seemed nice.

We approached a nondescript door and she announced, “Here it is,” swinging it open with an air of assurance. My brow creased with doubt as I peered inside—the cramped space contained only a bucket and mop, familiar items from home. Before I could question her further, I felt the firm pressure of her palm against my back, propelling me forward into the confined area. The door clicked shut behind me, sealing me within those narrow walls.

Muffled giggles filtered through the thin door as realization dawned—I’d been tricked. This wasn’t any reception area; it was nothing more than a cramped closet housing cleaning supplies. I twisted the knob frantically, but it wouldn’t budge, leaving me trapped in the tight confines. Confusion knotted my stomach as I wondered why she had lured me here.

I scanned the pitch-black enclosure, panic rising as I realized escape was not immediately forthcoming. The suffocating closeness of the walls pressed in from every side, amplifying my aversion to confined spaces. With growing desperation I pounded on the unyielding door, but my efforts yielded only the distant sounds of indifferent footsteps passing by outside—each one a reminder that help would not be coming anytime soon.

The door creaked open and I blinked against the sudden light, finding myself facing a man dressed in a different uniform. “What are you doing in here?” he demanded sharply. My voice trembled as I stammered an explanation, “I... I was looking for the reception.” He gave a curt nod before ushering me out. “Reception is down that hall and turn left,” he said gruffly. I hurried away, only to see clusters of snickering girls and boys who seemed to relish my humiliation.

I finally located the reception, though no thanks to that deceitful blonde girl. Her smirking face was now seared into my mind—a permanent reminder never to trust her and a motivator for eventual retribution.

A kind-looking woman introduced herself as Mrs. Harper, the principal; she appeared around my mother’s age. With a gentle demeanor, she led me to a classroom filled with students seated at desks. At the front stood a man in a suit who reminded me of my father’s age. “This is Naomi Johnson,” he announced with a welcoming nod. “She’s starting today.” He gestured warmly towards an empty desk. “It’s a pleasure to have you Naomi, please, take that seat over there,” he invited with a sincere smile.

I settled into my seat, placing my bag on the floor as the teacher began his lecture on global locations. My gaze drifted through the room until it landed on the blonde girl who shoved me into that room. She met my stare with a smug grin, and a cold unease prickled its way up my spine. There was something off about her, something I couldn’t quite put my finger on—and the fact that she’d targeted me without even knowing me only deepened my mistrust.

“That’s Joanna,” a girl beside me whispered. I turned toward her, noticing how she’d leaned in close to speak softly. “She’s a real bitch,” she added, her voice barely audible. “I’m so sorry—I wanted to help when she locked you in the janitor’s closet.” Her gaze dropped in guilt as she admitted, “But if I did, Joanna would have targeted me too.” I frowned, studying the girl across the room whose mere presence seemed to instill fear in everyone around her. Who was she, really?

“She’s just trying to intimidate you,” the girl beside me murmured. Turning to face her, I asked skeptically, “What can she do?” The girl shook her head dismissively. “She’s just popular—lots of friends, dates all the cute guys. You know what I mean.” But honestly, I didn’t have a clue what she was getting at.

The girl sitting beside me introduced herself as Zuri. I noticed that her skin shared a similar shade to my mother’s—what people often called “black,” though in reality, it was a rich, dark brown. It struck me as odd how society reduced such complexions to simple labels like black or white; those terms had never truly resonated with me.

“What is that man talking about?” I asked, gesturing toward the teacher. Zuri blinked in surprise. “That’s Mr. Richards,” she explained, “he’s teaching Geography.” I stared back at her blankly.

Mr. Richards handed out textbooks, their pages brimming with dense paragraphs and vibrant images of distant lands. Though my parents had taught me to read, deciphering these complex texts felt daunting.

As I pored over the textbook, mesmerized by its intricate maps and vivid descriptions, a sudden impact jolted me. Something had struck my head—a crumpled ball of paper lay discarded on the floor. I glanced down at it, momentarily puzzled. The gesture seemed utterly pointless, yet there was Joanna smirking across the room. Was she deliberately provoking me?

Zuri murmured, “Ignore it,” as I frowned in confusion. Reaching for my notebook—its pages pristine and untouched—I tore out a sheet. Carefully I fashioned one strip into a slender cone, sharpening its tip until it gleamed like a tiny dagger. Another strip I curled tightly into a tube resembling bamboo. Sliding the dart inside, I aimed the makeshift blowgun toward Joanna’s back. My breath rushed out in a fierce burst, propelling the paper projectile silently across the room.

The paper dart cut silently through the classroom air before embedding its sharp tip into Joanna’s scalp. With a sudden yelp “Ow!“, she leapt from her seat, fingers frantically searching her hair as shock registered across her face. Zuri’s gaze snapped to mine, her eyes rounding with disbelief. “Naomi? What have you done?” she whispered urgently.

All the other students’ gazes flickered toward Joanna. “What seems to be the issue here?” Mr. Richards inquired, his tone measured. Joanna glared at me, fury flashing in her eyes, while a triumphant smirk played across my lips. “It’s that new girl,” she spat accusingly, holding up the crumpled paper dart. “She threw this at me—it really stung!” In an instant, every head swiveled in my direction, a mixture of genuine intrigue and barely concealed amusement lighting up their faces.

Then Mr. Richards approached me, looming over my desk as I peered up at him. Uh oh, was I in some kind of trouble? “Naomi?” he asked pointedly. “Did you throw that dart at Joanna?” His tone left no room for evasion. I nodded quickly, my admission hanging in the air between us. He let out a weary sigh, his gaze fixed on me. “Your first day and causing trouble already,” he remarked with a hint of disapproval. I stared back at him, bewildered by his accusation. “But she locked me in a room and threw this at my head—I think I had a right to hurt her,” I shot back defensively.

Aisha Johnson

Within two hours of Naomi starting school, I found myself seated in the principal’s office. My daughter perched beside me while Mrs. Harper sat behind her desk, her presence imposing. I hadn’t even managed to finish my morning coffee before this meeting was thrust upon me.

Mrs. Harper placed the crumpled paper dart on her desk. I picked it up, turning it over in disbelief as I examined its crude folds and sharp creases. My gaze shifted to Naomi, who met my stare with an unsettling resolve. “You did this?” The question slipped from my lips, heavy with surprise. Naomi gave a curt nod, her expression devoid of remorse but tinged with a strange pride. I’d anticipated some challenges during her transition to this new environment, but never so soon. A knot of unease tightened in my chest; I’d expected to have more time before being pulled into such confrontations.

“I know it’s Naomi’s first day,” Mrs. Harper began, her tone measured. “She needs time to adjust, but we cannot allow something like this to happen again.” She paused, glancing toward Naomi, who lowered her head in silence. After a moment, Naomi murmured softly, “Okay.”

“I know this is all new for her and that she’ll adapt, but she really needs help adjusting socially,” I explained as Mrs. Harper nodded slowly in agreement. “That girl who shoved Naomi into the closet and threw that paper ball at her did it completely unprovoked,” I added pointedly. Mrs. Harper responded, “I’m fully aware of what happened, and we’re addressing it—but Naomi must learn there are better ways to handle conflict.”

As we exited the principal’s office, Naomi turned to me, her voice earnest. “Am I in trouble?” I shook my head gently. “No, baby,” I reassured her, adding firmly, “But you need to stop making weapons.” I watched her carefully, hoping my words sank in.

After ensuring Naomi could resume her classes, I set off for work with an unexpected chuckle. The absurdity of the situation—my daughter fashioning paper projectiles—struck me as both alarming and strangely amusing. Nonetheless, I had no choice but to disrupt my schedule at the office to address this matter promptly.

As I returned to my department, the weight of corporate formality settled upon me once more. At his desk, Simon was already immersed in work. Over the years, I’d often been severe with him—yet despite my sternness, he remained steadfast and dependable. In truth, my rigidity had less to do with his conduct and more with my own guarded disposition around him.

Simon called out to me, and when I turned toward him, he announced, “Coffee’s ready on your desk.” With a knowing grin, he added, “Just the way you like it!” I couldn’t resist a wry smile as I replied, “That’s not fair, Simon—trying to soften me up right before I was going to give you an earful.” My tone carried genuine camaraderie.

Over the weekend, Naomi had persuaded me to join her and her father at the science of engineering museum; Marcus was less than thrilled about it, but I convinced him that it was all for Naomi’s benefit.

As we wandered through the galleries showcasing history’s accomplishments, I found myself less captivated than Ian and Naomi. While they marveled at every exhibit, I merely observed with mild interest—the ancient telephones tracing their origins, the colossal machinery once powered by water or oil, now silent relics from centuries past.

As Ian passionately explained the ingenious ways engineers had conceived those early inventions, I listened with genuine fascination, his enthusiasm drawing me into the marvels of human innovation.

Ian McGregor

As we strolled among the exhibits, I recalled countless prior visits to this very hall. Yet Naomi’s captivation with each display never ceased to surprise me. She possessed an innate gift for understanding mechanics, a talent nurtured during her time on that remote island where she’d most likely crafted ingenious devices from whatever the island offered. To me she would be the true engineering innovator.

I elaborated to Naomi on how those inventions addressed the challenges of their time. I then affirmed that she shared the same innovative spirit, telling her that with dedication, she could become a brilliant engineer herself.

Naomi Johnson

I had never seen anything like those amazing machines before. They were old, but everything felt new to me. It amazed me that people could build such incredible things even back then.

“There’s a lot more to see, Naomi,” Dad remarked as I lingered over one display. We moved forward, entering an area that delved deeper into history. “These pieces go back to the Iron Age,” he explained, gesturing toward ancient weapons—swords, armor, and bows and arrows. My pulse quickened as I studied them; their designs resonated with what I had fashioned myself on the island.

“I made these on the island, I used to hunt wild boars,” I said proudly. Mom and Dad exchanged astonished glances. “Really?” they asked together in disbelief.

For a moment, I could almost imagine these were my true parents—the sensation was strangely comforting. Still, I noticed how they remained at a distance from one another, their postures cool and detached despite the warmth of our shared discovery.

We went to the museum cafe and sat down. Dad gave me some green tea to drink. He said it was healthy for me. I didn’t really like the taste, but after adding a little sugar it was okay.

I kept seeing Mom look at Dad now and then, but her face wasn’t filled with love like my real mother’s was. That moment made me miss my real mom and dad so much.

Ian McGregor

Sugar in green tea, I mused silently. Teenagers, I supposed, could only be pushed so far. Unease prickled at me as I sat there with Aisha opposite me; I hadn’t mentioned to Helen that she’d be coming along today—I wanted to sidestep any pointless squabbles.

“Naomi got into trouble on her first day at school,” Aisha said to me. I turned to Naomi. “What happened?” I asked. She told us that the bully Joanna had locked her in the janitor’s closet and that Naomi had shot a paper dart right into Joanna’s head. I couldn’t help but chuckle, “With your skills, that school wouldn’t know what hit them.” But Aisha quickly added, “That’s not the message we should be sending to our daughter, Ian.”

Naomi flashed a playful smile. “What are you grinning at?” Aisha asked, trying to sound stern. “Nothing,” Naomi shrugged, though her eyes sparkled with mischief. “You both sound just like my real mom and dad when they argued.” Her words hung in the air for a moment before Aisha and I both felt heat rush to our cheeks.

“It’s getting late, maybe we should head back,” I suggested, aiming to ease the tension.

After dropping off Naomi and Aisha at their house, I returned home with a heavy breath. I found myself growing fond of Naomi, yet I knew I mustn’t let those feelings interfere with my immediate family. My own children were now old enough that they didn’t require my constant supervision, and they seemed to welcome Naomi’s occasional visits. It was rather nice watching Emily take on the role of an older sister to her.

Helen approached me. “How was the trip to the museum?” she asked. “It went well,” I replied. “Naomi has a real talent for engineering—she found it all quite exciting.” Helen nodded thoughtfully. I glanced around the room and then asked, “Where’s Emily?” She paused briefly before answering, “She’s upstairs, getting ready to meet her friends.”

“Aisha mentioned Naomi got into trouble on her first day at school,” I said, shit! That just slipped out. “What do you mean? Was Aisha there as well?” she asked. I nodded hesitantly, “Yeah, Naomi wanted her to come along.” This wasn’t good. “So!” she started off and added “Naomi is trying to bring you two together, I see.” My eyes widened and I shook my head, “Of course not, she wanted her mother there with her that’s all.”

The conversation dragged on much longer than I’d hoped. I had really put my foot in it this time - Helen would surely grill me every time I saw Naomi from now on.

Naomi Johnson

As the days passed, I grew more at ease in school. Zuri was a good friend, and we ate lunch together pretty much every day. She was super smart too, helping me figure out what was going on.

Joanna kept trying to mess with me, always looking for ways to scare me or trip me up when I lost my balance. I got so mad I almost choked her, but Zuri grabbed my arm just in time. Still, I found a way to pay her back. In woodworking class, which was one of my favorites, I borrowed a hacksaw and cut a little notch in the back legs of her chair so it looked fine but wouldn’t hold weight. When she finally sat down, the legs snapped and she crashed hard onto the floor.

She knew I did it, but nobody else figured it out. I thought to myself, if they don’t catch me, I’ll stay out of trouble.

At home, Mom helped me with homework. We went through math, geography, computing, and lots of other stuff. It felt like so much work. If this was what city life was like—with homework all the time—I’d find a way to escape back to the island.

Mom quizzed me about the Pacific and the islands, calling it “Elementary Geography.” Then she got quiet, muttering to herself, “Where have I heard that before?”

“I heard Dad say that to me on the island,” I told her, noticing how Mom’s eyes narrowed in thought.

Aisha Johnson

I felt a tap on my shoulder. Startled, I jolted awake and glanced around in bewilderment. “Excuse me, sorry to bother you,” he said. Turning my head sharply to the right, I recognized him instantly. “Ian?” He peered at me with a puzzled expression. “How did you know my name?” he asked as I scanned our surroundings. In that instant I realized we were aboard a plane—Japan Airlines Flight 15 years prior—and I had been seated beside him en route home. “I just needed to go to the bathroom, may I?” he requested politely. As I stood up, memories of that precise moment flooded back vividly. He walked toward the restroom but paused to glance back at me with an intrigued gaze before disappearing down the aisle.

I remembered needing to use the restroom too. So I stood and waited my turn, almost as if my body was operating independently, replaying those moments exactly as they had occurred. Nothing unusual happened that I could recall.

Then the plane shook violently. I struggled to stay standing, but something about that moment felt unfamiliar. I saw Ian opening the bathroom door just as he was about to exit when suddenly the plane lurched upward. Off balance, I tumbled forward and collided with him, sending us both crashing back inside the cramped toilet cubicle amid a shower of debris.

My eyes blinked open to the familiar comfort of my bedroom, Marcus still asleep beside me. I was drenched in sweat as my chest heaved with ragged breaths. What the hell had just happened? The question echoed in my mind.

That dream felt too real, yet I knew the event hadn’t occurred—I never actually fell into Ian on that plane. Then it struck me: Island Ian had mentioned how Aisha had literally tumbled into his lap during the crash. This was their ordeal, not mine. But why was I reliving this memory?