Chapter 1
The town of Hillsdale stayed green throughout the year. Seasons came and went — the warmest of summer days, the chilliest of winter nights, the wettest of April showers, and the driest of August heat waves. But the little town never lost its luster. Surrounded by evergreen hills that bore yellow patches only in the summer months, Hillsdale was home to a small population of like-minded people. People in this town were content with their lives. Most of them started and ended their days in the same way, every single day. Most kids were happy to eat PB&J sandwiches for lunch — every single day. Most parents were glad to live in the same place and do the same job for the rest of their lives. Life at Hillsdale, for the most part, was simple.
However, not everything was sunshine and rainbows. Some were always in a hurry, as if somebody were chasing them and forcing them to work their way out of the town that sometimes felt too restrictive and limiting. They had no intention of settling for a monotonous life void of adventure and excitement. They never gave themselves time to look around and breathe. Life was a race, and Hillsdale was definitely only the starting point.
Beneath those hills that housed luxurious mansions spaced several yards apart from each other, with large backyards the size of a small golf course – complete with a glistening swimming pool, a gazebo, or both – where the perfectly laid out fresh pavement spiraled downhill into the heart of the town, stood a park that reflected a patch of luscious green grass contrasted with the vibrant colors of well-maintained flowerbeds. When one walked past the park, into the depths of the town, the pavement started to look cracked and uneven, as if the polished, aristocratic smile on the town’s face was fading to reveal what was really beneath the surface.
The road curved slightly left from Pebble Avenue into Rosemary Drive, marking the beginning of the lower-middle class neighborhood of Hillsdale. At the very end of the street stood a cozy suburban house. The house looked humble – paint fading, walls peeling, no bigger than fifteen-hundred square feet – but it still kept itself distinct from its neighboring houses. Grandma Sage attended to her charming little yard every morning. She grew almost every kind of plant and flower there was and knew all about them. She named each and every one of them, and talked to them like they were her own children.
A botanist, an avid reader, and a strict Buddhist – Grandma Sage was a knowledgeable, wise, and pleasant, saintly sort of woman who always kept her calm and guarded her home from any bit of negative energy. Her granddaughter, on the other hand, was anything and everything but Grandma Sage.
“Willow!” Grandma called softly, in her feeble voice that never rose above a certain decibel – she believed it was noise pollution. Putting her gardening gloves away, “Willow, honey,” she repeated, as she entered the darkest bedroom in the house at the moment and hit the lights on. “It’s eight in the morning.” Willow groaned as Grandma pushed the curtains open. God, how she hated the morning light. “Get dressed in ten minutes and have some breakfast. I don’t want you to go to school hungry again,” she said sternly.
Willow yawned and nodded in response, harshly rubbing her still closed eyes. She got a faint whiff of freshly brewed coffee which awakened her senses. “Now,” Grandma demanded and left the room. The smell of coffee meant the start of yet another uneventful day in this godforsaken town. She buried her head in her flattened pillow and let out another deep, visceral groan. Once her eyes adjusted to the light, the tiny cactus sitting on her window-sill caught her eye, and she stared at it for a whole minute, inwardly forcing to wake the rest of her body up. Right outside the window were a bunch of tiger lilies, beaming at her with their spotty orange petals. Taking a deep breath, she pushed herself down the bed and into the bathroom to start her day.
Her closet was pretty dull — jeans, shorts, shirts, mostly neutral colored. Maybe a bright colored dress or a cute top that had been tucked away without a single use for several years. She grabbed the first thing she could find and got dressed rather quickly, still unwilling to start the day. She hastily dried her hair and took one look at her reflection in the mirror. Dark circles and a tight knot between her eyebrows. Her lips were pale and peeling, and a thin trail of mustache had started to grow. “Wow,” she deadpanned before looking away. She made a mental note to get more sleep and spend some time on her appearance, but knew at the back of her mind that she could only hope to find such time.
The smell of coffee grew stronger as she entered the dining room. Even though she hardly ever drank coffee, the smell would linger on her clothes every day, and every person who met her would remark that she smelled like a café. Grandma made her soy scrambled “eggs” for breakfast this morning. Her veganism stood in the way of Willow’s happiness, but she secretly enjoyed meat and dairy once safely out of Grandma's sight. “Grandma, I told you, I just wanna have some real eggs for breakfast at least once a week,” she whined. “We do not speak of any animal products in this house. It's cruel,” Grandma responded. She rolled her eyes and reluctantly cleared up her plate. Before Grandma could offer another serving, she grabbed her backpack and scrambled out the door, hastily shouting apologies and excuses that she was going to be late.
Willow Sage Blume was a restless sort of girl. She often found herself scurrying from one place to another, trying to manage a million tasks all at once. Relaxation was never an option for her; she partially funded her own education with her hard-earned money. Every morning would begin the same way – she left home at least an hour early so she could hit the library and finish up her assignments from the previous day. Today was the same. All she got was five hours of sleep before a painfully similar day began.
As she biked her way to Hillsdale Community College, she racked up her brains and recollected the to-do list for the day, mentally planning out every event. The August heat warmed up her partially dried hair, and made her grimace at the warm wetness on her scalp. She was sweating profusely, wishing she could drive herself to school instead. Grandma believed that morning exercise would do her good, but Willow could swear that it only made her feel worse.
As she pedaled faster and harder, thinking and rethinking about tasks that awaited her, she felt pressure building up in her wheels. Before she could comprehend the situation, the bike’s chain snapped, causing her to lose control of the handle, and her knees and elbows scraped the pavement, all in a few seconds. She yelped in pain, noticing fresh blood oozing out of her bruised skin. Embarrassed, she looked around to check if someone saw her, but fortunately, nobody was around. Sighing in relief, she picked herself and her bike up.
To her right was an empty children’s playpark. Monday morning had snatched all the children away and confined them to the hell-hole of a place they called school. Spotting a bench next to a Disney’s Up! themed slide, she limped her way towards it and took a seat, cursing under her breath – what a great start it was to her most dreaded Monday! She removed her helmet and tousled her sweaty, messy hair. Grandma always joked that her pixie haircut made her look like a high school boy, and Willow did not disagree. She intended to grow her hair out this year. She pulled out her water bottle and poured water on her bruises, wincing and grimacing. As she proceeded to gently blow on her knee to soothe the pain, she caught a strong whiff of something citrusy. She sniffed harder to confirm. Yes, it smelled of clementines around her. She whipped her head around to find the source of the scent, just when the sound of footsteps approaching became louder with each clomp.
