Her Guardian Angel Autumn-

Autumn-

Today belongs to me.

Mrs. Camden and Mia are out shopping, and I said I wasn’t feeling up to it. This little piece of good news means that I am here by myself for at least two glorious hours! I set up my easel in the garage and prop up a beautifully blank canvas. After changing into some fraying jean shorts and a paint-splattered shirt, I tie up my hair in a sloppy bun and pop in my earbuds. My phone plays the recordings of myself playing my guitar. The music is a little jarring at first, but it’s so familiar and so very me. I haven’t felt like me for a while. The steady sound of my chords being strummed calms me. It’s like the magic words that whisk me away to my happy place.

The first stroke is green. But not a vivid lime green. More like a quiet emerald. My hand moves next to a splotch of blue on my paint palette. It mixes nicely with the green. Then I add some brown. Before I know it, I’ve painted a forest of hazel. I stare in puzzlement at my masterpiece. There’s something minorly confusing, but I can’t exactly place what it is. But I also don’t want to use up another canvas, so I quickly gather up my paints and brushes and stumble back to Mia’s room. I’ve gotten better with walking, but I’m NOWHERE near as good as I used to be. And I feel like I walk with a peg-leg. But the wheelchair made me look weak.

I don’t want to look weak anymore.

While I plop down on Mia’s floor and pick up my guitar, I’m startled by my music cutting out and a ding fills my ears. Quickly, I rip one earbud out and glance irritably at my phone. My irritation fades when I realize that it’s a text from Jordan.

Wanna come to a movie on Monday night? It reads.

What movie? I text back.

Greatest Showman, she replies.

Sounds great! I’m about to put my phone away when another text lights up the screen.

Cool! It’ll be u, me, Sophie, Carson, Mia, and Adam.

“Adam?” I sputter, dropping my phone on the carpet. How does she even know him? Who’s Adam? I text instead, wondering if it could possibly be a different Adam.

He’s from Mia’s skool. Adam...Michael? Something with an “M”. Anyways, Mia says he’s cool.

Adam Malach? I ask, already knowing the answer.

Yeah! Oh, u know him?

Yeah kinda.

I guess you could say that. I see Jordan’s texting bubble pop back up, but I shove my phone back into my pocket, because I really don’t want to talk about school. I glance around Mia’s room and my eyes land on my painting of the hazel forest.

Hazel.

Hazel. Like his eyes. The eyes of the strange boy who seems to follow me into my new school and my new home and to a get-together with my friends. He followed me into my art. I wonder if he’ll follow me into my music.

I pull out my orange binder with chords and lyrics to different songs. I flip to a random one, and then press the recording button on my phone. And I begin to strum.

The funny thing about music is that it can transport you to a place you could never ever go. There’s something so magical about the harmonies and melodies all combined. A mingled mess of something that turns out to be beautiful. How can you explain music to someone who can’t hear? Would it makes sense to describe it as emotions that you don’t see, but feel, deep within your bones? But that doesn’t do it justice, I don’t think. The only way I can describe it as is my escape.

Double-checking to make sure that nobody except me is home, I shift my position and flatten out my music. Then I strum.

And I sing.

But I soon find that my mouth doesn’t sing the lyrics that are printed on the page and my fingers play different chords. I am momentarily confused. Am I...making up a song? My fingers keep moving and a smile plays on my lips. Here I was, thinking that playing the guitar couldn’t get any cooler, and now I’m composing my own music! With nobody here I am free to pour my heart out into these lyrics. In some small, stupid way it’s like telling all my troubles to my guitar. It’s good to have a friend who won’t judge me. My voice rings loud and clear, and for a moment, I actually feel beautiful.

“Far from the arms that were cold and foreboding

Here is the place I can stay

Safe in the home of those who will love me

You are never more than a breath away

You say the forest is dark

And the river is cold

You will let me stay here

Call me a Heart of Gold

And if I stray

Your arms will never be so far away

The meadow is whispering

Can you hear it in the trees?

The brook is crashing

With the humming of bees

This land, you my lover, have promised to me

This is the place I will stay

Safe in the arms of you, who love me

I will never be so far away.”

I pause. The lyrics suddenly shift. They become...different. And I can’t stop them from pouring between my lips.

“Here is a place I can stay

You say that you love me

You say that you want me

But from reality I wish I could stray…”

Suddenly, a surge of anger overtakes me. I’m furious with myself for having these pitiful thoughts, Angrily, I throw the orange binder across the room. Brooding, I shove my guitar away and wipe my sweaty palms on my legs, surprised to see that they are covered in goosebumps. I glance at the thermometer on Mia’s purple wall. It reads 75 degrees. Not cold, not hot. It’s in a category of its own. I like to call it Perfect.

It’s on my list of things I’d like to be. But I try not to think like that.

•••••••••••

Dinner today is different. For the past three nights, Mrs. Camden has ordered Pizza Hut and allowed Mia and me to eat in Mia’s room. I have to admit, I am a little tired of pizza right now, but it was nice to just sit and chat with Mia like we’re just two friends hanging out. Not a girl who moved in with her friend’s family because her parents need to sort out some problems.

Tonight, however, Mrs. Camden pokes her head in the doorway where Mia and I are lying on our backs on our beds. Mia’s listening to Shawn Mendes. One of her earbuds is in her ear while the other is popped in mine. Mia is busy flipping through an edition of Reader’s Digest and I’m reading Percy Jackson.

“Girls,” Mrs. Camden says, running her fingers through her black silky hair. In this lighting, the rouge on her cheeks looks very vibrant. I sit up and pull out the earbud. It yanks out Mia’s too and she jokingly scowls and smacks me across the head with her magazine.

“Amelia,” her mother chastises, shaking her head and crossing her arms.

Embarrassed, I place my bookmark between the pages.

“I’m making chicken alfredo,” Mrs. Camden tells us. “I’d like you girls to be down in three minutes.” She walks away, closing the door behind her.

I glance uncertainly at Mia who shrugs and and tumbles off her bed. She pulls her hair back with a hot pink scrunchie, her mass of frizzy brown curls spiraling down her back. She hands me my pearly crutch. “Come on, Autumn. Let’s go.”

I follow her down the stairs. I can hear their dog, Boomer, barking frantically, and Mia’s two younger sisters squealing and clapping their hands. Don’t get me wrong, I love Azalea–or Lea, as everyone calls her–and little Paisley. But I really don’t like to hear screeching.

Mr. Camden smiles at me from under his mustache. I give a timid wave and slide into the empty seat between Mia and Lea. Mrs. Camden passes out glass plates and fills out crystal glasses with icy water. The ice cubes float to the top. I stare at them, mesmerized at the way they bounce about.

Mia snickers. “Haven’t you seen ice before?”

I throw her a grin and stick my tongue out. “Ha ha.”

Boomer barks and runs under the table, coming to rest between my legs.

“Boomer, down!” Mia scolds.

“Boomer, down!” echos Paisley.

Mrs. Camden comes to the table holding a white dish filled with salad. Mia shovels some onto her plate and then mine. She glances around the table with a frown. “Ranch?”

Mrs. Camden shakes her head. “Not anymore. We’ve moved on to healthier things. Presenting, the Italian Vinaigrette!” she places a plastic bottle onto the table that in my opinion looks heavenly. But Mia scowls.

“You know,” she says, flicking the bottle with her finger. “You always tell me to stand out from the crowd. Almost all high school girls at my school are set on being skinny.”

Mrs. Camden raises an eyebrow. “That rule applies for how you dress and what kind of music you listen to. That lovey-dovey Pop kills brain cells.”

I decide not to mention that Mia was listening to Shawn Mendes.

“A lot of stupid jock guys think skinny girls are pretty,” Mia adds, eyeing her dad. “And you don’t want me to start dating yet, do you?”

“Any guy worth your time will like you just the way you are. And besides, didn’t you call them stupid?”

Mia sighs and flops backward into her chair, staring mournfully at the vinaigrette. Stifling a laugh, I nudge the bottle towards her.

“No!” she declares. “I will eat my salad plain!”

“After we pray,” corrects Mr. Camden.

“Well, yeah.”

Lea’s hand shoots up into the air. “I wanna say grace, Daddy! Can I? Can I?”

Mr. Camden nods and everybody bows their heads.

“Dear God,” Lea begins. “Thanks for food. Thanks for family Thanks for school. Please help Autumn’s parents to not want her back so that we can adopt her. And thanks that they are bad people so that Autumn could come. Amen.”

There is a heavy and stunned silence. I feel poker-hot stares on me as I stare blankly at my water glass. Then all of a sudden shouts erupt around me.

“Lea! How could you say such a thing?!”

“Never say anything like that again, do you hear me?”

“Mia, stop it!”

“Shut up, Paisley!”

“Mia! Paisley! That’s enough!”

“EVERYBODY SIT DOWN!” Mr. Camden pounds on the table. Mrs. Camden stands behind me, her arms on my shoulders.

“Lea, I want you to go to your room.”

“But, Mama, what did I–”

“Don’t argue with your mother, Azalea. Paisley, you go too,” Mr. Camden says sharply.

The tone of his voice terrifies me. I glance at Mia who is fixing her little sisters with a dark glare. As if they are they mistake in this family. But that’s not fair, I don’t think. I am the one who shouldn’t be here.

But what did Lea mean? My parents are not bad people. Unless...the Camden’s have been hiding something from me over my stay here. And the longer I watch them, the more I think that it is possible.

Lea and Paisley trudge upstairs, Lea sobbing. Once their door closes, Mrs. Camden sighs.

“Autumn,” she says and I turn to face her.

My eyes hold tears. “You’ve been lying to me, haven’t you?”

She has the decency to look contrite.

“Something about my family…”

Mia glances nervously between my face and her parents. “Mom? Lying? What does she mean?”

“Azalea shouldn’t have said those things,” Mrs. Camden murmurs, sliding a hand down her face. “She wasn’t even supposed to find out.”

“I thought you wouldn’t keep stuff from me!” my voice breaks.

Mrs. Camden’s arms go around my shoulders but I stiffen and she pulls away, her hands hovering in the air like delicate flowers, afraid to break.

Mia says the words that I am too afraid to say. “You better tell Autumn everything.”

I am very grateful to have a friend like her.

Mrs. Camden sits down in Mr. Camden’s lap and he hugs her tight. The romantic sight is very sweet, but I cannot stop being angry with them. A slow tear slides down her face and falls down her chin.

“Tell me,” I beg.

“Just keep in mind that what I withheld, I did for your own benefit.”

A sinking feeling fills my chest and my heart almost forgets how to function. Those words don’t sound too good and I am at once terrified beyond imagination. I want somebody to hold me the way Mr. Camden is holding his wife.

“I can handle it.” That’s a lie. I know it as soon as the words shove themselves through my lips.

And Mrs. Camden knows it. “That’s the thing, Autumn. I’m not so sure that you can.”