Rediscovering Odette

Ten Years Ago

“Ughhh,” I groaned as the annoying sound of my alarm jolted me from my beauty sleep. I couldn’t believe it was Monday again. Personally, I loathed Mondays; they marked the end of a lovely weekend and the start of yet another boring, monotonous cycle that was, sadly, my life. You see, my parents—or more precisely, my papa—held a firm belief that the best way to keep my mamma’s memory alive was by immersing me in everything she had loved. Unfortunately, that meant I had a packed schedule every day of the week: school from 8:00 a.m. to 4:00 p.m., then ballet classes on Tuesdays and Thursdays from 4:00 p.m. to 6:00 p.m. On days without ballet, my schedule was littered with piano lessons and whatever else my dear father deemed appropriate for a young lady my age.

Groaning, I got out of bed and headed to the shower. After a long, hot shower that did nothing to wake me up, I knew I needed at least a cup of Earl Grey to truly kickstart my brain. I turned to the mirror. “Time to tackle and tame the beast,” I said to my reflection, gazing forlornly at my massive mane of hair. I’d considered chopping it off multiple times out of frustration but restrained myself because it was the only thing I’d inherited from my mother. You see, my father is Italian, and their genes are notoriously strong, so I had his face, his nose, and the captivating Italian build and stare. My eyes, however, were “tainted,” according to my insufferable aunt. She couldn’t grasp that I didn’t choose to have heterochromia; it wasn’t my fault I had two different-colored eyes. My mother had called them a “beautiful gift from the gods,” saying, “Your eyes, my sweet love, are like the rarest of gems—one the shade of the most beautiful forest and the other the richest of honeys.” If only the kids at school agreed. I’d taken to wearing brown contacts to help me blend in.

After a painstaking 30 minutes and nearly half a tub of gel, I managed to wrestle my auburn hair into a respectable chignon at the nape of my neck and headed downstairs. “Morning, Papa,” I greeted, kissing my father on the cheek.

“Cara Mia, you’ll be late. And you know I hate it when you wear those awful contraptions in your eyes,” he chided.

“Oh, Papa, they’re called contacts, and besides, they help me see more clearly,” I lied, hoping he’d drop it.

“All right, all right, I’ll let it go. But you know your mamma loved your eyes,” he said, his gaze drifting to the portrait of her that hung in the breakfast room. He did that a lot since she passed away. I knew it hurt him when I tried to bury the features she’d given me behind half-truths about eye defects or school regulations for my hair.

“I know, Papa, but I have a test, and you’d want me to excel, wouldn’t you?” I tried to steer him from his grief.

“Oh, all right. But promise you won’t be late tonight.”

“The opera that Mama used to attend when she was pregnant with me is on tonight. Yes, Papa, I know,” I said, interrupting him. “I won’t be late. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” I hugged him goodbye and exited the house before he could find something else to complain about.

I hurried out the front door, hopped into my red Porsche, and sped off to school. “I always forget how much I hate this place,” I muttered as I drove past the sign that read “Ranksand College.” I maneuvered my car into my usual spot before heading into the looming building. As I walked past people, I was reminded once again how truly and utterly alone I was—until I heard a familiar voice yelling my name down the hall.

“Odette! Odette!” I turned to see my best friend—my only friend, really—Anton sprinting toward me.

“Hi there, Swan,” he teased, pulling at my hair and unraveling the chignon I’d spent close to an hour on.

“Hey! That’s not fair!” I pouted, quickly trying to pull my hair back into a bun before it went wild.

“What’s not fair?” he asked, his gray eyes—like the sky before a thunderstorm—fixed on me.

“You know how hard it is to manage this hornet’s nest on my head,” I said in mock annoyance. He only laughed, running his fingers through his blonde hair, which was so light it was almost white. It was one of the reasons we were friends; I had two different-colored eyes, and he had hair so strikingly pale that he looked like an anime character. We were the oddities in a sea of brown-haired boys and identically eyed girls. Although, I had a feeling he could have more friends than me; he was incredibly handsome and could have climbed the social ladder if he weren’t stuck with me.

“Well, if you’d stop trying to conform to the impossible standards of barely pubescent teenagers, you’d be a lot happier with your hair and a lot less paranoid about it being called the Loch Ness monster—which, by the way, it doesn’t resemble in the slightest,” he said pointedly. “And don’t think I haven’t noticed you’re still wearing those horrible contacts. You know you don’t have any eye defects, right?”

“Firstly, you’re also a barely pubescent teenager, and secondly, if I let my hair loose, I’d look like the Loch Ness monster,” I retorted, emphasizing the “would” as I grabbed his hand and dragged him to our AP Biology class.

“Firstly,” he said, mimicking my tone, “I am decidedly not a pubescent teenager. Mindy can tell you all about that,” he smirked.

I gagged internally. “I really don’t want to hear about your ‘sexcapades,’” I said, visibly shuddering.

He winked at me and continued. “Secondly, you wouldn’t look like the Loch Ness monster. And even if you did, we’d start a magical creatures club, with you as the Loch Ness monster chairwoman and me, the ever-handsome wizard, as secretary,” he said, smiling.

“And we would lord over our troops of insipidly boring human subordinates,” he added, ruffling my hair like I was a dog.

“What ever would we do in our spare time, seeing as we’d be so busy lording and all?” I asked, dodging his hand before he could frizz my hair further. He had an uncanny knack for making my hair look wild.

“Oh, we’d drink their blood and count our money,” he said, scrunching his face and pounding his fist on the table. I couldn’t help but keel over with laughter at how cute he looked.

“Oi, Anthony!” one of our classmates called out.

“It’s Anton, not Anthony, you dipstick! You’d think you’d know by now, considering how loud your mom screamed it last night,” Anton retorted venomously.

People around us snickered. It had become something of a trend for people to call him “Anthony” instead of “Anton,” and he hated it, saying they were trying to erase his identity.

“Funny, albino. The principal’s looking for you, Antony,” the guy, whose name I couldn’t remember, sneered.

“Call me Antony one more time, Jeff, I dare you,” Anton said angrily, standing up to glare at him. Ah, Jeff—that was his name. It was forgettable, much like the guy himself.

“What are you gonna do about it, huh? Report me to Daddy Malfoy?” Jeff sneered, provoking Anton further.

“It’s not worth the detention you’ll get,” I said, hoping to defuse the situation. Anton looked at me, then took one last glare at Jeff before storming out of the room. I glared at Jeff, just as I was about to chastise him—a decision I’d surely regret—when our teacher walked in, and class began.

Mr. Perez, our biology teacher, droned on about the Krebs cycle for the entire double period, but I found it nearly impossible to focus. Anton’s absence weighed heavily on my mind. I tried to discreetly text him, asking if he was all right, but just as I was about to hit send, my phone was snatched from my hands.

“No phones in class, Falcone. You know that,” Mr. Perez said, placing my phone on his desk. “Detention after school today. You can retrieve it then,” he added with finality.

After AP Bio, I headed to philosophy class. The empty seat beside me, which Anton usually filled, left me even more worried. By the time lunch arrived, I was bordering on paranoia. Anton had never missed a day of school, so whatever was going on had to be serious. I really hoped his family was okay.