The harsh buzzer of the alarm on my phone trilled loudly, rousing me from my fitful dreams. I awoke suddenly, full of unease due to my lack of sleep. It had been a long week of insomnia and last-minute homework assignments, so I wasn't feeling my best. It seemed like our teachers were pushing us even harder for our senior year, especially now that everyone was heading towards that college goal line. I jerked my head upwards as the alarm continued to play, slowly assessing where I was. It appeared that I had fallen asleep at the kitchen table yet again. The alarm had woken me mid-dream as the veil was slowly being lifted from my face, which was not a terrible place to end my slumber.

I quickly checked my phone notifications to find a few messages in my group chat with my two best friends, Zola and Sunita. They were asking if I finished the homework, to which I responded yes before switching to the camera on my phone for a quick second to assess my makeup. Falling asleep in random places usually meant a smudge or two, so I tended to nervously check after each nap. In the camera app, I inspected my face, examining all of my familiar features. My dark grey-blue eyes stared back at me, complete with my trademark under-eye circles and thick furrowed eyebrows. I pulled down on my lower eyelids, massaging the deep crescent moon bruises that betrayed my secrets. Dedicated makeup sessions could ease the problem, but I had grown tired of the routine. At some point, I decided to embrace my undead/goth vibe and got really good at putting on smoky eyeshadow. My naturally deep black hair had that pretty kind of vintage curl, which was only a result of me meticulously setting my hair in curlers each night. Any activity I could do was a welcome relief from the endless loop of cryptic dreams that awaited me in my sleep. I found that if I neglected my hair care routine, I would end up with a tangled, frizzy mess, so I tended to stay on top of it. Once by accident, I had cut my bangs too short and found I loved the look. So now I take great care to curl them atop my head each morning in a cute retro style. I've been told I look like Bettie Page if she never slept. I was always a skinny kid, growing up, mostly due to my lack of interest in eating and the health problems that came from not sleeping. But I am happy to report that I have long since filled out since my skinny childhood days. I now enjoy the sight of my slightly pudgy stomach, soft curves, and thick thighs. I joked often to my friends that I had a Botticelli body, a famous painter known for drawing curvier women.

I turned my face left and right in the mirror, checking for any smudged makeup or wild hairs that needed tweezing, but found I was safe for the moment.

"Good enough!" I proclaimed to an empty house, as my grandfather had left to tend the orchard many hours ago. Grandpa George, aka George Hartmann, was my savior. He was a good friend of my parents and the one who battled the foster care system for years until he could adopt me. He gave me the first real home I ever had, and for that, I will be forever grateful.

We lived together on a farm just outside of our small mountain town called Mandeville. Grandpa was famous for his apples, which we sold out every Fall, peddling them at the local farmers market and to all the stores nearby. His ability to grow almost anything meant he had a second job as a consultant, making his way from farm to farm locally, giving out advice for a small fee.

I turned off my phone, tucking it back in my skirt pocket until it was needed again. I wasn't quite ready to rush out the door as I was enjoying my lazy morning. I let out a small satisfied sigh, glancing around at my surroundings. I loved our kitchen. It was the smallest part of the house, but the most vibrant and inviting. There were bright pops of color everywhere, especially from our retro-style, yellow refrigerator and the brightly painted green cabinets. Everything else in the room was a mismatch of different colored woods and random paint colors due to my grandfather expanding his home over the years, without much care for style. Since my arrival ten years ago, I have added a few pieces of decoration here and there, mostly artwork or photos for the wall. I always complained about wanting more cooking appliances, but with limited counter space and a lack of electric outlets, we had to make do with a microwave and a tiny toaster. The kitchen table was small, seating up to four people at a time, as long as they didn't mind eating elbow to elbow. The table was crammed in the only available open space, which was next to the bay window. I loved to sit for hours and stare out the window into our front yard. It was my go-to spot for homework, that was for sure.

I remembered when I first moved in how Grandpa complained that the kitchen was too dark, even with the large bay window. One day, I came home from school to find that he had decided to cut an opening into the kitchen wall, creating a pass-through to the living room. He later filled it so full of houseplants that it nearly blocked the entire opening. I teased him about blocking out most of the light, and he ignored me. I was convinced Grandpa would fill the whole house with plants if I let him.

I smiled as I stared at the aforementioned pass-through, fondly reminiscing about old times as I lingered in the kitchen. I blinked slowly, a sudden burst of morning light breaking through the clouds, warming my face. My focus changed to the large oak tree near the house, its branches low and heavy. It was Autumn and the leaves on the trees had already begun to change. Soon, there would be endless raking and bagging of leaves before the snow came. The changing of the seasons also meant it was time for our biggest harvest. I hoped I could manage enough sleep to be useful this year, even though most of the time my Grandfather would have to hire and train some help, regardless of my effort.

I closed the curtain to block out some of the sunshine, looking down at the table in front of me. Before me sat a half-eaten plate of eggs and toast, which had grown cold while I napped. The beeping of my alarm resumed, and I hastily fished my cell phone from my uniform skirt pocket once again. I swiped the silence button on the screen, grumbling as I did. That was my last alarm of the morning, signaling that I needed to get my butt moving or else I would be late for school. I had to make sure that the ringtone for this alarm was extra loud and annoying, as I had a habit of sleeping through the more peaceful jingles.

I yawned loudly and stretched my arms upwards, trying to return some feeling to my fingers. While I slept, I had only made it to the forest part of my nightmares this time. I wondered if I would ever clearly see the face of the man I was marrying in my dreams. I had tried drawing him again and again to no avail. In each part of the dreams, I only saw his face for a moment, which was frustrating, to say the least. I couldn't remember falling asleep while eating breakfast this morning. However, because I had pulled an all-nighter to complete my latest English paper, it wasn't hard to imagine why.

The report, which I had sadly neglected until the last minute, was the beginning of an essay that we could use for our college applications. The subject was pretty standard, asking what we wanted for our future. I pondered this topic for a month, but honestly wasn't even sure what I wanted. I was embarrassed that even though I was almost two years older than most of the graduating class, I was still unsure of the path I wanted to take toward my future. I was told I could always go to a local community college or art school, but more education didn't seem that appealing to me. Right now, I have enough stress from my high school workload, thanks to the insomnia caused by my weird dreams. I honestly couldn't imagine adding student loans and strange roommates on top of everything else. I was barely making it through high school at the moment. Then there was also the idea of a life without my Grandfather. I didn't want to move away from the man who had helped me so much. Most kids my age were begging to get away from their parents, but not me.

I guess I'm not really a kid anymore, I thought bitterly. Soon, I would be twenty and too old for high school. I wasn't ready to be an adult.

As I mentally reviewed my essay and thus, the future of my education, I knew I couldn't stall any longer. I hastily pushed back my chair, grabbed my plate of half-eaten food, and tossed the leftovers in the trash. I dumped the dish in the sink to soak and snatched my thermos off the counter.

Can't get through my day without some caffeine. I clutched my thermos to my chest, enjoying its warmth for a moment, before begrudgingly stuffing it, my sketchbook, and my makeup bag into my backpack. As I did a mental checklist of my items, I rummaged into my bag, quickly liberating my favorite lip gloss from a side pocket. I dashed over to the mirror by the front door using a spare napkin to clean off any leftover breakfast before slathering on some lip gloss.

I straightened my navy sweater, then checked my school uniform skirt for any stains. The grey pleated skirt, white collared shirt, blue striped tie, and navy sweater were standard apparel for any student attending Royal Queen Academy. Each sweater was embroidered with our school crest on the left side, which was a crown covered in fancy filigree. I liked to wear my skirt as long as possible, the hem falling just past my knees. This was mostly because of my chosen mode of transportation, a bicycle, which I rode to and from the train to school. A few of the nastier girls at school mocked me for the length, calling it 'old-fashioned', but that never really bothered me.

I was almost ready as I took one last look in the mirror, adjusting my locket around my neck, which was a memento from my mother. I straightened my black tights and slipped on my Mary-Janes, ready to make my normal mad dash for the train into the city. I eyed the old clock on the mantle before I headed towards the door. I would be cutting it close again today. I stopped to put on my coat, jamming my arms into the sleeves as I stumbled outside and made my way towards my bike. The weather was finally turning cooler, and I was looking forward to the Fall season. Things were going pretty well, and I made it through another night.

I always loved the feeling of cruising down the hill and heading into town on my bicycle. I learned to ride somewhat late in life, spurred by my desire to fit in with my fellow middle schoolers. I was teased for not knowing how to ride, so I begged my grandfather for the chance to learn. He agreed eventually, somewhat reluctantly, buying me a bike for my birthday. I remember feeling excited as I sat on the seat of my new wheels. Grandpa confessed the reason why he was so afraid to let me learn was that I could possibly fall off and hurt myself. I was given the bicycle but only if I promised to wear a helmet, along with the proper protection gear, at least while I was learning. Nowadays, I only ride my bike around town, much preferring gentle cruising to the more extreme mountain biking popular with the local kids.

As I rode towards the train station, I waved to all the locals I knew, calling out a 'good morning' to anyone who was near. I quickened my pace as I passed the local grocer, worried I might not make it through the green light at our only major intersection.

"Hey Diana!" a voice called. "Got a minute?"

I almost slowed my bike until I realized it was Lenard, the local grocer's son. My pulse quickened, and I knew my face had turned red as our eyes met. The curly-haired young man was smiling in my direction, a box of oranges in his arms.

I nodded my head in his direction but kept pedaling as I apologized. "Sorry, running late!"

Lenard, more commonly known as Len, seemed slightly put out as I rushed by. I knew exactly what he wanted to talk about, so I was actively avoiding him. Not too long ago, I had gone on a date with Lenard. He was a few years older than me, and since my grandfather sold fruit to all the local markets, we had known each other for years. He pretty much ignored me until I hit puberty, and then he was suddenly very interested in talking to me whenever he could. Len seemed like a nice boy on the surface with his easy smile, cute freckles, and curly hair, so out of boredom, I agreed to a single date, and I have sincerely regretted it ever since. We made out for a hot minute before I decided I was not the casual hook-up kind of person and put on the brakes. Lenard agreed to stop at that moment, but I could tell he was upset that we hadn't gone farther. After we parted ways, he began asking me to hang out whenever we saw each other. I quickly ran out of ways to say no both politely and not-so-politely, so I have been avoiding him ever since. I even went so far as to learn his work schedule to make sure we never saw each other when I went shopping.

I pushed the memories of our disastrous date deep into the corners of my mind, focusing on what was ahead of me instead. I missed the light, but I didn't dare look back in case Len was still watching me. I perked up when I noticed another familiar face crossing the street on the other side of the intersection. Judy noticed me as well, her grin widening her rosy cheeks. She looked flustered as usual as she guided the small group of tourists who were with her through the crosswalk. They were heading up the hill to the more historic part of town on one of our famous walking tours of downtown Mandeville. She only allowed ten people on her tour at a time, yet you'd think it was a hundred with the way Judy always complained. She often compared her job to that of a preschool teacher, only she thought toddlers paid better attention at times. As much as she complained, Judy was amazing at her job. She was the only person at the local visitors' center who knew the history of the town backward and forwards, and she spoke five languages. She also happened to be an amazing chef and the person who made the apple butter for our farmers market booth during the Fall.

Judy and her group were now directly across the street from me, working their way up the hill slowly. I could hear her speech from here.

"As we move further into the town, you'll begin to notice the architecture starting to change. Many of these buildings are from the late 1800s early 1900s. This area here is the main intersection of town, and the road we're on now leads up to the old town hall and library."

The light changed, and I slowly pedaled forward, taking care not to rush into the small crowd of tourists, keeping to the streets instead. The group was taking photos, and I grimaced as I saw a few of the lenses pointed in my direction. I was never excited to end up in other people's family vacation photos.

"And this here is Diana, one of our local kids, on her way to school." Judy was gesturing to me as I slowed to a stop next to her. I had to work really hard not to glower at her since she knew I hated being a part of her tour. Judy was in full guide mode, and I knew better than to interrupt. I waited because I had a little time before I had to catch my train, and I hadn't talked to Judy in a while.

"Back in the early 1900's bicycles were the preferred method of travel around town. It was in the 1960s that Mandeville almost passed a law to ban automobiles all around town. This was all in an effort to preserve our historic buildings."

"Is this why the roads are blocked farther up the hill?" a voice called out.

"Yes!" Judy replied cheerfully. "Only local traffic is allowed, and during our monthly farmers market, we close off all the roads nearby and set up booths. There is music, food, and local craftspeople from all over the county."

There was some moderate murmuring from the tour group, and then Judy repeated her small speech in German to more head nodding. The tourists began talking amongst themselves, gesturing as they discussed the market. Judy then turned to look sharply over at me, her short black and white peppered hair swinging around her chin.

"Hey, Diana, you look good, kid. Heading to school? Got your lunch and everything?"

"Hey Judy," I responded, "Yeah, I have everything, thanks."

Judy was the type of person who wanted to make sure everyone was happy and well-fed. "Got all the apple butter finished for the next farmers market?"

"Almost, almost." Judy noticed the curious looks from her tour group, so she pointed across the street to distract them with more town facts. "Back in early settler days, that building which houses the market was once a trading post. It burned down in 1949 during an earthquake." There was more 'oohing' and 'aahing' and a flurry of photos. "Your grandpa doing okay?"

"Oh, busy as usual. He's been bringing in the harvest all by himself this year," I admitted, making a sour face.

"George does too much! I thought you were going to hire someone?"

I couldn't help but roll my eyes. "Yes, come pick apples for meager wages in our tourist trap of a town. Hope you enjoy a nice two-hour commute from the city. P.S. No one can afford to live here if they work here anymore."

Judy let out a loud laugh, "I thought George was building an apartment for someone to live in."

"He couldn't get the permit approvals," I sighed.

"Want me to go yell at Dan over at coding? He's a power-hungry prick sometimes."

"Judy, is there anyone in town you don't know?" I joked, avoiding her comment. Knowing Judy, she probably would go down there and yell at someone. My phone trilled and I jumped. It was warning me of my train's imminent departure, and I had to get moving. "Gotta run, Judy! Don't yell at anyone, please!"

"No promises!" she shouted as I pedaled away. I could hear her already hollering at her tourist group to get moving, despite her being the reason for the holdup. I couldn't help but smile.