❝ She didn't need to be saved. She needed to be found and appreciated, for exactly who she was. ❞ — J. Iron Word

   It was the end of June when Breeze McBon came to inform me that I was accepted into Hogwarts and only my fifteenth birthday on July 5th made me realize that merely a few weeks had passed. Were it not for mom waking me up that morning with a, "Happy birthday, honey," I would have even forgotten my own birth celebration.

   Not that I was one to throw grand parties and invite tons of people or anything of the sort. As if I even had anyone to invite, anyway. A lack of a social life meant years had gone by since I'd last attended another birthday party as well. Each year, mom tried to make up for this rather depressing fact by taking me places-preferably those we hadn't visited before-and while I appreciated the effort every single time, it seemed she cared more about my birthday than I even did.

   This year, we had only planned to drive to San Diego and visit some of mom's friends, maybe even drop by at the beach later in the day. I wasn't looking forward to it, but it beat being stuck home. I hastily threw on a graphic tee and a pair of black leggings and made my way downstairs. From the wide open door of the living room, I caught sight of aunt Camilla and her ugly dog, Puppy. I almost tripped on the last stair-step and fell headfirst to the floor.

   The place was decorated with multicolored balloons, but some of them were already popped, thanks to said dog.

   No, please no . . .

   "Polly, aunt Camilla's coming with us to San Diego," mom explained as I entered the living room.

    Puppy wagged its tail and let out a bark, as though warning me to say anything in protest. I lingered at the door, my eyes apprehensively darting between Puppy and aunt Camilla, whom I forced myself to smile at.

   "Oh," I said simply. "And when are we leaving?"

   "In a couple hours. I thought I'd give you some time to hang out with Rochelle; she said she's dropping by in a bit." As if on cue, the doorbell rang. Mom brightened. "Ah, that must be her."

   Right, Rochelle. Thank God!

   I sent another half-smile in my aunt's direction and all but dashed out of the living room to open the door. Rochelle stood behind it, dressed in denim overalls, hair pulled back in a ponytail, a mischievous smile twisting at her lips. To my surprise, she wasn't the only one. Another girl stood by her side that I recognized as Rosalinda Moon.

   Pale as a ghost with midnight black tresses that reached her lower back and lips that naturally curved downwards like she was never satisfied. Rosalinda actually lived in England, but she spent every summer in Newbury Park at her uncle's, who happened to be Rochelle's next door neighbor. The two of them were closer-then again, Rochelle didn't have much trouble getting along with people-but apart from occasional hello's exchanged when we saw each other down the street, Rosalinda and I didn't really talk.

   "Happy birthday, Sloth," said Rochelle.

   She stepped forward and pulled me into a hug. Rochelle was a petite girl, with striking auburn hair, big chocolate brown eyes like mom's and a splatter of freckles that pinpricked her skin.

   "Thanks for coming, Roche." She pulled away and I turned to Rosalinda with a small smile. "You too, Rosalinda. You really didn't have to, but it's very kind of you."

   "Ah, don't mention it," she replied in her half-Cuban, half-British accent.

   Her teal blue eyes scanned the hallway as I led them both inside the house. I couldn't read her expression since the natural downward curve of her lips always made the girl appear dissatisfied, no matter her mood.

   I led them to my bedroom upstairs and offered them some of my birthday candy mom left on my desk when I woke up. We sat on my bed-except Rochelle who plopped down on my indigo bean bag, which she had claimed as her 'throne' since the first moment she stepped foot into my house-and started talking about music. Apparently a local rock band was performing at a cafe near my high school next weekend, and Rochelle was looking forward to seeing them. This kickstarted a conversation about favorite artists.

   As much as I would have liked the discussion about music to continue, it didn't last for too long. Rosalinda spent most of her time on her phone, chatting with her boyfriend, Alex, who she was pissed at because according to her, he took forever to reply. I didn't mean to be judgmental, but when I heard her send him a voice note that mostly contained of her yelling at him things such as 'I don't care if this is your first time using a smartphone, you really are dumb as hell' and 'oh my Merlin, don't you know how to bloody read?', I couldn't help but feel bad for the poor guy. Nobody deserved to be in such a toxic relationship where your partner verbally abused you without batting an eyelash and used such an offensive tone. At that moment, I made up my mind that I disliked Rosalinda.

   Rochelle came up behind me and nudged me gently. "Hey, how about we go for a walk?" she whispered, while Rosalinda was recording her fifth voice message.

   "Yeah, that sounds like a fantastic idea."

   We both slithered out of the room soundlessly, but she was too busy shouting at her phone to pay attention. Well, it wouldn't be my birthday if I wasn't reminded why I hated celebrating with people.

   Roche and I left the house and decided to go for a walk around the neighborhood. Some fresh air and quiet at last.

   "Sorry about that," she sighed in visible relief, letting out a laugh.

   "Roche, are you kidding? The girl's nuts. That's not on you."

   "Yeah, I know, but I was the one who asked her to come. She saw me heading to your house and asked where I was going. Then when I told her it was your birthday, she asked to tag along and I didn't wanna say no. I thought you might appreciate the company, but well . . ."

   We looked back at the house almost simultaneously, as though Rosalinda's shouts would chase after us like bees. Then we looked at each other and broke into a fit of laughter.

   How did I ever got so lucky to be friends with someone like Rochelle? She was a year below me, so she was still in her last year of middle school, but being neighbors had brought us close together over the years. I couldn't even remember how our friendship started, but it must've been her initiative. If only I'd had her around this past nightmarish year of high school.

   Rochelle wasn't that open about her family life; all I knew was that she lived with her grandparents. I'd never asked her about her parents because I felt that it wasn't my place to do so. Besides, I didn't have much information about my own father either-hell, I barely knew a thing about the man-so it would be ironic of me to ask Rochelle about her family, when I hardly knew squat about mine to begin with.

   But I appreciated our friendship not just because it was the only one I had, but because I quite literally couldn't imagine my life without Rochelle in it. She had offered me a shoulder to cry on when I needed it most and had been there for me time and time again, her golden heart always so full of warmth and understanding and unconditional love, the kind that didn't judge. She'd shown me I could always count on her. And here we were now, inseparable like sisters.

   "So, is there anything you'd like to do?" Rochelle asked as we continued walking around the neighborhood. "Before you leave, I mean."

   "Not really. I am quite enjoying the silence and the fresh air, and your company, of course. As long as Puppy isn't around and I don't hear Rosalinda's shrieks, I think I'm all set."

   Rochelle laughed. The more we walked, the more people noticed us and occasionally waved at her politely, but their eyes always skipped over me like I wasn't even there. I gritted my teeth. It was nothing new, the townsfolk avoiding the mere acknowledgment of their neighbor's freaky daughter, but something about having to witness it on my own day of birth stung more.

   Just thinking about how my life would have turned out, had I known the truth about my witch identity made a surge of anger sweep through me. I bit my bottom lip to hold back hot tears, turning my head sideways.

   Why, mom? Why would you keep this from me?

   "Sloth," Rochelle's voice dragged me back to reality. "You okay?"

   I took a deep breath, smiling a forced smile as I turned to look at her. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine."

   Her eyebrows wriggled up. She eyed me for a moment that was a bit too long for my liking because I didn't know for how long I could hold back the tears before I all but broke down right in front of her. Eventually, she dropped her gaze.

   "I got you a gift." She reached into the pocket of her overalls and brought out a box wrapped in shiny pink paper. "It's just something small, but I hope you like it."

   "Roche . . ." I took the box carefully in my hands, afraid I'd drop it any moment. "Y-You didn't have to-"

   "Of course I did, bitch, you're my best friend," she said, throwing her arms around me and squeezing me into a hug.

   I hugged her back, choked up. She always knew just what to say or do when she sensed something was off about me-it was one of the reasons why I loved her so much.

   "Thank you for everything," I said as we broke apart.

   Rochelle gave me yet another smile that I returned just as broadly before we parted ways.

   When I entered the house again, I made my way upstairs without even glancing at mom and aunt Camilla in the living room. Did they even see me? Probably not. They were too busy feeding greedy Puppy the desserts that were supposed to be mine, or at least that's what they were doing before I left.

   I had completely forgotten about Rosalinda but when I entered the room and found out she'd left, a wave of relief washed over me. I was not in the mood to deal with her again.

   I fell facedown on my bed, and the tears I'd held back the entire time all but poured from my eyes. In a matter of minutes, I started sobbing. Never in my life had I cried like this before, tears streaming down my face like somebody had turned on an invisible faucet, wet and hot drops, full of pain and anger. I bawled my eyes out for half an hour or so, hating my mother for ruining my life this way, for keeping so many secrets from me, for forcing me to live a gloomy and dreadful life as a muggle when my life could have turned out for the better if I grew up as a witch in the first place.

   Finally wiping away the teardrops, determined and furious, I pulled out my luggage from the farthest corner of my unnecessarily big closet. Dust coated the leather that used to look so polished when I was a kid and mom and I would travel to all those different places together, carrying it around with us wherever we went.

   Memories flashed in my mind's eye, lots of them, fresh as if they'd all happened just a day ago. I wish I could go back to the time when I was a happy and carefree child, without any worries . . . But now wasn't the time to sit down and mourn over the past.

   I swept the dust away from the suitcase and unzipped it. I grabbed all the clothes from my closet-which though very huge, was less than half filled-and stuffed them inside carelessly. Then I grabbed whatever little make-up and beauty products I owned, which weren't many, given that I hardly took care of my outer appearance. What was even the point of prettying myself up when I was never noticed, and when I was, it wasn't in a good way?

   I glanced around my bedroom to see what else I could take with me. My bedroom wasn't huge, and although it contained a lot of things, it somehow felt empty to me. The walls were painted a light shade of violet, my favorite color since I was a kid. There were no pictures or paintings hanging from them, but the color itself never failed to calm me each time I gazed at it.

   Except now. Now I was so full of rage that I knew nothing would calm me unless I got the hell away from here as soon as possible.

   I decided to take a notebook and a pen with me in case I needed them, my piggybank, although muggle money wouldn't really come in handy, and also a couple of books to read. Books were my escape-they had helped me find some much-needed escapism through the years in this dreary place and had been my only friends, apart from Rochelle.

   My eyes fell on the photo frame on top of nightstand and for a moment, my heart softened. It was a picture of mom, holding in her arms a five-year-old me, both of us beaming at the cameraman, our faces dappled with sunlight. We were in Florida and I could still remember every detail of that summer holiday, no matter how young I was. Hesitantly, I took the picture frame in my trembling hands and after a moment of inner dilemma, I tucked it between the clothes in my suitcase.

   When I was positive I'd taken everything I could possibly need from my room, I entered the bathroom. I grabbed my shampoo, hair conditioner and shower gel, a shower cap, a sponge, my face cleanser and my deodorant. I definitely didn't forget to grab my toothbrush and toothpaste, as well as some pads and tampons from the cabinet above the sink. Once certain I'd taken everything I needed, I approached the large window. Observing my room one last time, I opened it wide-with a bit difficulty, since I'd never needed to open it fully any time before. Then, ever so soundlessly I crept out, dragging my suitcase behind with me.

   The heavy suitcase might have made a little noise when it fell to the ground with a thud, but it didn't matter. I'd be out of here before mom could bother to check it out. But before I did that, there was something else I needed to do.

   I took out a piece of folded paper from the pocket of my blazer and placed it on my windowsill. In it, written in bold letters were the words, "Mom, I'm leaving. Don't come looking for me. I'll be alright. Polly."

   "Sorry, mom," I muttered. "You should have seen this coming."

   Then I turned around, dragging the suitcase behind me down the path leading out of the neighborhood.

   Why did people even like Southern California so much, anyway? I couldn't be more relived that I was finally getting out of this dull place, and heading in the direction I truly belonged. The wizarding world.