Alaska didn't appreciate how joyous the sky seemed.

Sapphire blossomed behind the ivory clouds of cotton. The day was soaked in victory, having won another afternoon of summer heat. She tilted her head up, gazing into the pensive abyss above and almost wishing it could conjure her up and reap her of this life. Alaska wanted to reach up and grab at the spindles of ichor sunlight glowing down. Alas, she turned her head back to the concrete table below her.

Voices paraded gleefully in the air around her. Little whispers in different tones and rhythm serenaded Alaska in an unwanted cacophony. The chatter and the bright day made for a dreadfully happy backdrop to her sullen blues. When the autumn would eventually come crawling Alaska was sure she'd find a home in this town. While others lived in the vibrance of the fading summer, she'd find life in the decayed trees.

She folded her hands in her lap in order to fiddle with the rings she wore. Her hands were used to constant movement. Her piano's muse haunted her always, swallowing all her hours until her knuckles could hardly flex. At least, it did. The ghost of her talent was all that remained now, and Alaska was the only one who could bare witness to her passion's death.

She sucked in a sigh. She was waiting for the end of the school day, or maybe for the end of time. Either way she didn't mind. The first day had been chalked full of unpleasant teachers, and names she had already forgotten. The halls were smaller than the ones at her old school. There were fewer kids and more empty spaces, and the building looked like it had come over on the Mayflower.

Alaska was trying to adjust, to take it all in, but she hadn't felt much like making friends today. She'd been nestled in her head today, reserved from the world with glassy eyes. Anxiety had been her unbridled keeper restraining her from stepping outside her comfort zone. Her New York attitude may also have been to blame for washing her lips of even a smirk.

Tomorrow would be better. This was a mantra looping around Alaska's mind in a figure 8 all day. Tomorrow she wouldn't be fresh off wanting to drive off a road. Tomorrow she would be able to pay attention in class. Tomorrow she would be able to talk to the person in the chair beside her.

Tomorrow would be better, or so she tried to convince herself.

Alaska pulled at the sleeve of her leather jacket which topped her plain white t-shirt. She was wearing her usual dog-tag necklaces, which had tiny engravings on the side facing her heart. It wasn't cold enough to justify the slightly battered coat, however the familiar piece gave Alaska a bit of comfort.

After a quick glance down at the vintage watch on her wrist, Alaska realized she needed to get to her final class. Then when the final bell rang she would have to return home and answer her uncle's barrage of questions about how the day went. And about last night, probably. Just as she started to gather her things the most peculiar of things happened.

Something hit the back of her head.

The first thing that came to mind was something utterly vile, found only in the depths of juvenile humor. A spitball. Her hands darted to the back of her head, smoothing over the spot something had brushed. Relief rushed over her when she realized there was no slobber soaked paper stuck to her. It also raised some questions.

Lazily Alaska's eyes drifted behind her, surveying the ground until she spotted what must have been the perpetrator. A paper plane now injured with a bent wing had crashed onto the pavement below. For a moment the girl did nothing besides stare at the plane.

And then she looked up, eyebrow already raised in the most unimpressed of ways. It didn't take much effort to find the soul responsible. Through the haze of kids flicking in and out of her vision, Alaska noticed a girl and a boy sitting at a table a couple yards away.

The boy had draped himself across the bench, long limbs swaying by his sides. He seemed gawky, and while Alaska didn't have a clear view of him, she could see his long hair and tawny features. He was clad in a brown letterman jacket, but instead of a sport's number it was decorated in sewn patches. He didn't pay any attention to Alaska, rather the same crystal sky she'd glared at moments before.

On the other hand, the girl stared right back at Alaska. She had a smile collected of daisies, the grin bled soft blooms of curiosity and buoyancy. Her skin was dark, with undercurrents of gold highlighted in the sun gazing down on her. Freckles kissed her cheeks, and her eyes were melted chocolate with mascara smudged beneath.

She sent Alaska a small wave, and nodded to the paper plane. "Read it." Alaska could make out what the other girl said, however the sound was diminished by the atmosphere. Hesitance embraced Alaska. She slowly inched her fingers down to the plane despite the warning signals flashing behind her eyes.

If someone did this in the city Alaska would have assumed they were dicking around. She was half-ready to unfold the plane and find a myriad of slurs and unkind words scrawled in messy handwriting. She went against her better judgement and opened up the paper aircraft anyway.

Meet us in library after school ends, 3:30 sharp.

That was all the note read. It hadn't been the explanation she was hoping for, and when she looked back up the boy and girl were gone. They must have faded into the crowd going back into the school much to Alaska's annoyance. She rolled her eyes before cursing to herself and hastily packing her things.

She was already late.

——

By the end of the school day Alaska was more than ready to bail. In fact, from the moment she had read the tiny note from the paper plane she had been planning on ignoring it. The confidence exuding from the method of communication seemed nothing short of a manic- pixie scheme. She wouldn't rain on anyone's whimsy, though the exuberance didn't exactly draw her in.

The problem?

She actually needed to check out a couple books from the school library. So, Alaska had begun her walk down the sparse hallways which had a faint waft of body odor and sickly sweet lemon disinfectant. All schools shared this uniquely unpleasant scent, she had picked up on this through the multitude of schools she'd been passed around.

When Alaska made it to the library doors, which hung on creaking hinges, she sighed. Best case, the girl had been messing around and she'd be able to slip in and out with the study materials she needed. She pushed the door open, instantly being greeted by the clock hanging up on the wall.

The thin arms pointed their arrow-like hands to the time 3:30, sharp. The floor was dressed in stale blue carpet, setting an overall glum mood. Scrapes of light vied to sneak in through the windows but were blocked by the tall book shelves. Alaska stared at the alleys between them, peering at the way shadows infested the space.

In a swift but keen glance she glanced around the tables tucked away in the corners of the room. Th quiet told the story of the barren library, drained of any life besides the older man behind the front desk and herself. No girl's with breezy grins or boys with long hair, much to Alaska's relief.

She pulled a crumpled piece of paper from the pocket of her black cargo pants. In the sloppiest hand writing imaginable she had scrawled the names of the books she needed. She began to skim the shelves in search of the titles she sought. Alaska managed to collect three of them without a hiccup, however the final one she needed posed a problem.

'Swells of Grief' by Naya Bridgers, it was a poetry book centered around the many demons plaguing the author. Throughout Alaska's enchanted love affair with sad prose and desolate poetry, this was a collection she had never picked up. She ran her finger gently across the sections of names beginning with the letter b. Over and over again her eyes flicked across the myriad of names that all blended together in her mind like a whirlwind.

To her right she heard footsteps clattering into the same aisle as her, however her focus was bid to what she couldn't find. "Damn." This was all Alaska had the chance to murmur before the weight of someone's arm falling over her shoulder plucked her back to her surroundings.

The gesture was mild, and soft but the sudden act was like a needle pricking her finger. The flames of paranoia engulfed her, burning her skin like the hands of the blighting man who set fire to her trust. Her body went rigid as brittle trees in the dead of winter, even her breathing caught for half a second. She hastily looked over her shoulder, features searing in confusion.

"Sorry we're late."

It was the girl.

She sported a cheeky grin that displayed her dimples sweetly. In the close proximity Alaska realized she was a couple inches shorter than herself, and smelled the peachy vanilla scent she wore. Before she could reply the paper she had was snatched from her hands by the boy.

"Is this your hand writing?" His voice erupted over the silence. It was deep, carrying a delicate rumble of enthusiasm with a nasally edge. "It's worse than my doctor's."

"Thatcher!" The girl scolded, moving her arm off of Alaska in order to nudge his ribs. She had a faint southern lilt. The boy, Thatcher, Alaska surmised, pushed her hands away playfully with a light hearted chuckle. His dark eyes swept over Alaska- they were scattered by bursts of amber energy on his irises.

A smirk bit his lips, twitching the corners up mischievously. "Sorry, but at least I can read my prozac prescription." He ran his fingers through his thick, dark hair that tapered down to his shoulders. "I have no idea what this says," he pointed down to one of the book titles written on the paper.

In spite of herself, Alaska returned the smirk. She had an ease to her movements when she took back the list to look over it 'thoughtfully'. "It's a book title, though prozac sounds better," she said like a joke but it did hold a tone of truth.

The girl whose name Alaska still didn't know rose to her tip-toes in order to see over her shoulder at the list. "Ooh, what book?" She asked. Her voice was pure sugar, a charming melody like your favorite song from childhood. Her accent was recognizable, similar to the other North Carolina residents Alaska's had spoken to the past couple weeks.

"Swells of Grief, by Naya Bridgers," Alaska answered.

"Really?" Thatcher squinted. "I would have guessed 'sails av germs' based on your hand writing," he mumbled just loud enough for the two girls to hear.

"Don't be a dick," the girl exhaled, pinching the bridge of her button nose.

Alaska tilted her head at the paper. Her letters were all pushed together like an overstuffed elevator, half written in cursive and the rest in normal print. Not to mention the lazily swooping hooks on certain letters just like the ones on her arms. "To be fair, he has a point," she grimaced.

Thatcher's face lit up with a victorious smile. "See, she agrees with me, Birdie," he gloated. He then turned to her and pointed slowly at her chest. "By the way, she, what's your name?" He furrowed his eyebrows together. His features were very dark, middle eastern if Alaska was guessing.

"Is it Rocky?" Birdie piped up after surveying Alaska for a second too long for her taste. "You look like a Rocky!"

"She looks like James Dean-"

"It's Alaska actually," the brunette interjected. "Alaska Monroe," she added quickly.

Birdie's straightened up, excitement bubbling up onto her face. "Alaska," she repeated cheerfully, her voice tightening up before falling in a relaxed sigh. "I've never met anyone with that name before, I love it," she put a hand over her hand and swayed from side to side a little bit. "I'd love to hear your mama explain how she picked it sometime," she said innocently.

"Hey, if you have an ouija board..." Alaska shrugged while trailing off.

"Hmm?"

"My mom's dead," she explained nonchalantly as if it was a faint memory.

"Oh..." Birdie fell silent after this. Alaska personally couldn't have cared less about the haze of quiet that rolled in, hell she actually found comfort in it.

It didn't last long before Thatcher swatted it away though. "Well, anyway." He placed a hand out for Alaska to shake. "I'm Thatcher as you've heard, my last name is Rhodes. You may have seen in on my mother's real-estate signs around town, i'm kind of a nepotism baby," sarcasm twirled onto his tongue during his mock brag.

Alaska narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms. "Congratulations," she matched his sarcasm dryly, even nodding in amusement.

Birdie rolled her eyes like she had heard Thatcher's joke a hundred times before. "Never gets old," she bitterly fired back. "I'm Birdie by the way- actually my full name is Bernadette Mary Maye, but Bernadette sounds so stuffy, I just hate it," she rambled on for a few more second. After, she huffed an awkward chuckle and focused back on Alaska.

"It's nice to meet you, Alaska."

Birdie Maye and Thatcher Rhodes, the pilots of the paper plane.

~who's your favorite character so far?~

Hello lovely readers! I hope you're doing well! Thank you for reading this chapter, and please tell me what you thought in the comments! Again, I know it's all over the place and sloppy but I promise it will be revised after the first draft! If you've stuck with me so far, thank you very much and I hope you'll stay till the end! Anyway, have a wonderful day/ night!