Cassie Winters

On the third last Friday before winter break, I woke up at four in the morning. It was still dark outside, so dark that I couldn't see the newly fallen snow decorating the rooftops and trees. I stumbled wearily to my bookshelf, picking examining the plethora of books jammed into the bookshelf and in boxes nearby it, separated into two categories.

On my bookshelf were classics, biographies and books in French, the books I brought to school and when I went out to give a good impression, and read to improve my mind. In the boxes were the books I truly loved to read, the ones that were a little worn and hid from the world. My guilty pleasures. They never left my bedroom.

The rest of my bedroom consisted of my desk, a small closet, and my bed, a twin shoved hastily into the corner to make way for more books. I rose from the bed then, selecting a book from the latter category and opening it. A couple of minutes later, I was immersed in a world of demons and angels, of magic and war. A couple of hours later, a finished copy of Clockwork Angel sat on my lap as I was double-checking my math homework and making cue cards for a Geography test.

Around six, I finally headed downstairs, moving as slowly and quietly as possible as to not disturb anyone. I passed the bedrooms and made my way down the stairwell, feeling the tiniest bit like a ninja. Once I made my way downstairs, I noticed that the TV was on, and saw a slim figure sitting in front of it, her dark brown hair swept up into a perfect ponytail. My mother.

"Hi, Mom," I spoke quietly, not wanting to wake anyone else up this early. She was already dressed for work, her police badge gleaming proudly on her chest. My mother was a detective in the Toronto Police Department, and she could be more than a little intimidating. She returned home from work every day with the same cool and calculating look in her eyes, that spark the dared any criminal to mess with her and pay the price.

She was serious and organized – something you could tell just by looking at the chore chart hanging from our kitchen fridge. It is colour coded and updated every week. That's just how organized she is.

"Good morning, Cass. Want to watch last night's Brooklyn Nine-Nine?" Mom asked me, turning to look at me.

"For sure," I said quickly – mom and dad were both always busy with work, so I had to take every chance I could get to spend time with them.

"So, how's school been the last few days?"
I spoke briefly about each of my classes, talking about the few tests and assignment I completed and got back. "And, that's pretty much it," I concluded. "Oh, and we started the Odyssey in English class. We're finally done with Shakespeare, thank god."
"Just you wait." Mom laughed. "You're only in grade nine, so you'll have plenty more Shakespeare in your future.

I groaned. "I'm sure glad it's Friday though. I can't take any more school."

"Cassie." Mom's voice grew a little sterner. "Remember, school is extremely important. It's vital for University, vital for your future."

"Yes, I know. And I do like school, but I'm just so burned out. I haven't been sleeping well lately."

"Oh, sweetie, I'm sorry." Mom said. "I know sometimes it seems like your father and I put too much pressure on you, but we just want what's best for you."

While I knew that my parents were pushing me hard, I wasn't especially bothered. I wasn't the type to crack from academic pressure, and besides, with Angie unlikely to get into University, and Mark's grades taking a backseat to his video gaming as of late, I knew that I had to be the academic child with a bright future. My parents had worked so hard. They deserved that much.

And even if Ashlyn were still here, I don't think she would have been that child. She had always been more artistic, and well she was exceptional at music and drawing, she never belonged in a classroom. I wondered, not for the first time, where she was and what she was doing. She was alive, I knew that much from the files I had stolen from mom. Where Lark was, why she had left, was another story entirely.

Lark. The sound of Ashlyn's old nickname repeated itself over and over again in my head, as mom watched TV and I pretended to. Why I had thought of her now was beyond me. For the past few years, I had pushed every thought of her out of my head the moment it came. And yet my train of thought, rather than causing me to crumble as I had always anticipated, had me almost smiling, thinking of the times we had shared. Wherever she was in the world, I was sure she'd remember. And then the tears came.

I was fairly certain mom thought I was a lunatic, but luckily the episode of Brooklyn Nine-Nine we were watching had two characters getting married, and it was a little emotional.

"I didn't know weddings made you cry this much, Cass." Mom said, patting my shoulder sympathetically.

My cover was safe. I wasn't quite sure why I felt the need to not let my mother know that I missed Ashlyn. After all, she was her daughter, and she surely missed her too.

But I could still remember the cold way mom had spoken, after the third night when Ashlyn hadn't returned home, when I was sitting on the front porch, crying, begging her to come home. It was hours past my bedtime – I was eleven at the time. She'd grabbed my arm and looked me directly in the eyes. "Forget her," mom had said. "It's better that way."

But I couldn't. And I didn't think I ever could. 

      "Cassie. Cassie, are you alright?" I snapped my head up, and noticed that mother was looking at me with concern in her eyes.

"Yes, I'm fine," I said, watching as my mom glanced at me with thoughtful eyes, trying to determine whether I was lying. I often imagined her looking the same way at the criminals she interrogated: watching carefully, trying to deduce whether or not they were guilty. I gulped inwardly, feeling my face heat up. I had always known my mother could see right through me.

 "Good morning, everyone!"

Saved by my dad.

"Hey, sweetie," He noticed my mom sitting on the couch, and came downstairs and started walking towards her.

"Wow. I'm right here." I commented with mock hurt, feeling the knot in my chest loosen now that all the attention was off me.

Dad rolled his eyes, heading to the kitchen to make breakfast. I followed him.
"So, Cass - are you ready for board game night tonight?" Dad said, smiling.

That's a surprise. In theory, we were supposed to have a family board game night every Friday. It could get pretty competitive, especially between my mom, dad and I. Angie, Mark, and Ashlyn - back when she was here – tended to be bit players in the overarching story of my domination, acting as buffers and getting eliminated early.

"Really? I can't wait!" I loved family board game night, but since Ashlyn went missing, they happened sporadically, only once every six months or so at the most. Plus, there had been a board game night only three months ago.

A sudden thought hit me. "But what about Angie and Mark? Are they coming? Because Angie will probably want to go out with Elijah..." Stupid Elijah the dog kicker. What Angie sees in him is beyond me.

"Don't worry. I talked to them both last night, and they agreed to come. We're overdue for some quality family time," Dad said.

"Dad, please tell me you aren't going to spend the whole day looking up strategies for Monopoly online," I laughed, remembering an occasion where he had snuck cue cards with the answers for Trivial Pursuit under the table.

"Not the whole time," he explained. "Half, at most."
"Don't you have patients to save, and stuff?"

"Well, I am a nurse," Dad replied. "Though I've always pictured myself as a Monopoly world champion."

"Stick to your day job," I said. "No disrespect to your coworkers, though. They save lives."

A couple of minutes later, the smell of scrambled eggs filled the air. Dad was making breakfast while mom and I watched enthusiastically. We were both banned from cooking after the meatball incident of 2014. It wasn't my fault, though. I was ten, how was I supposed to know that seven cups of salt were too many? It was mom who should have known better. And yes, there was the tiny detail that the recipe didn't call for salt, but I was being creative. End of story.

I heard a familiar sound – soft, quick steps growing closer. I turned around and saw Angie descending the stairs, her hair pulled into a messy bun, and her eyes glazed over. "Hey, everyone." She muttered, pulling up a chair at the kitchen table. She rubbed her eyes, half slumped over.
Someone was out late. "How was your date, Angie?" I asked.

"Ugh, horrible. The movie was terrifying, I didn't get an ounce of sleep." She groaned, face down.

"I'm sorry. So, how are things with you and Elijah?" Please be broken up.

"Great, thanks for asking!" Angie said brightly, oblivious to my inner facepalm. "How are you, Cassie?"

"Same old. Just like school, and stuff." The fact we'd had two conversations in as many days was unbelievable.

"Cool," Angie said, directing her attention elsewhere as she slowly grew alert. "Dad! You need my help?"

My family was acting so normal it was scary. But it was far from the strangest thing I'd encounter that Friday. 

~~ 

Thanks for reading. You got a bit of a sense of Cassie's family dynamic, and a little more insight into her likes and hobbies. Hope you enjoyed this chapter!