• I stepped into the class room, a fan whipping croppy hair in my eyes. I observed to room, only on empty seat. Right next to Edan. I really didn’t want to see him, and he probably didn’t want to see me. I held my breath and sat down next to him.
    “Good afternoon class, I was thinking we would start with a writing exercise. What I want you to do is write a few sentences, to begin a story of any kind, and turn them into the first paragraph.” I pulled a notebook from my bag, along with a black ink pen.
    I began to immediately jot down on the lined paper in my carefully printed penmanship.
    It was the day my mother died. The March air was wet with the other day’s rain. Her face was painted with crimson blood against pale, lifeless skin. Mine, shattered with steamy tears and red veneered eyes. My father told me everything would be fine. But there was just one problem. I don’t believe in miracles.
    “It’s beautiful,” Edan voice whispered from over my shoulder. I didn’t jump at the sound of his voice, nor was I irritated with the fact he was reading from behind me.
    “It really happened,” I muttered.
    “So you don’t believe in miracles?”
    I spoke under my breath, “No.”
    “Well maybe it’s about time you tried.”
    “Why start now?”
    “No better time than the present. Besides, you never know where a miracle is going to appear right before your eyes.”
    “Yeah like a miracle is going to come knocking at my door any time soon,” I rolled my eyes.
    “Well it just takes a little hope.”
    “Hope what does hope have to do with any of this?”
    “Just trust me, miracles happen.”
    “Hai?” The teacher called my name. “Would you please read your paragraph to the class?” I stood up and carefully articulated each word. There we a few gasps from my surrounding peers. I stared directly at Cana, her eyes wide with familiar emotion.
    “True story,” I spoke as I silently sat down. Maybe now Cana would understand me.