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WHERE DO WE GO NOW? part i, chapter one
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A COLD EARLY SPRING BREEZE flows through the open window of August Roy's bedroom, pop music drifting out into the night from the radio on her desk. She stands in front of the mirror beside her closet, her hand wrapped around a coat hanger as she stares into her reflection. The blue shirt in front of her was certainly... less than flattering.
The dark navy colour stood out in the lights of her room, and the baggy nature of it would land it in the "no pile" created by her best friend, Lydia. Briefly, August wonders if the shirt even belongs to her. It was more than a few sizes too big, and she could barely remember ever buying it in the first place.
"Blue is, so not your colour." Lydia chimes in. The red-haired girl sits on the edge of the bed, one leg crossed over the other and an unimpressed look painted across her pale visage as she watches August search through the closet. With a shaky breath, she rubs her hands against her bare arms and lets her brown eyes flicker to the open window, "Can we close that thing now? If I catch a cold before the first day of the new semester, so help me—"
"You'll be fine, Lyds." With one last look at the t-shirt, August hangs it back inside her closet and rolls her eyes at her friend's theatrics. "Aren't you here to help me pick an outfit, not judge everything I show you?" She glances back at the girl.
Lydia shrugs her shoulders, her pink-glossy lips twisting into a grin as she rises to her feet and strolls toward the window. "Maybe if you had cuter clothes." Her hands wrap around the top of the window, and as she begins to push it down, a loud howl echoes through the night.
"Was that a wolf?" The noise catches August's interest. Before Lydia can close the window, she dashes over. Peering outside, the street is empty, illuminated weakly by street lights. Her green eyes fall onto the sole figure lingering in the street below; a boy around her age walks down the driveway of the house beside hers. The trash-can lid lowers with the quietest of thuds, and like a moth drawn to a flame, he glances up at the light emitting from her bedroom window.
