Young Writers Society

"Colin, hey." Kiersten greeted her best friend, Colin, who approached her with a casual hug and smile. She buried her face in his gold hair, which shone under the orange 5PM sun. His eyes seemed almost bluer than usual, and his freckles were still in all the right places, as usual.

Kiersten loved to just inspect Colin's face. Not in a creepy way, though, but more so because she was incredibly fascinated with how it was built; a cleft chin, the icy blue pair of eyes that always made her feel so warm, those golden locks of hair that fell over his face without warning, and the golden-brown eyebrows that were never out of place.

"Are you alright?"

It was the first thing Colin had asked Kiersten, fully aware of the fight Wayde and her had had only so long ago.

"Yeah, I guess." She said with a shrug, trying to hide the insecurities and guilt she wanted to let out so badly.

"So... you're leaving tomorrow, huh?" Colin changed the subject to avoid fueling his friend's depression, his light pink lips forming a slight frown anyway.

"'Fraid so, Col. But I promise I'll write and text whenever I can. Really." Kiersten said, trying to convince her friend that their first summer apart wouldn't be too bad, even though she too, was rather scared about having to part with her best friend for the next 2 months.

"Kiersten, are you all packed? The car is coming to pick us up in 5 minutes." Mrs. Kavanagh warned, poking her head into Kiersten's room. Her daughter nodded, plastering a fake smile on her face. Her fight with Wayde a few nights back had thrown her off, and almost prevented her from leaving to LA at all. Almost.

"Alright... We'll, ah, see you downstairs." her mother said with a small smile and a stiff nod, exiting the doorway. Kiersten cocked an eyebrow slightly at the way her mother had spoken. Her parents had been rather off lately, from what she noticed. They bit their lips around her, avoided eye contact, and hell they acted like they were the children more than half the time.

Hello ladies and gentlemen. The seatbelt sign has just been switched back on. Please return to your seats as we begin our descend into Dublin-

Kiersten froze in her airplane seat. First off, she had no idea how long she had been asleep for. It couldn't have been more than a few hours... right? And why on earth was the pilot saying Dublin?

"Excuse me, ma'am," Kiersten asked an elderly woman sitting closest to her in the business class seating, "this plane... it's landing in LA, is that not correct?"

The woman stared blankly at Kiersten, her green eyes blinking once before she answered, "Dearie, I think you mean Ireland. Dublin, Ireland."

Kiersten's own turquoise eyes widened at the woman who not only had a heavy Irish accent, but was definitely dead-serious. "Excuse me?"

"Oh, yes. You were asleep the entire flight, sweetie. All eight hours!" She chuckled slightly, almost completely oblivious to Kiersten's obvious terror.

As soon as the plane landed and everyone had shuffled out of the plane, Kiersten stood angrily at the arrival gate, awaiting the two palest, ashamed faces appear in the crowd.

"Mom, Dad?" her voice was too calm it sent shivers down her own spine, "What the hell are we doing in Dublin?!"'

One looked at the other, while the other looked back at the one who looked first. This continued for another few seconds until Kiersten exploded, "Tell me!"

Her parents dragged her to a corner of the airport, flushing pink in embarrassment with stern looks on their faces.

"Look, Kiersten..." her father began, and looked to his wife to continue.

"Your father and I... we honestly don't think we've been given the fairest treatment lately. You've been so caught up in going to your LA that you disregarded all respect we deserve from you. So we cancelled the trip-"

"Obviously." Kiersten muttered.

"... because you obviously don't deserve it. We're staying at my parents' farm here, for the rest of the summer. My mother knows manners, and she'll teach you proper ones over the next 2 months. Is that clear?"

No, Kiersten wanted to say, that isn't clear. You two just want to make me unhappy and decided to ruin my life, starting here. I hate you both.

"Kiersten? I said, is that clear?" her mother repeated angrily.

With a clear, cocky, fake smile, Kiersten said through clenched teeth:

"Crystal."

As their car pulled up in front of the ugly ancient-looking farm, Kiersten inspected it carefully; blue barn with a grey silo standing tall next to it, and a quaint little cottage a few yards away. Wheat fields surrounded the house, along with other fruits and vegetables here and there. Kiersten sniffed, disgusted by the scenery that was too different from beautiful LA-

Then she saw them.

She saw the hills that surrounded everything; the giant barn, the sky-scraping silo, the cottage, the wheat fields. The hills that were paved with roses. Some hills had red roses, some had white. Some even had yellow and pink mixed together to form a warm, summery combination that almost made her smile.

"Kiersten? What are you staring at?" her mother interrupted her gaze, seeming somewhat cheerier now that she was with her parents again. Her father simply kept yanking their luggage violently off the truck, ignoring the beautiful hills that ran for miles.

"Nothing, mom." Kiersten suddenly snapped, shrugging the bag strap onto her shoulder again as she almost stormed up the stone path to the cottage, waiting impatiently at the door even though she wasn't in a rush to do anything besides leave.

"Kiersten! Oh, it's wonderful to see you again!" her grandmother, sweet old Orla Walsh, greeted with a kiss placed on her granddaughter's cheek, and a firm hug.

"Hey, Grandma." Kiersten barely returned the hug as she awkwardly stood over the petite old woman who continued to hug her daughter while she dashed into the house.

As she settled in the old room up in the attic, Kiersten wasn't sure whether she should've been disgusted at how many things with four to eight legs lived up there, or intrigued at what she thought she wasn't going to see in a dingy house like this, especially in the attic:

A guitar.

She unzipped the dusty black case, and inspected the well-preserved guitar; the glossy dark redwood shone against the little light that managed to peek its way into the room through the dusty curtains. The strings looked brand-new, shining silver that stretched across the lean black neck.

Without thinking, Kiersten allowed her arms to scoop the beautiful guitar off the floor.

"Hey, mom?" she called as she reached the front door with the black case sitting on her back.

"Yes?"

"I'll be outside for a few."