bee. five.

My Dad says I've got an upside-down mouth because I was born upside down - whatever that means. He can spare me the graphic details. ("Yamate!"^* I shriek, throwing my hands into the air the second he gets into detail mode. "Yamate! Hoshikunai^{^}!") But I feel like I've got an upside-down personality too. I look sad when I'm happy and happy when I'm sad. Like you know how our eyes actually see things upside-down but our brain corrects it for us? I think my brain forgets to correct my heart sometimes.

Or I'm just a Cancer. Both options make sense to me.

I think I'm upside-down because my parents are so different. Opposites attract I suppose, but this is on a whole new level. Dad's always been a thinker, a do-er, obsessed with numbers and words and processes. Mom's a free-spirit, a creative, she loves the idea of stars and gods and folklore. I'm not really into any of those things - I like flowers and cooking, bike rides and puzzles. All pretty useless hobbies when it comes to surviving in Panem, but a nice mix of practical and whimsical. I drift through things, becoming bored easily, feeling lost in what I usually enjoy. I can't stand my parents and then I want nothing but to spend time with them. Upside down girl, the wrong way up, and I can never tell right from wrong or up from down. 

Momma calls me Baby doll because I looked like a doll when I was a baby. I'm sixteen now and she still insists on calling me it, a childhood nickname I'm desperate to shed. I'm not a baby, certainly not a doll - maybe I'm a bit of a brat on my worst days, but not all the time. Kids at school already made fun of my name, especially since I'm terrified of the little winged insects. Dad says we need to protect bees, that without them the food chain would disintegrate disastrously, but he doesn't get it. When you're stung eight times at once as a child thinking you can run through fields of grass as one of them, that memory never leaves you. 

Baby doll, they sneer and giggle whenever they hear Mom call me by my nickname. The 'b' in baby stands for Bee, I've heard it all. ("Baka,¹" says Dad, "all of them.") He's right, they are all idiots.

Well, except for Daisy.

We're friendly. Not friendly enough, not for me. I saw her on the first day of school and I thought she was the most beautiful person I'd ever seen and when she smiled at me I panicked, scowling. Upside down girl, I swallowed my tongue and refused to look at her. Furrowing my brow to try and disguise the blush in my cheeks for anger. I should of just said hello, told her my name, asked to sit on the chair next to mine. Maybe we'd have held hands on the walk home and grown up giggling and laughing and then maybe I'd have plucked up the courage to kiss her when we were older.

Who am I kidding. I can't even pluck up the courage to smile at her for longer than a moment, let alone-

Ai.²

It's just a silly childhood crush. But Daisy is the one thing I never grow tired of. I don't even know her that well and yet when I'm with other people I wonder what she's doing. If she's happy. When she's not at school my heart sinks a little. When I see her, hair braided and beaming, my lips twitch and I let my eyes linger a little too long. But to her I can only imagine I'm just Bee, a grumpy kid in her class with a cringey nickname from her Mom. To me, she is...

A silly, well-wishing, crossed fingers, star-light dream.

I'm not like Mom. I don't believe in luck or the universe or cosmic energy. I don't wish upon stars or carry crystals in my pockets and think anything will magically make her like me back. So in this instance I take after Dad, knowing that practical action will give me better odds but am far too shy to attempt any form of conversation past pleasant Good mornings or small, non-suspicious smiles.

So I stick to my flowers and my cooking, getting dirt under my nails and adding another burn mark to my skin. I ride my bike around the neighbourhood and pedal past her house, hoping foolishly to catch a glimpse of her in a window or leaving her home. I let daisies sprout all over the grass and make cupcakes I think she'd like. Sometimes I bring them into school, feed the kids I know go without some days, pass a box around the classroom - but I always ask if she'd like one first.

Upside down girl, meaning to help those who need it and ending up selfishly following my heart. Yeah, sounds about right.

____________________


^* Stop!
^{^} Do not want!
¹ Idiots
² Love

+ FC is Okinawa Japanese on her paternal side, hence the use/knowledge of a few Japanese words. I don't speak Japanese save for Yamate (cross-checked with native speaker) so pls correct me if anything here is wrong!