daisy honeybrook, district five | fin

A girl named Bee sits in front of her in class. Daisy likes looking at the back of her head, at the way her soft brown hair curls across her shoulder. She likes looking at her face even more when she walks into class. Daisy always shows up early so she can watch Bee walk in. Sometimes she catches her eye, but she'll look away and doodle in her notebook. It's always bumblebees, along the margins of her paper.

Bee comes to the mechanic shop where Daisy works about every few weeks. She always seems to have something broken. Usually, it's her bike. Daisy has no idea how this girl keeps breaking it in all these different ways, but she has concluded that Bee definitely needs a new bike. She's told her that multiple times, but Bee keeps hanging onto it and bringing it into the shop.

One time, Bee brought her bike in and the gears had been torn up by pliers. Daisy had shown up in a cropped tank top which was smudged with grime and ripped jean shorts. She was glistening with sweat from working on a motorbike for a Peacekeeper. They don't get a lot of those in the shop — motorized vehicles are rare, only owned by Peacekeepers in District Five — so it was a much tougher job than usual.

She was a little embarrassed that she was sweating with obvious stains of oil and grime on her white shirt. Daisy smiled through the chagrin though, hoping that Bee wouldn't think she looked bad — or Ripred forbid, smelled bad. She remembers the sheer horror that washed over her when she looked in the bathroom later to see that the entire time, she had a black smear on her forehead from wiping her brow with dirty hands.

Daisy finds it strange that Bee keeps breaking her bike — and that the gears appeared to be sabotaged that one time — but she doesn't question her. Maybe Bee is clumsy, and if she is, she thinks that's cute. If she isn't, Daisy thinks that's cute, too.

She likes that Bee comes in as often as she does; it gives her a reason to talk to her other than school. Daisy wouldn't mind at all if she came into the shop every shift with something new to fix.

Bee is a Cancer, which is a good thing, because Daisy is a Pisces. Maybe she takes astrology too literally, but Pisces and Cancer are compatible signs. That makes her a little optimistic, makes her dumb little crush on Bee seem less hopeless.

Daisy loves astrology, and stars, and constellations. She has glow in the dark lights on her ceiling that forms a visual of the night sky, complete with lines to define each constellation. She likes to stare up at them until she falls asleep, imagining different scenarios of her and Bee.

She can never muster the confidence to say anything suggestive to Bee, not even an innocent compliment. Daisy has never kissed anyone before, or even held hands, so her inexperience in romance has become a large hurtle to overcome. Being flustered is a strange feeling for Daisy; she is always the one to raise her hand in class, always the one to carry conversations, but with Bee... she just chokes up and the words get stuck in her throat. She's so — so pretty and soft and she smells like flowers. Whenever she walks by and flips her hair over her shoulder, Daisy can smell whatever floral-scented shampoo she used the night before, lavender or roses or vanilla and lilies.

The other girls at school can't compare, and boys couldn't even come close.

Daisy has planned, many times, to try to say something to Bee, other than small talk or discussing the fixes she made to her bike. But every time the moment comes, her nerves take over and she backs out. And then every time, afterwards, she walks home mentally kicking herself for squandering the opportunity. But then, of course, Bee will come into the shop again, or offer Daisy a cupcake at school, and the cycle repeats.

She's starting to think that the day she finally works up the confidence is the day that pigs fly.