Arbor Nolan

[Arbor Nolan]

The easy S T U F F . . .

Name: Arbor Ophelia Nolan
Nickname: She only goes by 'Arbor,' but will also respond to 'hey' or 'you. She may also occasionally tolerate being referred to as 'Noa' or 'Ophie.' Other permutations, frankly, are unacceptable.
Age: Fourteen
Member Group: Student
Power(s): Probability Manipulation
Play By: Georgie Henley

Let it F L O W . . .

ONE video taken after class in the seventh grade. A younger, doe-eyed Arbor paces back and forth - her baby fat is still prominent as she smiles nervously at the camera. Behind the lens stands Brace-Face Beth, impatiently ushering Arbor to talk. She blinks once. Twice. Thrice. And once more before Arbor clears her throat.

"Wait, is it starting yet? Yes?! Can we have another take? No, this is so not going to be part of the bloopers—


Ahem.

Okay, let’s begin. Properly.

You know how most people tend to begin talking with an interesting piece of trivia about themselves – ‘Hi, I’m a world-renowned artist’ or ‘Hi, I built my own computer’ or even ‘Hi, I got Justin Bieber’s autograph.’? Not me. I want to let them know right away that I possess a personality as exciting as watching plant lice reproduce asexually.

…Which is why I probably don’t have many friends, but that’s beside the point.

When the world ends, I hope that the aliens will discover this video because maybe then in the afterlife I will begin to fathom that in other galaxies, there are indeed creatures like me. And that the aliens will raise me from the dead and make me their foreign monarch.

But this isn’t about me.

Thank God, right? If this was about me, you guys would be drowning in your own bodily fluids because of – well, there are many reasons but I’d rather not enumerate them since half the people watching this are already thinking about killing themselves because of sheer boredom.

I think I’ve gone pretty off track here and I would wish for another take but the Beth and the rest of the invisible camera men are seething with fury seeing that I’m not doing anything productive, so…

Right – back to the purpose of this video.

Okay, I lied, this is about me. But not me me.

Let's put it this way: being as unlucky as I am should be considered illegal. Karma hates me, and no, not in the 'Boo Hoo, I lost my favorite pair of shoes' sense. I mean in the 'Oh, my Holy Ghost, how the hell did that fire happen!?' sense.

It sucks.

Big time.

Still don't believe me?

I ran for student council back in the seventh grade. Not to toot my own horn, but I was a pretty good leader. Sure, people didn't like me but my point always came across. In the pre-election polls I emerged victorious. My speech was moving and profound and eloquent. Winning was certain - I could almost see it in my future.

I lost.

By a landslide.

The final figures were 350-50.

Fine, maybe I misjudged my competition and under-analyzed that one time. Then there was the car accident that put my little sister into a coma. There were no other cars on the road that day. Daddy and Mommy were sober. But there was the large delivery truck that - curse our luck - collided with our babyish car. Little Gracie never woke up again.

The next day, guess what happened? We won the lottery. Bought a new house and all. Large window panes and chandeliers and fillet mignon every night. Champagne and parties and rich neighbors and a secure community. Private monitoring for Gracie and personal medical care. Mom and Dad moved in without a backward glance. Took it all in a heartbeat. Whoopie do dah, right?

Hah. I wish.

The day after we moved it, half our house burned down. I spent a week in the hospital for burn treatments and all my gadgets and gizmos were burnt to a crisp. Dad's newly-bought MacBook Air was saved, thank the heavens, but all Mom's baking things were gone with the kitchen. Gracie was saved, albeit narrowly, and we moved back to our cottage of instant meals and mealy meatloaf and overly-fried bacon.

'Faulty electrical wiring' my ass. Karma hated me. It was a fact, clear as day.

When the aliens do come for me - and this video - I just want to let them know that they should not have conquered our planet. Not worth it. Especially since they can afford to usurp cooler galaxies. I mean that in both a literal and a figurative sense...

We're done, yes?

Are we done now?

Please tell me we're done...

Beth?

Hello?

Aaaaaaaaaaand.....................Cut!"

*

THREE times Arbor scared herself. Written in her tattered journal, no one has ever seen these writings except for the author herself. And she plans on keeping it that way.

It scares me that I found my niche in my film-making class primarily composed of people out of college. There are only two people under eighteen – me, and this college student who is seventeen. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. How awkward. Honestly, though, I feel kind of guilty for being so young because I’m hampering them from writing R-rated scripts and directing said movies; the guy beside me even groaned and grumbled when our teacher promptly announced that they had to be PG-13.

It scares me that I feel more comfortable around people who are twice my age than other teenagers. Even if they're probably lonely with only cats for company. Sometimes, I feel like with them, I'm looking into my future. Me, age thirty-five, all alone at some seminar laughing and drinking juice. Mommy would throw a fit if I didn't bear her children.................

Today at my new Philosophy class at another school, everyone had already begun warming up to each other. Except, perhaps, me and a handful of others who just fumbled around with acting and “getting loose.” My good friend Beth was the missing puzzle piece as she fit right in with the rest of the popular crowd. Class at the fancy St. Lawrence Academy honestly was no different than a typical day at good ol' S. K. Konigin Memorial – you had the cool kids, the kinetic loud-mouths, the reserved thespian elite and lastly – at the end of the food chain – those who were ill at ease. There, at the bottom of the hierarchy, was me. The dorky fumble-tumble unlucky girl who is all thumbs.

It scares me to know that I let myself be defined too much by the world around me.

*

FIVE quotes from the people who actually bothered to get to know her.

5. The ex-best friend. "I pity that little bitch. Seriously, I do. We used to best friends and all that, but who'd want to be with that reverse horseshoe? And she rambles like hell. If she isn't jabbering away about shit I couldn't care less about, then she's dead silent. But, with her sis in a coma and the fire thing, I guess I should cut her some slack. But all too much, though. I hafta draw a line somewhere. [Pause] But Arbor and I go way back, and I feel kind of bad ditching her. Shh, don't tell any freaking soul about that or else! Seriously, like, we were beside each other in the hospital when we were born. Guess things stemmed from there. But, anyway, seventh grade changed lots of things and now I'm, like, up there and she never left. Am I sorry that I lost my first BFF? Maybe. But will I do somethin' 'bout it? Hell no. She can deal with her crap on her own." - Beth Danielle Nancy.

4. The crush. "Arbor's my seatmate in Chemistry, World Cultures, English Lit and...Philosophy, I think. She's nice and all, but we never really got to know each other. At least, not a first. See, she's a bit...detached, I suppose, but not in a floozy way. I guess she's just preoccupied. I mean, with her sister and the fire and all. It was normal for her to be that way at first. We somehow always got partnered up in class and became friends. Sorta. Then things spiraled down from there. I asked her out once. Don't look at me that way - it was a dare! But on our date it stated just....pouring. Raining so damn hard I couldn't see straight. We were heavily soaked by the time we got to the cinema. And I stepped into dog poop on the way in. And someone stole my wallet. Which had a hundred bucks in it. Which included my house keys. I waited for four hours for my parents to return home but when I asked for money, they brushed my excuses aside. Needless to say, I never asked her out again." - Elliot Howard.

3. The favorite teacher. "She's very bright, but very...unfortunate. She's always at the wrong place at the wrong time. I see her as my own child, and it's heartbreaking whenever she becomes a scapegoat. Which, I'm sad to say, is quite often. Like, there was this time when Sally Jennings stole Michael Price's lunch box in the fifth grade. Arbor was walking by when Sally thrust the lunch box into her hands before fleeing for her life. Things became worse just last school year, when Arbor was almost suspended! Thank the Lord her grades are far too exemplary. That red-headed wench Alicia Johnson-Fahy vandalized the comfort room as Arbor walked in. Only Arbor was seen. [Sigh] Oh, no, I could not interfere! Whenever I am informed of these misunderstandings, I am always too late to right the wrong. Don't get me wrong, I do try. It's just that these things can get messy. Real messy. And whenever there's some sort of mess, you can bet your bottom dollar that little miss Arbor's there. But it's never her fault. Never! Poor, poor kid. Guess some people just don't have Lady Luck on their side." Ms. Hannah Lyons, Homeroom Adviser and English Literature Professor.

2. The ever-in-denial mother, post-crash and pre-lotto. "She's a good kid. There's nothing to it. Her little unlucky phase is just that - a phase. It'll pass. I reckon we're the unlucky ones, not her. Poor Arbor, poor Gracie - they have to tolerate such bad luck parents. Poor Gracie, can't hear us anymore......Poor Arbor........Damn us all." - Aspen Nolan.

1. The sister, winding up the clock with a text message. "love ya, sis. ur the best~~~~ lol so, i heard u went on a date w/ like Elliot. hes ugly, blech. go date jake instead. hes waaaaay cuter. ur gonna ask how i kno this, itz cos i hack ur facebook on a regular basis lol. or maybe sullivan cos hes rich and all that...on second thought, give him to me when im older. hahahaha. i can date him right? will mom let me? beg!!!!11111!!!! sullivans such a hottie. ok, ill stop textin u now cos mom's gonna get mad at me for textin in the car. >.< u kno how she is........bye sis! love ya! lol jk see u at home. ;)" - Gracie Nolan.

*

SEVEN things that miraculously...stopped after the car crash.

7. Sleeping with the lights turned off. "A newfound fear of the dark...."

6. Playing with handheld games. "All my gadgets were turned into ash during the fire, so no more Mario Bros. for me."

5. Baking her signature mango crumble cheesecake. "Only Gracie liked it, anyway."

4. Waking up early. "I'm in a different place, now. Physically and mentally."

3. Smiling in photos. "Still, Gracie's accident took its toll on me."

2. Watching Saturday morning cartoons. "It was something Gracie and I did every weekend. No point in doing it now, eh?"

1. Being unlucky. "It's as if things have reversed now. But my luck's still...unpredictable. Volatile. I know now that something's going on here. With me."

*

NINE last words, scribbled on a piece of scratch paper and thrown away into the (metaphorical) sea.

Luck's nothing more than a date with the mirror.

Behind the M A S K . . .

Name: Rai (previously known as Onion back when dinosaurs still roamed the earth.)
Age: Early teens.
RP Experience: A year or two, I suppose.
How did you find us?: Caution.

Show your S K I L L S . . .

The venetian blinds were the best view from here – there was just something about its purpose of gathering dust that piqued her interest. It amused her how no one ever bothered to yank it down and let it block the blinding sunlight and how nobody really cared that there wasn’t much to see outside except wet pavement and the sodden afterimage of rust-colored snow.

Perhaps it was the silence that came before the loud afternoons that triggered Rand to remember the time of routine jovial activity, claustrophobia and of rubbing elbows with the precocious pseudo-yuppies in boxy department stores. She couldn't digest that Christmas passed so quickly. What had they done during Christmas? There were no gifts, she recalled, just a lot of noise. Shouts that drowned in kitschy carols. Mother crying, father consoling her. Emma wanting to borrow her dress. Then Sera came over for Christmas Eve dinner. Everything after that was just a blur – black and white clichés that somehow led her to here.

Where was here?

Allen was a metaphor for isolation and cloying seclusion, despite being a stone's throw away from civilization. Suffice to say, Rand didn't like it. It was as if she was always watched by some reincarnation of Orwell's Big Brother - and that Big Brother reeked of antiseptic and medicine. Like a father, she supposed, by much more dangerous.

Everyone here was dangerous.

But did that mean she was dangerous, too?

Sighing, Rand hugged herself more tightly. The noise was deafening, but so was the silence in her mind. It was the first time in ages that she yearned for conversation, but she was still so afraid to open her mouth. Dr. Yates told her once that a syllable is the first step - but what if that first step was black ice and that she would spiral down into the abyss?

She glanced upwards from her hands, and observed the common room. The TV was static and people were already leaving. Was it so late, already? Rand chewed on her lower lip as a myriad of eyes fell on her.

"Um..." she mumbled incoherently, still uncertain of her words, "Uh--"

The lights suddenly flickered, and a little squeak exited her mouth. The TV screen faded to black as her gaze fell on her palms again. It was as if she was some kind of window and that everyone else was the dust, always dancing, always watching.

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