A/N: I dedicate this chapter to @BesTJones for being a great writer and you guys should check out her story When All Things Fail: Memoir of An Awkward Black Girl.

The story is funny and will have you rofl.... so please check her out!

Also the trailer I created for the story below:

[There should be a GIF or video here. Update the app now to see it.]

Birdie

"Here."

I look up and it's Orson Tennell holding a fork out for me to take.

I give him a small smile and grab the plastic eating utensil from his hand. "Thanks," I say.

He doesn't say anything and takes a seat beside me at the table.

We ran out of forks and Dad had went out to retrieve some more. We just hadn't expected this much people to attend the funeral.

Who knew Lisa had a lot of friends.

I take a bite of my grandma's macaroni cheese; the spongy cheshire morsels and my taste buds mingling inside my mouth. I'm thankful that Orson had been kind enough to give me his fork, for I would've missed out on this delicious stuff. I then glance at his plate which isn't filled with much food—only a roll and a small portion of salad.

I throw him a weird look. "Where's your food?" I ask him.

Though Mom, Dad, and I hadn't expected for the Tennell's to show up at the funeral, they did and we weren't going to treat them poorly. Sure his brother was part of the reason why my sister was dead, but I couldn't blame him for his brother's mistakes.

Orson merely shrugs and returns to staring at the table.

I sigh and shake my head.

Why couldn't someone from my family sit with me? Oh! I know why, they hate us. They're all here, sitting at a different table apart from Mom, Dad, and I. They hate us very much because they blame us for Lisa's death.

I'm this close to losing it. The divide in our family is apparent and I hate that.

I glance at Orson again, aside from the gothic stuff he's always wearing; the black eyeliner, black nail polish, black ripped skinny jeans, and black shoes along with the piercings. I'm able to sense a sort of sadness from him that I can resonate with.

He's recently lost a sibling, too.

His older brother Sebastian—who's part of the reason why my sister is dead. And since he's dead, you're guessing my sister plays a part in his death as well?

Nope.

Sebastian had overdosed on drugs.

Lisa did drugs, partied, was a loose canon. But the baby and the pregnancy, had stopped her from living that life anymore. Those last 9 months she'd been okay, yet we'd been only able to spend those last 3 together with her.

I get up from the table, and I leave my plate. It isn't Orson that's making me leave, but the thought that I had only spent so little time with my sister before she'd died. I make sure to leave unnoticed—I don't want anyone following me, asking if I'm fine for the first time today.

No one cares how I'm feeling.

I head outside to the back.

The weather is fairly warm, the black cardigan I'm wearing is helping but not enough to the point where the cold air goes unnoticed.

I hug myself and stare at the field that goes beyond.

It had rained this morning, but by the time we'd arrived at the cemetery, it stopped.

Only now is the sun trying to poke itself out from underneath the clouds.

"Want one?"

I slightly jump.

It's Orson and he's lighting a cigarette next to me. I'll give him kudos for not lighting up outside when we'd been at the church where the service was being held at.

I shake my head, declining his offer.

It's not the first time I'm going to be inhaling someone else's cigarette smoke today, and it won't be the last. Mom has been a chimney for this past month, lighting up in the car and inside the house. Yet who can blame her, she just lost her daughter.

Her first born daughter.

I bow my head and rub my temples.

"It sucks," Orson says, forcing me to look at him.

He takes another drag of his cigarette, and I take that moment to observe him.

We go to the same school. Warner High (home of the Warner Panthers).

He hangs out with his band. I can't think of the name of the band but this jerk named Lawson runs it and he thinks he has the voice of God.

I've heard some of their music. Some girls I hang out with at school had been checking out their YouTube channel, and played a couple of their songs at lunch. Nothing unique or impressive, they sound like a complete rip off of Fall Out Boy meets Linkin Park.

"Yeah," I finally say, agreeing with him.

Losing someone sucks but even that word alone isn't enough to describe what losing someone feels like.

I take in a deep breath and bite the inside of my cheek.

|| || ||