Color Me Blue

By Renae Oakes

“It’s amazing how some people can go most of their lives believing a lie... During the summer I was sixteen, I discovered my lie... I never really knew my parents.”

This is a summer of loss and revelations that will change Sunny’s life forever. Sunny is a colorful, artsy sixteen-year-old dealing with the loss of her parents. She lives with her aloof Gran, who has a habit of taking in strays, and her quiet boarder, Simon, with a past of his own. To keep busy, Sunny works in her Gran’s store and befriends the bumbling Ketch twins and their older, artistic brother, Bobby. Sunny begins to fall for Bobby and has to avoid the manicured claws of Giselle in order to keep her relationship and her friends.
Stumbling upon her mother’s secret box, Sunny begins to question everything she knew about her parents. Rumors fly around the town and leave Sunny grappling for answers.
Can Sunny maintain her vibrant personality while navigating the ups and downs of being a teenager and discovering the real truth?

This is a companion story to YA fiction Discovering Tess. These stories can be enjoyed in any order!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Renae Oakes
• Release date: Oct 16, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370378593

Book preview

Color Me Blue

Renae Oakes

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Copyright 2016 by Renae Oakes

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the author.

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Disclaimer

This is a work of fiction. The characters, places, and events are the product of the author’s imagination. Any similarity to actual persons, places, or events is coincidental.

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Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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Dedication

For my grandmothers:

Susan, Barbara, and LaVon

I love you from the deepest roots of my heart.

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Acknowledgments

Many thanks to my writing group for all their advice. Thanks, guys! You da best!

Special thanks to Jenny for beating grammatical rules into my head until I started having nightmares about it. You are an amazing friend, writer, and mentor. I don’t know what I would do without your help and support. You inspire me. Thanks you to Ellie Oberth for proofreading my story. Cover photo by Photos5 and designed by Ellie Oberth and Renae Oakes. I would also like to thank my mom and my dad for listening to me prattle on about my story ideas. You make me feel special.

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Edited by Jennifer Oberth, INDIE Books Gone Wild

Proofread by Karen Robinson, INDIE Books Gone Wild

Color Me Blue

Chapter One

It’s amazing how some people can go most of their lives believing a lie. That is, until reality slaps them over the head for being an idiot. Then people are forced to face the cold, dark truth. During the summer I was sixteen, I discovered my lie... or should I say truth? I never really knew my parents.

It was early morning, and mist still lingered in the air. I walked slowly through the cemetery, dew shimmering off blades of grass like diamond-studded earrings. The cool, crisp breeze ruffled my short crop of hair. Black strands stubbornly blew in my face and eyes even after numerous attempts to remove them.

That’s it! I don’t care what Gran says, I’m getting a buzz cut! I hissed at the wind. My eyes watered as I removed a sticky strand. Blinking back tears, the mascara clumped on my wet lashes.

An elderly woman kneeling next to a dark granite gravestone gave me a startled look. She eyed me suspiciously as I walked past her. My hands held my hair flat to my head, and I cursed like a foul-mouthed moron. She probably wondered why on earth a teenager would be walking through a cemetery at this time of day. I could tell by her wary expression she concluded I was up to no good.

I stuck my tongue out at the old woman and continued walking. She bristled haughtily and looked away. Apparently, I was too much of a degenerate to be bothered with.

Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad, I said, squatting next to a marble stone. I dropped my backpack next to the base of the graves before tracing my finger along the R in my mother’s name, the writing beautifully etched in the stone. The ground was still raw dirt with a sprinkle of grass blades sprouting randomly in the black earth.

Rosalie and Vincent Beryl.

Mind if I join you? I slid down to the ground, feeling the old woman’s eyes back on me. Ignoring her, I gently moved the pile of brown-eyed Susans. They were elegantly arranged across my mother’s side of the stone; dark yellow petals vibrant against the gray marble. They made the dandelions I’d put there yesterday look minuscule in comparison. I looked up to see clusters of brown-eyed Susans growing wild along the outskirts of the cemetery. Their inky brown centers winked secretively at me as they blew in the wind.

Huh, dunno why I never noticed them before. I glanced down at the flowers. Wonder who picked them. Dismissing the thought, I plopped down next to the graves.

Birds chirped excitedly from a nearby oak tree. Another wave of summer breeze washed over me, smelling earthy from all the dirt. My mother loved being outside on early summer mornings. So now, by default, it was my favorite, too. I came to the cemetery every morning. Well, except when the huge thunderstorm hit last week and Gran refused to let me leave the house. It’s funny how you cling to the simplest things a person might have loved or might have done while they were alive. Grief was a funny thing. It had been several weeks since the tragic car accident that claimed my parents’ lives, and my heart ached painfully with the loss.

I swallowed, pushing down the raw, burning lump gathering in my throat. Sitting cross-legged next to my parents, I grabbed my backpack and slowly pulled out my sketchpad. It was a present from my parents for my sixteenth birthday. Once the little book was on my lap, I opened to a clean, white page. Dad had said all artists should carry paper with them wherever they went since they never knew when they’d be inspired. He’d always spouted clichéd crap like that.

After about a half an hour, I had sketched the oak tree, but instead of leaves covering the gnarled, twisted branches, they were filled with birds. Wings spread over the branches like foliage. I was lost in the drawing when an enormous shadow loomed over the page like a giant storm cloud.

My stomach gurgled audibly, and I rubbed a hand over it to stifle its complaint. Apparently it was still upset with me for downing half a pan of cold lasagna for breakfast that morning. Widow McDreary took it upon herself to deliver food to my gran every single day. Most of the other neighbors stopped weeks ago. Apparently, as a society, the thing to do was burden the deceased’s family with food because eating is the first thing you feel like doing after someone you love dies. Most of the food given to us after my parents’ passing sat untouched until Gran or Simon threw it away. Especially Widow McDreary’s lasagna. She dropped the dreaded noodle dish off every single week.

Your grandmother wants to know why you’re late for your first day of work, a gravelly voice said. The shadow on the page shook its head.

Yeah, well it was Gran’s stupid idea to have me work at the store in the first place. I told her I’d make a terrible employee.

Gran’s way of coping with the loss of her only daughter was to consume herself in work. The more upset she was the busier she became. Then at night she’d shut herself up in her bedroom so no one could see her cry. Since I’d moved in with her this summer, I had yet to see her shed a tear. My gran was a strong woman. She’d allowed herself only one moment of weakness, and that was my good-for-nothing grandfather who ran out on her when she was pregnant with my mother... But we don’t talk about that... So Gran decided that after weeks of lying around and sketching, I should become busy, too. Thus, my newfound employment at Gran’s store True Goods.

Well, just the same, Willa sent me to fetch you, the deep voice responded.

I looked up into the lean face of Simon. He’d lived with my gran since he was a child. In fact, he grew up with my mother. They were inseparable, or so Gran had told me. He’d always been loyal to my grandmother and stayed to help her with the store. I didn’t know if he ever longed for a different life or wanted to be more than Gran’s right-hand man. Truth be told, I never thought to ask him.

So she sent her faithful henchman to do her bidding? Glaring at him, I snapped the sketchpad closed. Simon furrowed his brow, running a bear-like hand through his graying black hair. Humph. It sounded like a growl in the back of his throat. He just stood there staring at me with deep, brown eyes. Simon was never one for much talk.

So how’d you know where to find me? I asked, zipping up my backpack.

Just had a hunch you might be here.

Lucky guess, I retorted, more out of spite than anything else. It wouldn’t take a genius to figure out where I was since I haunted the cemetery like a ghost.

I flung the backpack over my shoulders and stomped off. The dew from the grass made my wet pants stick to the backs of my legs, their dampness chaffing my skin. After several paces, I realized I was walking alone. Looking back, I saw Simon’s lanky frame hunched over my parents’ graves. His strong hands, capable of squeezing the life out of you, were delicately rearranging the brown-eyed Susans disturbed from my huff to leave.

Simon caught my eyes on him and, as if embarrassed, straightened up quickly and headed out of the cemetery. A slight blush warmed his otherwise sallow complexion. He took long strides while I jogged to keep up with him.

Better get going, you’re late enough as it is. His voice sounded more like crushed gravel than it previously did. If that was even possible.

"Yes,