Page 16 of Framed

A bell chimed as I opened the door to the gray-tinted registration office. The red brick building was thankfully located exactly where it said it should be on the map I came across right when I entered. The office itself was also guarded by at least three separate security guards, who all shot me wary, attentive looks as I passed them.

You’d think with all this security outside that the Vice President was inside.

This place was definitely the fortress Briggs described.

Inside the office, a large, empty space with a cubicle-like desk greeted me. It stood in the middle of a large corridor, and many offices without nameplates lined the hallway. It was so quiet, you could’ve heard a pin drop.

“Last name?” asked the receptionist behind the desk, looking over her narrow spectacles.

“Rose,” I said and on instinct braced myself for a reaction. Would they recognize that name from the news? That, or they’d put two and two together and come up with my mother.

Usually, when people remembered me for the former, I got looks of disgust or fear. The latter pretty much only ever happened in Tuscaloosa, and even then, it was uncommon. Everyone in that city decided to act like she never existed, even before her passing.

However, I was starting to pick up on a few things about Stapleton, Georgia.

The first was my mother must have spent quite some time here. I stumbled across a few more of her old skating posters on my walk over. It felt like I’d stepped into a dystopian world. I’d known my mother was famous—I’d seen videos of her and heard news interviews with her, not to mention seen all the mentions of her in papers and online over the years.

But it was weird seeing so many pictures of her on billboards and on the side of random buildings. The people here must’ve truly felt proud of her. I don’t think I recall seeinganyof her posters around town in Tuscaloosa.

The second thing I’d noticed was that being in this town felt different. It was something in the cool crisp air—it didn’t feel as suffocating as back home. Mother nature seemed at peace with the people here. The grass was greener than I’ve ever seen and the trees looked healthier.

Was that even a thing? I didn’t know, but I breathed a little easier here. I felt lighter and the cloud that normally trailed me everywhere was nowhere in sight.

The third thing I couldn’t help but note were the people of this town. The few students I passed on campus, didn’t stare at me as if I was a walking abomination—the girl accused of murdering her former best friend. They didn’t look at me as if I didn’t belong, either, not like at the hotel. I got a few smiles and curious looks but none lingered long enough to be deemed rude.

I wasn’t sure what I expected but it wasn’t this. To truly feel free.

It had only been a few days since I’d been released, but it felt as if my luck was starting to look up. Maybe I really could start fresh here. Leave the past behind me once and for all.

The gray-haired registration clerk—Mabel, according to her crooked name tag—looked up from her ancient computer and eyed me curiously. Her black and white polka dot thick-rimmed glassed were nestled low on her wrinkled nose, so she had to look up to really see me.

“Where you from, darling?” Her voice had that southern drawl I was used to hearing, but since we were further down south, it was more prominent.

“Tuscaloosa.” It was pronounced Tus-ca-loosa. Briggs did warn me that I couldn’t speak about my real life outside of this building. He didn’t say anything about theinsideof the building, so I decided it couldn’t hurt if I indulged the older woman.

“Hmm.” She nodded as if she was putting the pieces together in her head. “Any relation to the famous figure skater, Tiana Rose?”

“She was my mother,” I said, thankful that the conversation hadn’t steered in the other direction. “Passed away when I was three.” The words were the same rehearsed lines I’d deliver whenever someone asked about Mom.

This time, however, the older lady’s eyes flashed at the use of past tense. From the hurt that radiated in her expression, this was probably the first she’s heard of it.

“Heavens. I should’ve known something was up. I just thought time got in the way of her reaching out. I’m so sorry for your loss, darling.”Reaching out?Did Mabel know my mother? But I was distracted by another memory triggered by her kind words.

That was the first time anyone besides Xavier Adams, had said those words to me—I’m sorry for your loss—and meant it.

Xavier Adams. The boy I couldn’t seem to banish from my memories or my heart. I’d made an art of avoiding all things Xavier. I often replaced him with a black blob in old memories, whenever my thoughts strayed awry.

It was harder than you’d think, erasing someone like him.

After all, Xavier, Naomi, and I had been thick as thieves a lifetime ago, practically inseparable. We did everything together and held secrets I would never tell anyone. Not even after the two of them suddenly dropped me like a bad load at the beginning of our sophomore year.

I was accused of her murder the summer after that. How did that saying go? Two can keep a secret if one of them is…

“You look just like her. Got ya daddy’s eyes though.”

I felt a pang in my heart at the mention of Dad. I hadn’t tried to call him since getting released. After the conversation with Briggs, I wasn’t sure about his involvement or whether he had played a part in keeping me locked up as long as I had been.

I wasn’t even sure what all my father knew. Was he aware I’d been released?

---