Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“But Anne, you’re only fourteen once!” Marcy yelled in frustration on the phone. She grabbed her screen repeatedly and shook it harshly. Anne snickered at Marcy, who then flapped her arms around for emphasis.

“You could go skateboarding, hit the arcade— oh, remember when the three of us would spray paint behind the schools?” Marcy pointed out each possible thing to do with a finger, lifting another one up with every idea. “Don’t you want to do something fun?”

“Yeah, yeah, I do,” Anne said, skimming over texts from her mom mindlessly. “But my mom really wants me to be home, Marcy. I just can’t.”

Exasperated, Marcy sighed. Anne shrugged in resignation. Marcy looked to the left on her side of the phone and immediately, her eyes lit up.

Curious, Anne asked what it was, and was shown a lime green truck. A sign above the serving window proudly proclaimed, "The best in town" in bright red letters. The truck's sides featured several playful drawings, including a brown stuffed bear under a palm tree enjoying a vanilla ice cream cone and a bright blue frog savoring a banana split. The vivid and lively colors created the idea that a hippy might be the one behind the wheel.

She turned out to be wrong. The man driving it, however, didn’t look as amiable as the truck’s exterior. Was he smoking?

“At least there’s ice cream!” Marcy’s face came back on the screen. Anne raised an eyebrow at her. “You’re going to go over to that truck,” she said, “and order ice cream from a man who smokes weed.”

“Who knows? Maybe he’s a neat freak.”

“I saw him plucking flies out of his hair.”

“So? You used to eat them.”

“Hey,” Anne pointed to Marcy in warning, the threat holding no weight. “They tasted good.”

“No excuse,” Marcy mumbled, grinning. She took out a copper coin from somewhere and stuck it in the air to show Anne with a grin. “Anyway, this is for good luck,” she said. “Here's hoping he’ll give me a discount.”

Anne chuckled. “And to hope it doesn't melt by the time you get over here.”

“Frog, I hope not! At least it shouldn't. It just rained, anyway,” Marcy muttered as she left her phone in her room.

Anne shook her head and sighed. She looked around her. Ever since Frogvasion, She, Marcy, and Sasha haven’t talked much, making Anne savor every moment they had. Marcy moved to Hopkinton, and Sasha just…avoided her. Anne found herself spending more time with her parents, she was well known in eighth grade, and the incident had even become a national holiday! Well, not a holiday. Just… national. She began to see more possibilities in the world; buying things that she didn't need, but would make her happy, to going as far as going to an all-you-can-eat buffet, just for the fun of it.

With adult supervision, of course. Hop Pop would never let her hear the end of it. That is, if he were there.

At last, Anne’s eyes fell on a puddle that was too close to her shoe. She stepped back, peering into the puddle, observing how her distorted reflection changed each time. Like the world, she changed too. She found herself drawn to more things that were blue; the sky, bracelets, butterflies, gems, the water. Especially the water. She found that small things were worth the most.

Then there was the gem resting over her upper chest, radiating a subdued light blue hue in her reflection. It was mostly translucent. It was a pale blue color, one that matched the strange streak that began from her roots, with rough edges and a crystalline structure, but circular, nonetheless. Her dad said it was a Celestite.
Sprig once asked about it. She remembered him narrowing his eyes suspiciously as he tapped on the hollow gem repeatedly, earning a subtle sound that could be compared to tapping on glass.

“My mom,” Anne answered nonchalantly.

"Your mom put that in your chest? Did that not hurt?"

"No, she didn't. It's a birthmark. I mean—"

Anne’s mother was not her favorite thought.

Anne felt her brows furrow at the thought. It was safe to say her gem was a birthmark, right? She did have it since birth, and her dad would tell her stories about how her biological mother had the same gem in the exact same spot, and it was a sort of hereditary condition.

Then again, how did her biological mother die? How did she exactly give up her form? What form?

Again: Anne’s mother was not Anne’s favorite thought.

The cold always found its way into her nerves; a shiver was always sent down her spine when she thought of how she was born. Not just because she’d never met her, but for the odd looks it got her. If Anne felt too much, the gem would glow a light blue. The other students would stare at her with sneers and giggles or point to her chest. It was one of the sole reasons Maggie would pick on her. Even Sasha and Marcy would point it out with giggles, but she let it slide.

But not the Plantars. She saw how they’d stare at it, but never teased her relentlessly for it. Anne saw how the Plantars were outcasted and prejudiced by other frogs in Wartwood, and honestly? The whispers about them were right. But did they care? No. That’s what amazed Anne the most; she remembered being bewildered at the three frogs in the Shame Cage, and felt pity, so she asked to join in.

But who was Anne’s mother, truly? Why did she leave?

Anne watched her figure in the puddle morph repeatedly; it was swirling with dust and whatever microbes were in there. She betted they had it all figured out. Lucky bastards.

Anne heard a cough that came from her phone, looking down to find Marcy, expressionless.

“I found a cigarette in the ice cream,” she deadpanned. “But you don’t look so well. You okay?”

Anne nodded, mustering the best smile she could. “I’m okay,” she said, staring at the puddle. “Say,” she started, “the arcade is still open, so maybe your coin does have a bit of luck.”

Anne watched Marcy’s smile light up the same way when she’d seen the ice cream truck. “Really? Let’s go, then! I don’t care if I’m not with you; buy me something!”

Anne glanced back at the puddle, sighing.
'And here's hoping I'll get some answers,' she thought.

___

Anne’s birthday party was, in the words of Sasha, boring with a splash of new. Sure, there were the same people, but a different atmosphere in the air, not to mention the decorations and cake flavor. She’d always had strawberry flavored cake, but recently she found blueberry more appetizing. Especially with crickets. Sasha and Marcy never let her live it down; before the trio parted, whenever they passed an insect that even so as looked like a cricket, Sasha would always pass Anne a fork or any utensil while wheezing. It gave them some weird stares, which made Anne flush a deeper shade of red.

Of course, Oum had freaked out and chided Anne for a sharp 5 minutes, but she had gone all out for Anne’s fourteenth birthday. She bought lotus flowers in the deepest cerulean blue; the lightest cobalt and vibrant shades of yellow and purple, hanging them on the white banner with the embroidered text “Yippee! You’re Fourteen!” In cursive with yellow and blue glitter sprinkled over every letter. She invited extended family; Aunts, cousins, Anne’s close friends, and even Domino’s.

Oum watched her stepdaughter trying her best to stop herself from smiling and failing as everyone gathered around to watch Anne blow out the two candles. When she did, the house erupted in clapping and cheers that Anne could’ve swore the house itself shook, and that caused Bee to get an earful by a cop who was called from a noise complaint by a neighbor across their house, and yet another lecture of the day by Oum on how he, in fact, couldn't use the excuse that he once worked alongside the FBI.

That night, Anne lay on her bed staring at the stars plastered on her ceiling. She’d gotten bored of her phone, so set it to rest next to her. She let her thoughts drift to nowhere in particular, until her eyes fell on a certain frame she’d seen in the living room. A frame of her father and a pale blue haired woman smiling. A frame of her dad and mother smiling.

Sometimes, Anne didn’t wish to think her mother was dead. Her dad hadn’t gone into specifics on her whereabouts, only that her mother’s gem was now hers. She heavily groaned and shut her eyes to try and block out the thoughts and just get to sleeping. It worked for several seconds, until her door burst open and Anne jerked upright, startled. It was her mom and dad, grinning mischievously.

“Anne, me and your mom have talked, and,” Bee looked at Anne, noticing her subtle frown. “Hey, what’s wrong? Too many lotus flowers? Oum, I told you they brought back memories of Amphibia—”

“Lotus flowers symbolize rebirth, renewal, resilience, and spiritual connections. Excuse me for seeing my daughter as any of these—”

“Guys,” Anne said, waving her arms around as if to clear the atmosphere. She sat up hunched over her legs, using her arms to balance herself on her bed. “It wasn’t the lotus flowers. They were beautiful. Thanks, mom.”

“Well then, what's the matter?” Bee sat on the edge of the bed next to Anne.

“It’s nothing.”

“It doesn’t look like nothing.” Oum sat on the opposite side of Anne.

Anne knew her parents wouldn’t let up until they knew what was wrong. Bee noticed her eyes fall down to the celestite on her chest.

“Oh, honey.” Bee rested his hand on Anne’s shoulder. “I know you miss your biological mom, I do too, but you know what? She let go of her own life so yours could be here.”

That’s the thing: Anne didn’t miss her mother. Heck, she didn’t even know her! She just needed to know who she was.

“But why do I have her gem? It’s not like I’m her, or something. You’ve never told me who she really was—”

“Is that a bad thing?”

Anne sat silent, holding the concerned stare of her father. From her peripheral, she saw Oum avoiding any gazes, looking down at the crimson mittens she still wore. “No,” Anne said, “no, it’s not.”

Bee sighed, pulling his daughter in an embrace. “I can’t tell you anything that can cheer you up, because this is something you’ll have to go through by yourself, Anne. All I’ll tell you is this.” Bee held a blue streak of Anne’s hair. He stared at it longingly. “What you have was given to you by your mother. I can’t tell you how, but I know she’s with you. With us.” Bee extended his other hand to clasp Oum's in his.

Anne held in a sigh. That didn’t answer her question at all.

“But cheer up, honey. What we came to tell you was something much better.” She saw Oum smile in anticipation. The two of her parent’s grins had returned in an instant.

Oum grasped her daughter by the two of her shoulders and pulled her into her own tight hold. “Bee, you’re taking too long,” Oum said, “You and your dad are going on vacation to Delmarva!”

Anne’s face lit up in a grin of her own. She stuttered and stammered for a response that wasn’t “This is amazing!” The family had been wanting to go to Delmarva since Anne was around seven years old.

“That’s great!” Anne exclaimed, whipping her head side to side to look at both of her parents. “Delmarva? We could go to Bayburg, Aqua Town— wait, did you say me and dad? What about you, mom?” Annes grin faltered just a bit, pointing at her mother with a skeptical look.

Unlike Anne’s grin, Oum's facade fell entirely. “Well, your grandmother’s cat died, and you know how much she doted on it,” she said, “Your dad and I have been talking about who would stay, but since I’m her daughter, I agreed to help her through the grief.”

“Oh,” Anne muttered, avoiding both her parents' looks.

“I’m fine with it, really.” Oum kissed Anne’s forehead. “But aside from that, you and your dad will be staying there until summer vacation is over, which would be about two months.”

“And in that time, we’ll be staying at a hotel in Beach City,” Bee butted in, “but we’ll have to leave soon, because the plane departs around,” he squinted, looking at the clock across the three, “9:05. So, hurry and pack.” With that, Oum and Bee got up, leaving Anne’s room.

____

As Anne sat in the back seat, with every red light, she stared out the window, observing life around her; couples arguing, women with a handful of shopping bags in almost every color, people waiting for the bus at the bus stop; at one point, she caught a young woman in particular glancing over every so often nervously to an indifferent young man, who skimmed on his phone.

She waited and waited silently in apprehension, as still as a rock, until the young blonde finally went up and brought up a conversation with the man. He didn’t look as indifferent before, now shocked with a small smile on his face. Anne pounded her fist into the air and lowered it down in triumph.

There were also the mothers. The mothers who held their children in swaddles, the mothers who refused to let go of their children’s hands when crossing the roads, and the mothers who played patty cake with their children. Each child shared a distinct resemblance to each woman, showing they were biologically related.

Anne wasn’t envious of the sightings. She felt lament. Lament over the fact she would never meet her mother. She drifted to sleep with that very thought repeating itself over and over in her head.

Chapter Text

Saying Anne’s father had "bad" memory was too little of a word to describe this. His memory was so atrocious to the point it was fetid. You could even do so much as look at him and he'd think you were the mailman.

Her dad had gotten the time wrong. Not the first time, though. He'd gotten the time wrong years throughout Anne's life: When they went to Thailand, the movies, even his own wife's baby shower.

The plane, in fact, wasn’t set for departure at 9:05, but instead, 10:30. Fortunately for the both of them, There was traffic due to a crash on the route they took to the airport, drastically extending their arrival to 9:40 and using up some of their time that would be put to waste, had that woman on the road not refused to walk on the sidewalk and demanded that cars hurt the atmosphere and were bad for the environment. (Not that Anne thought she was wrong. The drivers seemed to, though; for some reason, they all had a sack of rotten tomatoes in their car.)

Unfortunately for Anne, she could have saved an extra hour making sure she had everything in her suitcase and having at least 20 minutes to hold Domino and say goodbye for the next two months.

Other than that, the airport buzzed with blaring noises (mainly screaming children) as Anne and her dad navigated through the sea of people and luggage. The scent of coffee mingled with the hum of conversations that gave Anne a feeling of a mundane routine or déjà-vu. To try and pass time, she hopped over the outlines of the beige tiled squares as she and her dad sauntered over to 50A. She counted every tile within the black outlines that made one square, adding 16 by 16 within every one she jumped on. Occasionally, she would look up to find the stares of young toddlers or children staring at her with points of their finger, probably asking their parents or siblings why that young girl had small blue streaks that grew from the roots of her hair. She acknowledged them by waving with a soft grin, and the few (literally one) that didn’t hide away in embarrassment waved back, flashing her a gap toothed beam.

She wasn’t bothered; she did it too, when she was a child. She and her mother were at the train station, and Anne was listing off every color she could think of while a stubby hand remained firmly clasped in her mom’s.

Not her, you know, Oum.

She remembered curious eyes landing on a hipster dressed in a kaleidoscope of colors with blonde hair that looked neon from afar at the time, adding on to his high appearance. He swayed side to side, skipping and spinning and doing everything a child would at the park.

To Anne, at the time, he reminded her of a skittle. Therefore, she asked her mom if he liked skittles while using her free hand to point at him. He didn’t notice, though; her mom brought that hand down as soon as it went up. Anne wondered if all kids had an experience like that.

Kids, she grinned.

Glancing around, she realized her mind had wandered from counting tiles to observing the bustling airport crowd. Her eyes darted shortly at the diverse array of travelers — families with kids, business professionals engrossed in their laptops and phones, and teenagers laughing as they clutched their boarding passes. She wondered where they were headed, but looked ahead of her, fiddling her hands with the yellow hem of her shirt, making up random names for the shades of yellow on her shoes.

It was ten more minutes of Bee scrunching up his nose and scowling when the wafting scent of coffee grew too strong, causing him to be distracted, and forget where they were headed before they finally made it to 50A. Because it was 9:50, He found it a great idea to buy snacks for the plane and had the nerve to smile, earning an exasperated groan from Anne, who’d just flopped down in one of the seats.

That was how the pair ended up at a Grab-and-Go shop. Anne dreadfully watched her dad take every ounce of his time shaking two bags of jelly beans stark to each other, meticulously counting every known jellybean he saw, all with a calm expression. She was sure he’d counted the lilac one in the bag with the orange sun with sunglasses at least thrice now. She clawed at her eyes and let out a frustrated sigh, not even bothering to acknowledge the judging stares she got— because hey, they might as well be here until September! And besides, if it was anyone they were staring at, it was the man wasting his time over something way below his age.

“I heard that,” Bee said, narrowing his eyes while shaking the bags. “Anne, it’s important you have enough jelly beans to last the plane ride— Ha! That’s 6 grape, 10 orange.”

“You’ve counted the same jelly bean six times," Anne deadpanned.

“You mean I’ve counted six jelly beans of the same flavor.”

“Hey, if you guys don’t mind, there’s a family with a kid who wants the bag you're holding,” a clerk awkwardly whispered, pointing to the red bag of jelly beans in Bee’s hand. Anne looked to the side to find a sobbing toddler with a death grip on his mom’s hand to where the latter was trying to pry it off, and the other making grabbing motions to the bag.

“Oh, sorry.” her dad chuckled, handing the bag over to the blonde in a way that Anne could tell he was surely embarrassed. However, her snicker subsided and her mouth hung open as she watched him pick yet another bag off the shelf. Waving her arms about as she sputtered for a remark, she clawed at her hair in desperation. “Dad, I love you, but please save me the embarrassment and time here.”

Bee laughed, clearly enjoying his daughter’s suffering. (Seriously, who is this man?) “You don’t like spending quality time with your dear father?” He cooed, feigning sadness as he pouted.

“We had the whole day! Can I just look around at least? I won’t go far, pinky swear," Anne said, making a cross gesture with one hand above her chest.

Bee grumbled, but reluctantly turned back around to face the shelves. “Just be back by 10:30.”

Anne mentally thanked the Guardian, or whatever it was for answering her wishes. She let out a breath and side hugged her dad.

“Thank you! Bye!” She dashed out of the shop as fast as she’d walked in.

-

Feeling awkward with her hands doing nothing at her sides, Anne adjusted her headband. She wandered around, looking at small stores to go in next. It was 10:10 now, and she’d already been to about three.

She had bought a small souvenir shaped like a globe that she let sit in her pocket. It wasn’t really the Earth, per say, but rather Uranus. She wouldn't call it her favorite planet, but it's bright teal color and vertical rings made it all the more enamoring to look at than the others. She preferred Earth over any planet, though. She lived there, after all, and she had learned her lesson after abandoning it for 5 months.

Poking through the gaps of people as to not even graze their expensive fabric (seriously, it looked majestic), she found her feet guiding her to a bookstore called Simply Books, the sign in a plain white color in bold. Her teachers always said something about reading being knowledge. She thought that only applied to car manuels for a very specific reason.

The place was extremely cozy. And warm. Anne didnt even know she was cold until she stepped foot in the area, which was strange, as the place didn't even have a door. Or front walls, for that matter. Most of the wooden shelves came in the same size, so Anne assumed there were the same amount of books. She walked around the marble floor, feeling pillows and looking at book titles. Incandescent orange bulbs with tiny sunset and umbrella stickers hung above the pine colored ceiling, which Anne assumed was to add an aesthetic vibe to the whole area, as they weren't even turned on. She knew the whole phrase “Don’t judge a book by its cover,” but it was never really about books to begin with, so that didn’t count. At least not to her. At one point, she even stayed 5 minutes to just watch the TV in the middle of a stacked bookshelf. She and a person across the sale were the only people there, so she didn’t need to worry about not doing anything that people would find weird.

The first book she found was about Greek sculptures. To put in simple words: They were ethereal.  Most of them appeared dilapidated, but she could gently trace out where the cheekbones, jaw, eyes, and for some, smiles on their faces once were. Anne stared in awe at the pictures longer than she intended to, but by frog, they were beautiful. How did the Greeks even make these? Even she couldn't imagine herself making them. (Which made sense. She kind of sucked at that, but you get the point.)

She then found a book titled Kingdom Of Souls. She read the back and something red caught her eye that slipped between the sepia pages–

Huh. She bent down and saw a crimson red passport on the wooden floor that'd dropped with a soft Thud.

“Someone dropped their passport,” Anne said under her breath. She gently picked it up and flipped it open to see who it belonged to. In the photo was a woman with short brown hair in coils and diaphanous skin with dimples that rested on her cheeks. Her eyes pierced into Anne's, causing her to shudder and grimace. She looked as if she were in her twenties. Céline Lright. There was an even smaller photo, with a little boy, but it was blurry. His face was smudged with some dried red liquid. Was it taken a long time ago? He seemed to look like her, though. Her son, perhaps?

“1967? Dang, she aged well,” Anne joked, surprised. It was 2017, after all. She'd have to take tips from her once she found the woman. Last week, she gawked at her reflection in the mirror for so long with a horrified expression on her face. One cupping her chin to keep it from actually dropping on the floor, and the other holding ten strands of gray hair. Ten!

Before she could ponder any longer, Anne caught a glimpse of another person leaving and dashed to run after them. “Hey–” Anne shouted, “You left your passport!”

They were a fast walker. A bit too fast. It almost seemed as if they were speed walking. Or running? It didn't matter. She swerved left and right, shouting "excuse me!” and “move!” to get past the crowds of people to catch up to the person who left the booksale. People shouted and swore at her, but she didn't feel discouraged. How would they feel if they lost their passport?

At one point, her foot barely missed a coffee cup and she stumbled. Hard. Her ankle banged against a nearby counter, having all pain jolt from said ankle to her shoulders. She wheezed and closed her eyes, clutching her knee to her chest and using her two hands to hold the damaged leg, really wanting to throw herself onto a bed. She grumbled, reaching one hand out to the now sprinting person, now limping. But as soon as her hand did so much as graze the their shoulder, they turned around and shouted:

“Stop following me, creep!”

A few bypassers glanced their way in confusion, some intrigued. The person gave them a long glare, unblinking.

Anne was floored. Abashed. She slowly backed away with her hands in the air, one still holding the passport, and still limping. She’d messed up. The girl looked nothing like Céline. One, or Anne, could have confused her with the 50 year old from a far away glance, but this girl’s hair was light brown, not dark brown. It was medium, not short. Her skin was a light caramel. Not diaphanous.

“Sorry, man,” Anne said, “I just thought this was yours.”

“Man? Do I look like a man?”

“No! It's just that I call everyone–”

“You call your mom a man? Your sister is a man? I smell, huh? Is that it? Is that why I’m a man?”

“I don't have a sister?–”

“How disrespectful can you be? Who raised you?”

“Look. I'm confused. I don't know you–”

Grumpy scoffed. “And?” She shook her head, retracting her answer. “So why’d you come up to me?–”

Anne shoved the passport in Grumpies face, her voice louder than it should've been. “Have you seen this woman?” 

Inside voice, Anne. Inside voice.

The girl yanked the passport from her hand and opened it, studying the image while cursing under her breath. She practically threw the passport back at Anne, leaving her befuddled.

“Don’t just assume I was that woman because I look like her.”

“I wasn’t – well – you were at the sale‐”

“She was at the Grab-and-Go. Don't let me see your face–”

“Olie!”

Olie's expression changed and she whipped her head to the man who called her. “On my way!” And with that, she left.

However, Anne's embarrassment stayed. She placed a head over her eyes and grimaced, shamefully walking back to the store.

-

“Dad.”

“Yes, Anne?”

“Why are you still here.”

“That didn't sound like a question, honey.”

Anne stared at her dad with a stoic look. The grimace on her lips never went away- in fact, it only deepened when she realized he’d been there since she left. She preferred him to at least have moved on to another sweet, or be kicked out for holding up the line of children who wanted jelly beans. and to be honest, a small part of her wished she never left in the first place. Maybe she would have been able to drag him out of the area or apologize on his behalf. Maybe she'd be able to avoid this feeling that she'd been stabbed.

But the man was now sitting on the floor with a calculator that he pulled (out of what, his back pocket?), and a Hello Kitty ruler. She would have laughed, had he not been in deep concentration, brows furrowed and his tongue poking out from the side of his lips. Needless to say, Anne was now at a loss for words.

“Honey, why are you still staring at me? Help me find the area of this yellow bag right here.”

Anne slowly backed away until her back hit the cash register. She turned around to the same clerk that was the reason for her second hand embarrassment.

“Hey,” she whispered, resting her elbow on the side of the counter. With her other hand, she pulled out the passport of the woman. “This lady hadn't happened to stop by here, right?” The boy raised his eyebrow, unimpressed and most likely questioning her existence, but inspected the picture nonetheless. He muttered something under his breath about hippies and tapped his chin before raising his finger into the air. Anne perked up, expecting a response that could hopefully tell her where Céline went. After a second of anticipation, he glanced at her expression and finally said:

“You're asking the wrong person. My memory sucks,” he drawled, smirking. Anne sucked in a breath. Loggle vibes.

“Well, thanks for the help,” she said, sarcasm dripping like a faucet in her tone, turning away. A moment later, she went back up.“Sorry. I've had a rough day, man.” And she turned away for the second time.

“Weirdo,” the clerk muttered.

Anne didn't rush walking back to her dad. She swayed side to side until she yawned and flopped down on the tiled floor next to him, still rubbing her injured ankle, not caring how dirty it was anymore.

“Tired already? It's only ten,” Her dad said.

“Ten-nineteen.” She checked her phone. “And I still haven't found her,” she whined.

Bee hummed. “Her?”

“A woman left her passport in a book and I'm trying to find her to give it back.”

Bee paused, looking to this daughter in concern. “Why do you care so much? It's not like you know her.”

Anne hesitated to answer, but shrugged. Why did she care so much, anyway? The woman could have just retracted her steps to the bookstore, remembered which book she had picked up, opened it, and her problem would be solved. Anne didnt need to get involved; heck, she chose this! If she had just stayed back–

“Maybe you've lost something, too.” Anne paused. “Like what?” she asked, but her dad shrugged, smirking. Anne huffed, turning away from him, not being intrigued in his calculations anymore.

“Hey - why don't you just go to the lost and found department and leave it there?” Anne hesitated, thinking of all the possible scenarios of that. That was actually a good idea. Why didn't she just leave it there? Why was she so set on returning it herself?

“I'll…” Anne paused, vacuously getting up. “I'll go do that.” She slowly walked to the exit.

-

Anne had left the passport at the department one or two minutes ago. It didn't mean she felt weird about it. She frowned and looked down with her tail between her legs, wondering if the woman would find her passport.

Funny fact about Anne: Anne didn't like losing things. She also didn't like leaving things unsolved. Strange, since that was usually Marcy's thing, discovering. She fiddled with the hem of shirt walking back, trying not to think about it, knowing full well that if she did, she'd go back headfirst into the storm and find the woman herself.

She knew what to do - imagine something random! Let's see… rainbows? No. The same thought appeared a second later, overriding any previous memories and distractions in her head.

Marcy? Definitely not. She'd try the exact same thing as what she was doing not more than a few minutes ago.

Anne huffed, walking past the peering stares of children yet again as she blew a raspberry to no one in particular. Maybe herself. The way back to 50A had never felt longer. Maybe, to pass the time, she could stop at a Starbucks, or go back to that Grab-and-Go and actually buy something instead of directly embarrassing herself and show respect to the other kid who works there, despite their last encounter. That guy was getting on her nerves.

“I found who you're looking for,” Grumpies – or Ollie's voice said from somewhere behind, trying to catch up where Anne sulked, lightheaded from the consequence of worrying too much, rubbing her temples and eyes to the point where she saw phosphenes. Maybe if she sped up a bit, she could catch up with her mom, which meant throwing in an extra hello to her sweet, baby Domino–

Ollie's words finally registered, and Anne's eyes snapped up to meet the indifferent stare of the supposed teen who hated her, and probably did, with the amount of venom that seeped through her words in their previous encounter. “What?”

Ollie shrugged, not meeting her befuddled stare. “It's not like I know her.” she mumbled, stuffing her hands in her pockets, even though it was late spring. “But I saw her leave Simply Books like, 4 minutes ago.”

Anne blinked.  This was fine. This was fine, this was fine, this was fine– “Ok– but you didn't stop her, why?”

Ollie got real quiet– she almost reminded her of Marcy when she was caught up in her videogames, and Anne can put down ten dollars– wait, no. She only had-like how many? Scratch that - Anne could put down one cent that her answer will be–

“I didn't wanna cause a scene, okay?” Not the exact sentence, but that one cent belonged to her now.

Anne sighed, refraining placing her hand on Ollie's shoulder as she would with Sprig, and settled for a gentle smile. “Well, thanks,” she said.

Ollie hummed in return. “She went that way,” she said. With that, she left Anne to ponder once more on why she cared so much. What was her deal?

Anne shook her head out of the clouds, making her way back to Simply Books, subconsiously glancing at different sightings. Families, a crows gathering at an unexpected proposal, a woman squirming out the crowd with a scowl–

Wait. Anne stopped in her tracks and did a double take. Her eyes landed on the said woman in particular, who'd succesfully detached herself from the crowd in which the commotion originated. Anne brought up the photo of the woman again, holding it to the side of her vision so it would seem as if the two were side by side. She looked back and forth, forth and back, and back and forth again. It was a match. It was her. It was Her!

Oh, she’d finally found her! She finally wouldn't have to carry this sickening guilt that she couldn't help anymore–

Wait, again. What was her name? How could she call her if she didn't know her name? She swore she knew it- she just needed a minute or two– but she didn't have the time!

Oh, God, the woman walked fast. Her running speed was Polly’s walking speed, and Polly walked surprisingly fast, once upon a time, for a tadpole with no legs. How could she catch up? Would she fail again? Why did she always screw everything up? Couldn't She just help for once? Why is it always her? Why couldn’t she call out any louder?

Time stopped. A wave of helplessness washed over her. No, no– don't get on the plane. Don't walk through, She hasn't reached you yet. Please– don't ignore her. Listen to the brunette clerk who's pointing to Anne! Why can't her legs drag her any faster? Why is her gem glowing?–

“Hey!” a little, high-pitched voice shouted from behind. “Just breathe. You'll be fine. Mom won't go anywhere without me.”

Some things sounded muffled. Far away. Anne choked on her breath a few times, inhaling sharp breaths and exhaling through her mouth, counting to four like some cartoon– Daniel Tiger–once said on a screen years ago. Why did she allow herself to get so worked up over A passport? She prayed her shirt covered up the glow of her gem, fully knowing it wouldn't because of its bright color.

Wait. Mom?

“Yes, mom.”

Anne looked at the child for once, and vaguely recognized him as the young boy who didn't shy away like the rest of the children whom she waved to.

“She’s your mom?” Anne had actually breathed when the child nodded. It was short lived, however, when he called out to her in something that sounded French. Suddenly, the woman turned back. Her smile disappeared when it looked as if she was piecing together a complete stranger with her son. She walked up to the two. Anne silently watched them converse in the foreign language, as well as silently beating herself up over making a fool of herself over something so stupid. She– Céline (Really? Now she remembered?) looked at her with soft eyes that matched her smile, a stark contrast to the picture in her passport. She recovered her passport from Anne's shaking hands, and placed her hand on her sweating shoulder. When was Anne shaking? When was she sweating? She hadn't realized she was so cold before she felt Céline's hand.

“Vous êtes un enfant. Rappelez-vous cela. Trouvez le bien avant de le faire,” said Céline with her remaining smile. Anne blinked.

“She said thank you,” The boy translated with the same smile. He grabbed onto his mother's free hand and led her to their plane.

“Really? That seemed way too long for a thank you–”

“Bye, crazy glowing lady,” interjected the boy with his gap-toothed grin, now a smirk, leaving Anne tongue-tied. What had just happened? Anne placed her hand on the now cold shoulder in which Céline placed her hand on.

What?

A moment or two passed in silence until she huffed out a breath and softly laughed, letting herself sag against a nearby pillar, her laugh growing louder and maniacal as she grabbed even more people's attention, as if they weren't already watching from her semi-breakdown earlier, and slapped her forehead with the hand that wasn't wiping the waterfall that poured from her tear ducts - she was definitely the airport's deranged person of the year ‐. She sighed, content.

Still dazed, she checked the time on her phone– 10:25! Baffled, she looked over to the number of the departure gate– 35A. She mentally apologized to the seventeen bystanders who’d landed on their foreheads shouting with a fist in the air as she practically flew through the sea of people.

-

In five minutes, Anne realized running from Praying Mantis’ taller than a bungalow paid off. She made it back to her gate just on time; twisting and turning her body to make it past different families and solo travellers. There was a foreign feeling that rested at the pit of her stomach. What was that, what she pulled earlier? She had a breakdown over a single passport that a woman would've never gotten if Anne didn't return it in time. She couldn't shake the feeling of unease that took place in her heart, no matter how hard she tried to think of what Delmarva would be like, or more specifically, Beach City.

Another funny fact about Anne: She liked to help.

Anne passed different stores, now very interested in her shoes. She avoided the stares of others, pushing the same feeling in her body deeper. At last, she made it back to the Grab-and-Go. It was finally time to apologize. But, as she turned the corner for a pack of jelly beans, her eyes twitched as they landed on–

“Dad.” Anne guwaffed. There he was, in all his brazen glory, now in the middle of a ring of several packs of jelly beans, on his knees, palms spread on the tiled floor, leaning in close to inspect every. Single. Jelly. Bean. It seemed as if with each one he spotted, he wrote it down in a pocketbook at his side. But now, he looked like he was bowing down to some sacred being and offering eight packs of Jelly beans as a sacrifice.

“Ok, you know what–” Anne marched over to her father and gripped the hand reaching for his pencil. She knew just how to break this curse, no true love kisses needed.

“Dad. It's ten-thirty and there's jelly beans on the plane for free.” Suddenly, Sleeping Beauty awoke from his cursed nap. He looked to his savior in all her red-eyed and cheeked puffiness.

“For real?!” he cried out. He jumped to his feet with the hem of his turqiouse dress that took the appearance of a shirt as if he were a cartoon character who'd just survived a natural disaster and dragged Anne along with him. “What are we waiting for?”

Anne Snuck a bag of jelly-beans into his pocket and tossed the change to the ground as she allowed herself to be hauled out the store. Now He'll have his jelly beans, Anne thought. Wait, this doesn't count as stealing, right?