CHAPTER ONE – SMALL TOWN GIRL

Rebecca Harrison stood behind the counter of her family's bakery, her fingers drumming an impatient rhythm on the polished wood. The early morning sunlight streamed through the windows, casting a warm glow on the freshly baked goods. The aroma of cinnamon and vanilla filled the air, but Rebecca's mind was elsewhere. "Rebecca!" Her mother's sharp voice cut through her daydream. "Stop that incessant tapping and help your sister with the display." Rebecca sighed, forcing a smile. "Yes, Mom." She made her way to where Nancy was arranging a tray of cookies. Her sister glanced up, a look of mild annoyance on her face. "Took you long enough," Nancy muttered. "Here, arrange these in a spiral pattern." As they worked side by side, Rebecca's mind wandered to her plans for the evening. She had a rendezvous with her friends at the old oak tree by the lake, far from the prying eyes of Gilda's Bay's residents. "Earth to Rebecca," Nancy said, waving a hand in front of her face. "You're putting the chocolate chip cookies with the oatmeal raisin." Rebecca blinked, realizing her mistake. "Oh, sorry. I was just thinking about... the new recipe I want to try." Nancy raised an eyebrow. "Right. Because you're suddenly so interested in baking." "I could be," Rebecca retorted. "You don't know everything about me." Their mother's voice interrupted their bickering. "Girls, less chatter, more work. The morning rush will be here soon." As if on cue, the bell above the door chimed, and their first customer of the day walked in. Rebecca plastered on her best customer service smile and turned to greet them. "Good morning, Mrs. Simmons. The usual?" The elderly woman nodded, her eyes crinkling with a smile. "Yes, dear. And how are you this fine morning?" Rebecca opened her mouth to respond, but her mother swooped in, gently nudging her aside. "Mrs. Simmons, how lovely to see you. Rebecca, why don't you start on the next batch of sourdough?" Recognizing the dismissal, Rebecca retreated to the kitchen, rolling her eyes when her back was turned. As she began measuring out ingredients, she could hear her mother's voice, pitched low but still audible. "I do apologize for Rebecca's appearance. We're working on impressing upon her the importance of presenting oneself properly in public." Rebecca glanced down at her flour-dusted apron and the loose strands of hair that had escaped her ponytail. She didn't see anything wrong with her appearance, but then again, she never seemed to meet her mother's exacting standards. As she kneaded the dough, Rebecca's mind drifted to her last visit to the library. The librarian, Ms. Watanabe, had introduced her to a beautiful Japanese poem about cherry blossoms. The lyrical words seemed to float through her mind, a stark contrast to the monotony of her current task. "What was that?" Her father's deep voice startled her out of her reverie. Rebecca jumped, nearly dropping the dough. "Oh, nothing, Dad. Just... counting." Malcolm Harrison's brow furrowed. "In what language? Certainly not English." "It's... it's Japanese," Rebecca admitted, bracing herself for the lecture she knew was coming. Her father's frown deepened. "Japanese? And where, may I ask, did you learn that?" Rebecca hesitated, weighing her options. She could lie, but the truth would likely come out eventually in a town as small as Gilda's Bay. "From Ms. Watanabe at the library," she said finally. "She's been teaching me a little." Malcolm's expression darkened. "Rebecca, we've talked about this. Our ways, our language, they're good enough. There's no need to be chasing after foreign notions." "But Dad, it's just a language. How can learning be wrong?" "It's not about right or wrong, Rebecca. It's about staying true to who we are, to our community." Rebecca bit back a retort. She knew this argument by heart, and she was tired of it. Instead, she nodded silently and turned back to her dough. Her father lingered for a moment, as if wanting to say more, then sighed and left the kitchen. Rebecca waited until she was sure he was gone before allowing herself a small, defiant smile. They might control her days, but her mind was her own. As the morning wore on, Rebecca found herself lost in the routine of the bakery. Mix, knead, shape, bake. The repetitive tasks allowed her mind to wander, planning her next escape. During a lull in customers, she overheard her parents talking in hushed tones near the register. "Malcolm, I'm worried about her," her mother was saying. "She's always daydreaming, always distracted. It's not proper for a young lady of her age." "I know, Catherine. But she's young yet. She'll come around." Rebecca rolled her eyes. If only they knew how little she cared about being "proper." The bell chimed again, and Rebecca looked up to see her friend Sarah enter the bakery. Sarah's eyes lit up when she spotted Rebecca, and she made her way to the counter. "Hey, Becca! Still on for tonight?" Rebecca nodded, glancing quickly at her parents. They were busy with another customer, but she kept her voice low. "Definitely. Same place, same time?" Sarah grinned. "You know it. Oh, and guess what? Jake's coming too." Rebecca felt a flutter in her stomach at the mention of Jake's name. She'd had a crush on him for months, though she'd never admit it out loud. "Really? That's... cool," she said, trying to sound nonchalant. Sarah's grin widened. "Uh-huh. 'Cool.' You're not fooling anyone, Becca." Rebecca felt her cheeks heat up. "Shut up," she muttered, but she was smiling. "Rebecca!" Her mother's voice cut through their conversation. "This isn't social hour. If Sarah wants to chat, she can buy something." Sarah's smile faltered. "Oh, um, I'll take a blueberry muffin, please." As Rebecca bagged the muffin, she whispered, "Sorry about that. See you tonight." Sarah nodded, passing over the money. "Can't wait. Stay strong, Becca." As Sarah left, Rebecca felt a renewed sense of anticipation for the evening ahead. Just a few more hours, and she'd be free, even if only for a little while.