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They tell him it was an accident, his fall. He can’t argue with them because he doesn’t remember anything. But it niggles at the back of his mind- like there’s something not quite right about it.
He gets the best medical care money can buy but it’s not enough to save his legs, and when they tell him he’ll never walk again he just nods. As if it’s not real- as if they’re wrong.
It’s only when he gets home- when Robb has to carry him up to his room that he finally understands.
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Bran struggled for a long time; first there was anger, then an overwhelming depression that left him with dark circles under his eyes and an even darker attitude.
Then came the day when his art teacher, a lanky woman who thought wearing a leather jacket was a part of the dress code- Ms. Osha, hands him a piece of charcoal and a sketchbook and tells him to draw what he sees.
At first he thinks it’s stupid, but then he starts to see the lines and shapes and colors of everything around him, and then he starts to enjoy it- starts to feel as if by putting these pieces together and creating an image, he is truly recreating himself.
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He meets Jojen first.
Bran hadn’t really noticed him before, but then he never had a reason to. Before the accident he had been happy to live in his own world of cross country and cheesy fries- now people didn’t know how to treat him, and he hated pity, so he distanced himself from what was and focused himself on what is.
So when Jojen suddenly sits down next to him and starts to talk; Bran is startled. On the one hand he wants to push him away, and on the other he craves human interaction.
The latter wins out in the end and he lets Jojen’s quiet words wash over him.
The first thing he learns about Jojen is that he is usually quiet around other people.
The second is that although Jojen may look young, he’s really wise; like some guru or some walking fortune cookie.
The third thing he learns is that Jojen has a sister named Meera.
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The first time he meets Meera is on campus.
He and Jojen are on some random part of the football field when she suddenly sits down next to Jojen, taking an apple from her brother’s grasp, and bites down on the green fruit. Bran doesn’t know what to say as the older girl wipes her mouth with the beck of her hand and hands the apple back to her brother.
When she turns her eyes on him she gives him a peculiar smile, ‘’ Hi, I’m Meera.’’
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Meera and Jojen become a constant fixture in his life, and he finds that he doesn’t mind.
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Meera is not like Jojen.
She is cheerful and she makes him smile and laugh. He feels at ease with her and he thinks that she and Jojen are the greatest friends he has ever had.
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He remembers that the first thing he notices about Meera and Jojen are their eyes.
Green the both of them.
Except Jojen’s are murky and mysterious and it just adds to the already questionable aura around him. They are green like a deep swamp.
Meera’s are bright and clear and remind him of a warm spring day.
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It is Meera who first asks it.
‘’ Will you draw our portraits?’’ Bran was surprised to say the least and then he was reluctant. He had never shown anyone his work except for Ms. Osha, and he didn’t really count her. She was a teacher after all and teachers, well his teachers, were never really critics.
Then Meera smiles, ‘’ Please.’’ He melts under her gaze and consents.
Jojen is first and perhaps the easiest. He sits still as Bran takes his pencil and draws him; angular and slim, with freckles dusted across his cheeks and hair all askew. Bran finishes his sketch satisfied, and when he paints it is all dark green and brows, with hints of black around the edges until it is all blended in- until it is Jojen.
Next is Meera.
She is harder to draw because she won’t sit still and constantly fidgets until he tells her to stop and then she just laughs.
He wishes that were the only problem.
Meera is softer than Jojen and it takes him a few tries before he gets the curve of her cheek right, before he get the dusting of freckles right- light on the cheeks but heavier on the curve of her shoulder where her green sweater had slipped off slightly.
By the time he’s finished with her portrait it is almost dark and he tells her to go home, telling her he’d have it done in the next few days.
He pours over it for two weeks.
Her skin is apricot and cream; her hair mahogany and copper, but it is her eyes that give him the most trouble. They are not pine or mint or olive- it is some indiscernible color, some nameless shade, that no amount of blue, yellow, white, or red, can make true.
So the canvas sits in the art room, covered by a white cloth, and day after day he takes out his pallet and mixes his colors- trying to find the right shade of green.
Because he wants it to be perfect.
It is the third week when she comes. He had been mixing the green, and he thinks he almost has it when he feels a gentle touch on his shoulder. Bran turns to see Meera with a soft smile on her face.
‘’ Hey,’’ he argues, ‘’ you’re not supposed to be here.’’ He tries to cover the painting but she pulls him back with a tug, all the while still staring at the portrait. He huffs before sitting back in his chair, fidgeting.
It’s only when he feels the brush of hair against his cheek that he tips his chin up to look at her. Then she’s kissing him.
He freezes because he’s only ever dreamed of this, and then he lifts a hand to her hair; tugging her back to him when she starts to pull away.
She giggles once before mumbling against his lips, ‘’ It’s perfect Bran, absolutely perfect.’’