Odette Lynn

Usually, a story ends where the train doors close, with those left behind waving it off in a picturesque show of grief and loss and joy and everything in between.

But this is real life. The song does not end.

Odette is on the train, and now she has to explain herself to Felix and Mitch and Orion and Christine (Christine), her face doubtless flushed red (and marked with tell-tale black lipstick). Her ring is deep in her pocket, and the words are…surprisingly more easy to speak than she would've thought, as they tumble out like a waterfall. Words Romilly has said, words she despised, every little thing she was burdened with lifting off of her heart as her friends (friends) surround her, hold her hand. Every moment is another mile between her and Anchor Rock, and she expected to be pained by it, but it's just…light.

She gets to NNYC eventually, of course. Makes sure Orion gets home, promises to visit. Looks for a job with an orchestra – she's genuinely out of practice, so she spends as much time as she can improving. One might expect her to get discouraged after the rejections. But Odette – this Odette – is a dog with a bone, and nothing could separate her from what is hers. Eventually she is fourth violin in the orchestra, and it's not much, but it's good enough for her to practice and work her way up, and nothing will stop her anymore.

And Christine is on stage. She might be the biggest liar in Anchor Rock, a runaway, a rebel – but up there, she is dazzling, and Odette couldn't take her eyes off her even if she wanted to. This is what love feels like. It took her far too long to see that. (Though she cannot – will not – blame herself.)

And this is what life should feel like; to be a person, whole, surrounded by love and knowing friends – however far away – are always in reach. Finally, she's someone.

She's Odette Lynn.

By Konstantine B-S.