Colours of the Day
Clarke Griffin woke to the faint beep of her alarm, followed by the muffled blare of Luxtyn’s clock down the hall. The mornings always came too quickly, dragging her from the warmth of her bed into the chaos of single motherhood. She groaned, stretching as sunlight crept through the gaps in her curtains, illuminating the art prints and half-finished sketches on her bedroom walls.
Sliding into her slippers, Clarke padded down the hallway, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She stopped at Luxtyn’s room and knocked lightly. “Hey, kiddo. Time to get up.”
When there was no response, Clarke pushed the door open to find her 14-year-old daughter wrapped in her blankets, her face buried in the pillow. The alarm buzzed relentlessly on the bedside table.
“Luxtyn,” Clarke said firmly, reaching over to shut off the noise. “Come on, you’ll miss Emma if you don’t get moving.”
Luxtyn groaned, shifting under the blankets. “I’m up… kind of.”
Clarke smirked, pulling the covers off her. “Kind of doesn’t count. Get dressed. You’ve got five minutes before breakfast is on the table.”
With a dramatic sigh, Luxtyn sat up, her hair sticking out at odd angles. “Fine. But if I’m grumpy all day, it’s your fault.”
“Noted,” Clarke said, grinning as she left the room.
In the kitchen, Clarke switched on the coffee maker and began her well-rehearsed morning routine. She poured cereal into a bowl, added a banana on the side, and set it on the table just as Luxtyn shuffled in, still half-asleep.
“Breakfast of champions,” Clarke said, setting her own mug of coffee on the counter.
“Thanks,” Luxtyn mumbled, picking up the spoon. After a few bites, she looked up. “Emma's mom is picking us up after school for the sleepover. Is that still okay?”
Clarke nodded. “Of course. Just text me when you’re there. And don’t forget to pack your toothbrush this time.”
“Mom,” Luxtyn said with exaggerated exasperation, “that was one time. Let it go.”
“Never,” Clarke replied, smirking over her coffee. “It’s my job to remind you of these things.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Luxtyn said, rolling her eyes but smiling.
The morning air was crisp, the faint chill of autumn nipping at the edges of the day. Clarke slid into her car, balancing her coffee in one hand while tossing her bag onto the passenger seat with the other. As the engine rumbled to life, the familiar hum of the old sedan filled the small space. It wasn’t the prettiest car, but it was reliable, and that was all Clarke needed.
She turned onto the main road, the sun rising just enough to cast a golden glow over the sleepy town. Trees lined the streets, their leaves a patchwork of oranges, reds, and yellows. Clarke cracked the window, letting the brisk air mix with the scent of her coffee as she navigated the quiet streets.
The local radio station played softly in the background, a mix of throwback hits and chipper morning banter between the DJs. Clarke chuckled to herself when they started debating the best Halloween candy, their playful arguments lightening her mood.
As she neared the high school, her mind drifted to her day ahead. First period was always the rowdiest—half the students barely awake, the other half buzzing with restless energy. The mural project was coming along, and Clarke was both excited and anxious to see how it turned out. It wasn’t just a class assignment; it was a way to show her students that their voices mattered, that their creativity could leave a mark on the world.
She paused at a stoplight, glancing at the rearview mirror. Her reflection stared back, faint lines of fatigue etched around her eyes. She sipped her coffee, willing the caffeine to kick in.
Pulling into the school parking lot, Clarke parked in her usual spot near the art wing. Students were already trickling in, their chatter and laughter carrying across the lot. She watched as a few of her seniors passed by, arms loaded with oversized canvases and paint supplies. One of them spotted her and waved enthusiastically.
Clarke waved back, a small smile tugging at her lips. She grabbed her bag and coffee, stepping out of the car into the cool morning air. Another day, she thought. Another chance to inspire, to teach, to juggle a thousand tiny fires.
As she walked toward the school entrance, she couldn’t help but feel a flicker of pride. The days were long, the challenges endless, but this was her place, her passion. And despite everything, she wouldn’t trade it for the world.
Her first class was a mix of juniors and seniors, was working on a mural for the main hallway. The theme, “Unity in Diversity,” had sparked some surprisingly thoughtful conversations among her students—when they weren’t trying to smear paint on each other, of course.
“Ms. Griffin, what do you think of this?” one of her students, Mia, called out, holding up her canvas.
Clarke walked over, studying the piece with a critical but encouraging eye. “It’s beautiful. I like how you used those bold colors to make the figures stand out. Try blending the edges a little more for a smoother transition.”
“Thanks,” Mia said, her face lighting up.
As Clarke moved through the room, offering feedback and answering questions, she felt that familiar spark of satisfaction. Teaching wasn’t just her job; it was her passion. She loved seeing her students grow and express themselves, even if it meant dealing with the occasional spilled paint and stubborn teenager.
Her afternoon classes passed in a blur of activity. When the final bell rang, Clarke stayed behind to clean up her classroom, humming softly to herself as she organized brushes and wiped down tables. She glanced at her phone to see a text from Luxtyn:
Luxtyn:At Emma’s house. All good. Love you.
Clarke smiled, typing back a quick reply before gathering her things and heading home.
The house was quiet when Clarke walked in, the kind of quiet that felt both peaceful and lonely. She dropped her bag on the kitchen table, eyeing the stack of ungraded projects she’d brought home. With a sigh, she grabbed a glass of water and sat down, intending to get a head start on her work.
Her phone buzzed, interrupting her.
Raven:You. Me. O. Bar. Tonight.
Clarke groaned, typing back.
Clarke:Rain check. Long day.
Her phone rang immediately. “You’re relentless,” Clarke answered, not bothering with a greeting.
“Because you need to get out,” Raven said, her voice firm. “When’s the last time you did something fun?”
“I have fun,” Clarke replied weakly.
“Sure,” Raven said sarcastically. “Grading papers on a Friday night sounds like a blast.”
Clarke rolled her eyes. “Some of us have responsibilities, Rae.”
“And some of us know you deserve a break,” Raven shot back. “Luxtyn’s at a sleepover, so no excuses. O and I are picking you up at seven. Wear something cute.”
“Raven—”
“Seven,” Raven repeated, her tone leaving no room for argument.
Clarke hung up with a sigh, glancing at her reflection in the hallway mirror. Her messy ponytail and paint-streaked sweater weren’t exactly “bar-ready.” Still, maybe Raven was right. It had been too long since she let herself unwind.
With a resigned smile, Clarke headed to her room to get ready.
Clarke stared at the open closet, her hands resting on her hips as she surveyed the options. Most of her wardrobe consisted of practical clothes—cardigans, jeans, and blouses suitable for the classroom or running errands. Nothing screamed “night out at the bar,” and the thought of trying to look “cute” felt more daunting than it should.
She sighed, pulling out a dark green sweater dress that she hadn’t worn in ages. “This’ll have to do,” she muttered, tossing it onto the bed. It was simple but flattering, hugging her curves without feeling too revealing. Clarke grabbed a pair of black ankle boots to complete the outfit, then headed to the bathroom to tackle the next step.
As she looked at her reflection in the mirror, she winced slightly. Her hair, still tied in a messy ponytail, had a stubborn streak of paint near the ends—a souvenir from her last class of the day. “Figures,” she said with a wry smile, reaching for a brush and some dry shampoo. She let her blonde hair fall loose around her shoulders, the soft waves framing her face.
Next came makeup, a step Clarke often skipped in her day-to-day life. She rummaged through her makeup bag, pulling out a few essentials. “Not too much,” she reminded herself as she applied a light foundation and a touch of blush. She swiped on a soft brown eyeliner and mascara to make her blue eyes pop, finishing with a nude lipstick that added just enough color.
Stepping back, Clarke gave herself a once-over. The dress fit better than she remembered, and the minimal makeup highlighted her features without feeling overdone. For a moment, she hesitated, second-guessing everything. Was she too old to be going out like this? Would people notice how out of place she felt?
A sharp knock at the door snapped her out of her thoughts. “Clarke! You better be ready!” Raven’s voice called from outside.
Clarke smiled, shaking her head. “Almost!” she yelled back.
She grabbed a small crossbody purse, slipping in her phone, keys, and some cash. With one last glance in the mirror, Clarke straightened her shoulders. “You can do this,” she told herself softly. Tonight wasn’t about fitting in or making a statement. It was just a few hours with her friends—a chance to relax and maybe, just maybe, let go of the weight she carried every day.
As she opened the door, Raven and Octavia greeted her with wide grins.
“Damn, Clarke,” Raven said, giving an approving nod. “You clean up nice.”
Clarke laughed, locking the door behind her. “Let’s just get this over with before I change my mind.”
“Not a chance,” Octavia said, looping an arm through hers as they headed to the car.
For the first time in a long time, Clarke felt the faintest flicker of excitement, a spark of something she hadn’t let herself feel in years.
It had been years since Clarke Griffin allowed herself to step into a bar for anything more than picking up a takeout order. Her life revolved around her daughter, Luxtyn, and her work as an art teacher. Tonight, however, her best friends Raven and Octavia had practically dragged her out. Luxtyn was at a sleepover, and Clarke had no valid excuse to deny them.
The bar wasn’t loud or rowdy—just the right level of lively to make her feel human again. Clarke nursed her drink, laughing at Octavia’s dramatic recount of a date gone wrong, when her eyes wandered to the bar. Standing there was a young woman in a plain gray hoodie and dark jeans, her posture relaxed but with an unmistakable air of quiet confidence. Clarke noticed her laughter fading as her focus shifted.
“Earth to Clarke,” Raven teased, following her gaze. “See something—or someone—you like?”
Clarke rolled her eyes, her cheeks warming. “She’s just… standing out, that’s all.”
“She looks like trouble,” Octavia said with a grin. “Exactly what you need.”
Before Clarke could protest, the woman turned, locking eyes with her. Clarke quickly averted her gaze, but it was too late. A small, curious smile touched the stranger’s lips. She said something to her friends and walked over.
“Hi,” she said, her voice steady and warm. “I’m Lexa.”
Clarke was caught off guard. Up close, Lexa seemed younger than Clarke had initially thought, but there was a depth in her green eyes that suggested she’d seen and experienced more than her age let on.
“Clarke,” she replied, forcing a smile. “Nice to meet you.”
“Are you a regular here?” Lexa asked, her hands casually resting in her jacket pockets.
“Not really,” Clarke admitted. “My friends insisted I come out tonight.”
“She never gets out,” Raven interjected, earning a glare from Clarke.
Lexa chuckled. “Well, I’m glad they did.”
Before Clarke could say anything more, Octavia gestured to the empty seat at their table. “Why don’t you join us? You seem decent enough, and Clarke doesn’t get out much. Help us make her night interesting.”
The bar buzzed with a comforting hum of laughter and music as Lexa slid into the empty seat at their table. She glanced around, her relaxed demeanor making it easy for her to blend in with Clarke’s small group of friends.
“So, Lexa,” Raven said, leaning on her hand with a smirk. “You clearly have Clarke’s attention. Tell us something about yourself.”
Lexa chuckled, glancing at Clarke, who rolled her eyes but smiled. “Not much to tell. I like reading, hiking, and trying new things. What about you all?”
“Raven’s the tech wizard,” Octavia chimed in. “And I’m the adrenaline junkie. Clarke, as you’ve probably figured out, is our teacher and talented artist-slash-mom extraordinaire.”
Lexa’s brows lifted slightly. “Mom? Really?”
Clarke nodded. “I have a 14-year-old daughter, Luxtyn. She’s at a sleepover tonight, which is why these two managed to drag me out.”
“That’s impressive,” Lexa said sincerely. “Balancing being a mom and a teacher must keep you busy.”
“It does,” Clarke admitted, sipping her drink. “What about you? You seem like you’ve got a lot figured out for… how old are you?”
Lexa grinned. “I was waiting for someone to ask. I’m 22.”
Raven let out a low whistle. “Damn, Clarke. You’ve got yourself a young one.”
Clarke shot her a playful glare before looking back at Lexa. “22, huh? That’s… younger than I expected.”
Lexa tilted her head, clearly amused. “And you’re how old?”
“33,” Clarke replied, a bit hesitant. “Still okay with that?”
Lexa’s smile didn’t falter. “More than okay. Age doesn’t bother me, as long as the person is interesting—and you definitely are.”
Clarke laughed softly, feeling her cheeks flush. “You’re pretty smooth for 22.”
“I’ve been told,” Lexa said with a smirk. “But it’s just honesty.”
The playful exchange seemed to put everyone at ease, and the conversation flowed effortlessly from there. “You must have a lot of patience to work with teenagers every day.”
Clarke laughed. “It’s definitely a challenge, but it’s worth it. What about you? What do you do?”
Lexa hesitated briefly, then offered a small smile. “I guess you could say I have a job where I try to help people. It’s not as creative as teaching, but I like to think I make a difference.”
“Helping people, huh? That’s a pretty broad answer,” Clarke teased lightly.
Lexa shrugged, her smile turning playful. “I’ll let you guess the details.”
“Fine,” Clarke said, narrowing her eyes in mock suspicion. “But I’m good at guessing games, just so you know.”
Raven, who had been quietly watching the exchange with amusement, leaned in. “Don’t let her fool you. She’s terrible at guessing games.”
“Hey!” Clarke protested, swatting at Raven’s arm as the table erupted in laughter.
As the conversation flowed, Lexa asked Clarke about her favorite artists, what inspired her love of art, and even how she managed to balance teaching with being a mom. Clarke, in turn, learned that Lexa loved classic literature, had an unshakable loyalty to her friends and family, and had a surprisingly dry sense of humor.
Just as Clarke was starting to feel completely at ease, Lexa’s phone buzzed in her pocket. She glanced at the screen and sighed softly. “I hate to do this, but my friends need me. One of them had a little too much to drink, and I promised to make sure they got home safely.”
Clarke nodded, even as disappointment flickered in her chest. “No problem. It was nice talking to you.”
Lexa hesitated for a moment, then pulled out her phone from her jacket pocket. “Would it be okay if I got your number? I’d really like to see you again—maybe take you out on a proper date.”
Clarke’s heart fluttered as she nodded, typed her number in. “I think I’d like that.”
Lexa tucked her phone into her pocket, her smile warm and genuine. “Great. I’ll call you soon.”
With a quick goodbye to Raven and Octavia, Lexa left, but not before giving Clarke one last lingering look. Clarke watched her walk away, her cheeks warm and her heart lighter than it had been in years.