"You care too much about what people think, you know. Sometimes you just have to learn to let things go…”

The hypocritical words spoken from his lips had been harsh, albeit true, and I was tired of being the way I was. I looked up from my spot underneath the big tree of Idunnowhatspecies and across the park. There he was, running and playing, hair flapping in his face, cheeks red from exertion.

How such a nice boy could have such, such---dicks for friends was completely beyond me. I glared at the boys he was running around with, imagining my face covered with a malice that would make a small furry animal cringe and run.

“She’s kind of fat, you know.”

Ugh. 

I stood up, forgetting the books I’d brought to the park with me, naively assuming I’d study, and they fell from my lap.

He looked at me then and sent me a flicker of a smile before returning his attention to the aggressive kick-the-can game the boys had going on.

Like he had any right to smile to me.

I picked up my things and walked back to my house just across the freeway. I’d barely set my stuff down on the living room table when I heard a knocking, and yep, there he was at my patio door. I could see him through the glass; he could see me, but still, a seriously massive portion of my brain was contemplating running away and locking myself in my room.

“You gonna let me in?” he asked, his voice sounding hollow and distant through the pane.

“I dunno.” I put my hand on my hip.

“I’m kind of thirsty,” he said, wiping his face with his hand and then propping himself up against the door. “I could use some water.”

I just rolled my eyes and went to open the door for him, and he slid in, leaving a trail of sweat from his hand across the glass.

“Disgusting.” I pointed to the line, brown, mixed with the dirt from his hands, but he just shrugged.

“Can I get some water?” he asked. I said nothing but waved him to the kitchen. I could hear him pulling a cup down from my cupboard; he’d been over enough to know where they were.

I settled upon my couch and closed my eyes, deciding to take a nap. I was somewhat happy that our friendship hadn’t been totally ruined, but also confused that a melodramatic apologetic session hadn’t been necessary to salvage the remains of two broken hearts.

It was like yesterday had never even happened.

He sat down next to me, and I could feel him without opening my eyes. “Can I watch TV?” he asked as he switched the set on.

I just smiled.

Things were normal.

We would return to being best friends like we had been since we were six, and he would just continue to let them tease me and call me fat and ugly.

As long as they didn't know we were still friends, of course.

"You wanna go to the movies Saturday?" He nudged my leg. "The guys cancelled."

I just smiled.

For Caprice

Beauty of Fiction

The students groaned as the assignment sheets, white and crisp just off the copier, landed on the desks in front of them.

“A short fucking story!” Matilda exclaimed.

“Now, now, Matilda,” Mrs. Dieber comforted her. “It can be about anything you want. Anything. That’s the beauty of fiction.”

“I’m gonna write a fairytale-type story,” Matilda’s good friend Cathy whispered to her from the desk over, ignoring the teacher’s now formidable presence behind her desk at the front of the room. “About a little human who lives and then, umm…dies.”

“Real original, Cathy.” Matilda frowned, absent-mindedly running her hoof through her mane. “Everyone’s gonna write a short story about those fictional creatures.”

“But it’s easy,” Mandy, from her desk next to Cathy’s, intervened. “Just pick a typical mythical creature and then write whatever the hell you want.” Mrs. Dieber’s voice was now just a dim buzz in the background as the girls leaned their heads in to hear her elaboration. “Lack of creativity?” She tapped her hoof on her desk, motioning to one of the areas Dieber planned to grade on. “Not likely. The fiction’s built right in!”

“Well,” Matilda said, haughtily, “I’m gonna write a story that’s---that’s different. It’s gonna be about…About little human girls, who have to write a short story. They live in some parallel universe, and they want to write one about us, and we’re fake.”

“That sounds kind of stupid, Mat,” Cathy sighed. Mandy nodded and pointed to the protrusion on her forehead.

“They don’t even have horns.”

“That’s what the short story’s about!” Matilda huffed, glancing at the teacher, just to confirm that she was unaware of the girls’ conversation.

“Sounds stupid, Matilda,” Cathy repeated, neighing. “Maybe you should just write another little tale about that human girl who wears that red cloak.”

“Yeah, like that hasn’t been bludgeoned to death.”  Matilda sighed but, after a moment of thought, decided that they might be right. She reluctantly gave up her original idea, picked her pen up, and clenched it firmly between her teeth, meticulously writing the words, HUMAN GIRL RED CLOAK in big letters across the top of her assignment sheet.

Best Friends

“Damn it!” she screamed. “It’s not fair!!!”

I followed her out of the building and onto the grass. It molded beneath my feet, my heels forming into the freshly soaked dirt. I groaned inwardly and slipped my shoes off, picking up my dress and following her. She was out of my sight now, but she couldn’t have gotten too far.

And she hadn’t.

She was sitting next to the lake, just staring out onto its dark blue surface. I wished the moon was out. She would’ve looked breath-taking.

“Oh, Shannon.” I sighed, walking slowly over to her slouching form.

“What?” She turned to me, and I could see the steam coming off her breath.

I shook my head, said nothing and plopped down next to her.

She turned back towards the eerily calm water and bit her lip. I could see the thought on her face, and I could see the tears forming in her eyes, just dying to break loose.

“Don’t cry,” I begged her.

She didn’t turn to face me that time, and just remained frozen; it was like she hadn’t heard me. I saw the streams trickle down her face, and it was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen her.

The bottom of her fancy, blue dress was adorned in mud, her cheeks were flushed, her nose was running, and her tears were thick.

“I love you,” I said.

I met her eyes that time, and without even taking mine off of her cyan, I could tell that a smile was slowly forming on her face.

It didn’t matter that he cheated on her.

She had me.

Not So Stranger

"Do you need a ride?"

I turned to see a man peering at me through a rolled-down car window. The rain was thick, my sweater was soaked, and my legs were begging me to grab a ride.

"No thanks." I shook my head.

"You sure?" he asked. I was about to nod when a bolt of lightening pounded forcefully against the earth in the distance. Before I could control myself, I whimpered.

"Get in, please," the man said more firmly, but he still seemed concerned.

"Ok," I obliged and slipped into the passenger seat.

He began to drive, and I hastily pulled my jacket's hood off my head.

"Where do you live?" he asked.

"You could just drop me off at that convenient store." I pointed at one down the street.

"You sure?" The man seemed hesitant. "I could take you home, sweetie," he said.

The use of that particular endearment made me cringe. Even though the man was well-dressed, and his car was nice, and he was actually very handsome and not that old didn't mean that he wasn't a rapist.

"Here," I said, only, I didn't believe myself, because as we got closer to the store I saw that the haven was as appealing as riding with a stranger.

"No." The stranger thought the same thing. "I'll take you somewhere where I won't worry you made it through the night," the man said decisively and continued driving past the gas station.

"How old are you?" he asked.

"What the hell kind of question is that?" I snapped. His green eyes widened in surprise.

"Just a question...." He seemed uncomfortable as he pulled to a stop at a stop sign.

"Well, it's none of your goddamn business." I didn't need to be nice. He was still a stranger, after all.

"There's my house." He gestured to a large brick house on the corner.

"Really?" I didn't believe him. He could tell, because he smirked.

"Really. I'd prove it to you, only I just left that place to get away from my bitchy wife." I must've made a face, because he said, "I can curse, too."

I smiled. He kept driving into the now pouring rain and the dark night. Looking out the window, I couldn't even see what he claimed to be his house anymore.

"I live on Sicamore," I resolutely admitted.

"Good. I got a name and somewhere to actually go." The man smiled; a nice smile, I noted. "You know, my cousin lives on Richardson, just two blocks over."

"I don't really know anyone here, I just moved," I revealed more.

The man turned left, and I assumed he knew where he was going.

"Yeah, I thought something was up when you were walking away from the houses and actually toward the town lake."

"See? I am new. I didn't even know there was a town lake."

He laughed and continued driving.

"Thanks for this distraction," he said.

"Hmmm...?"

"I am pissed at my wife, and she's just...." He clutched the steering wheel so tightly that his fingers turned white.

"One of those." I smirked.

"Excuse me?"

"You love her so much, you hate her. That's how my parents are," I said knowingly.

"How old are you?" he braved to ask again.

"I'm sixteen."

"You look younger."

"Thank you."

"No need to be sarcastic; I'm just saying."

"I know, and I'm just saying women like to look younger, right?"

"I suppose." He nodded. "I'm twenty-five."

"Congratulations." I was distracted. "I think this is my street. It's hard to tell through the rain."

"Yeah, this is Sicamore." He too struggled to see through the rain. "What number are you?"

"318."

He now had all the tools a rapist-serial killer could wish to obtain. He better be happy, I thought.

"That's on the far end." He motioned off into the black abyss, and I sighed and leaned my head against the window.

"What are you doing out in this storm, anyway?" he asked.

I sighed. "Stupid party. The people I wanted to make friends with, well, they're not the type you should be friends with."

"I know what you mean." The stranger smiled, and I realized he wasn't so strange after all.

"Here we are." He stopped in front of my house.

"Thanks." I smiled before sliding out of the car. His hand on my shoulder made me turn around.

"And hey, you'll make friends."

"I know. And hey, every time you hate your wife because you love her, remember that you do at least love her."

"Can do."

He winked. I rolled my eyes, stepped away from the car and watched him drive off. I'd never see him again.

Everything They Don't Want Me To Write

Well, Mrs. Shankel gave us this assignment, and she said, Please, please, please be sure to be one hundred and one percent honest. And though I wanted to argue with her that I'm pretty sure one hundred and one percent doesn't exist, I bit my tongue. So here I am. What do I do now?

I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll do just as Mrs. Shankel said.

I'll tell you the truth.

This school is shit.

If you're sincerely contemplating attending, I heavily suggest turning back now.

Just shut your eyes, grip your Mom-or-whoever-wants-you-to-come-here's knee and say, No, I don't want to go to Clatterbuck Prep any longer. I really, really don't.

I know this paper's not going to be one of the students' published in the stupid new pamphlet the school's mass producing, at least not now, but probably not even if I wrote everything they wanted me to, but that's okay. I'd rather be honest and turn this paper into Shankel, proud, then lie and say stupid shit.

I hate Clatterbuck Prep.

I'm going to tell you why I hate it now.

I hate it because they promised me good things when I wanted to come here. The same ones I'm sure they're promising all you right now. They're probably saying that the teachers here are the best in the world. That's a lie. There's no particularly inspired insight into their selected course subjects to be found. And they're all fat, ugly, bald and old.  Except for the coach who teaches math, and he's not a good person. He let Tasha Winters pass because she sucked on his cock.

Shankel probably just spit out her coffee.

I don't care.

They probably also told you that even though Clatterbuck is an all girls place, there's loads of chances to meet guys. That's a lie, too. They'll talk about the sporting events, but the guys who play in those are too snobby and snot-faced to even look at you; well, unless you have huge flabby breasts like Tasha Winters. And most girls don't look like her. Most girls aren't whores. Most girls' fathers aren't wealthy investors in Clatterbuck Prep.

Then they'll say you can meet dudes at the co-ed dances. Let me tell you right now, those suck massive cock. The guys who go to those are total dweebs, not dudes you'd want to fuck in a million years. They're the guys who are total virgins, the ones who spend their free time talking about Star Trek or some shit.

And you can't even be a dike because they keep cameras in your rooms. Some chicks know how to get around that, or fuck in the bathrooms or something, but I don't know how to manage that, to be honest. I could find out for you, if you wanted me to. Though, if you asked, I'd just say, Don't fucking come here, you idiot!

I want to go home.

I miss regular high school.

But it's for your future, Mom said, and I knew she only wanted what's best for me.

But now I write her letters and she swears I'm over exaggerating how bad it is. You'll be proud you went there when you look back on it, I promise.

They probably also told you the girls are nice. But they're not nice at all. They beat you up. They'll turn you into a massive bloody pulp if you don't know how to handle them. I hide in the bathroom stall to avoid them, if I can, if two girls aren't fucking in there, or something. Still, I've been beaten a few times. Broken my nose and a couple of bones in my right hand, which didn't even get me out of my sucky homework because I'm left-handed. Anyways, the girls who did it didn't even get in trouble because they told me to tell the nurse it was a sporting accident, during fucking lacrosse practice, or they'd do it worse next time, and by the time my letter got to Mom the school nurse had already called her and Mom patronized me for “lying” to her.

I was left bleeding, and crying, and drugged up and lonely and thoroughly convinced that this place is hell on earth.

So, Mrs. Shankel, that's what I'd write to a student wanting to come here. I think you should put this in your fucking pamphlet. I think you should be one hundred and one percent honest. And I hope Tasha Winters sees this somehow, miraculously, and kicks me out through her dad because I pissed her off.

I guess all I need to do is end this with the example sentence Mrs. Shankel gave us to use, just to adhere to her exact orders and all.

"And that, lovely young prospective students, is why I, a happy student here at this academy, think you should seriously consider attending this little piece of paradise called Clatterbuck Prep."