Author’s Note

I sincerely don't know what inspired this story. But, anyways do give it a read. It's really interesting, especially the first and last paragraphs. And, please drop a comment so I know where I'm lagging behind or just to encourage me.

Thank you! :)

Copyright © 2021 by Fallow Amber.

You leave the Biology classroom; she leaves the downstairs restroom. You see her; she probably sees you too. You descend the stairwell; she ascends the stairwell. You walk by her; she walks by you. You look at her; she does not look at you. 

Your lips pull up, curving around the corners, and it turns to be a smile, one that is eager to receive another; one comes from her, but it is not for you. The girl that sits across you, the particular one who wears auburn hair and white school sweatshirt over a black skirt and pop sock, waiting behind you with shoulders on the lockers in the school corridor, the one that is now with her, the one you despise because of that.

***

“Sweetheart, I did not receive a call from your friend this week. Very unusual. Is there something going on?” you move past your mother watching a horror film and head to the kitchen, opening the refrigerator for a chilled bottle of water to calm your debilitated thoughts and nerves. You are back from school, junior school to be precise, and your mother does not ask about anything but a friend you do not think you know about anymore. Mother could not be talking about anyone else but her, Ciara. It was not like she did not know all your friends till knowing your enemies, and even knowing that your friend could now be with Freya. You remember she had laughed in the cafe whilst ordering a love pizza, the one you used to share as an everyday snack to show your bond. Probably when you cut them into two with the pizza wheel the lunch lady gave you, chatting with them afterwards, you were dividing the love you had grown to build for and around each other since nursery school. She had been with the second plate of chilli cheese dip, Fritos and chicken nuggets. By her was her. 

You sigh, enough for your mother to hear, walk over and place her hand on your shoulder, “Nothing really, she is probably just busy with school work.” You deserve an award for perfectly hiding your emotions. You throw her a smile, one that spreads wide, very well like a non-Duchenne, then grab your bag pack from the counter because you cannot keep up a fake for too long.

“And I suppose you are also busy with school work seeing as you both go to the same school, right?” Your mother is the least deceivable person. Your eyes meet hers, and you shrug, “I guess so.” That is all you mumble before heading upstairs, staring discreetly at your mother. She looks pained, maybe because her motherly instincts tell her you are pained too, or she knows you are hiding something, for the first time, you are not willing to let her in on.

You get to school today dressed in a duffle coat to hide your eyes that look swollen, the lips that look pallid and the nose that is red and still sniffling. Your father had been home with chocolates yesterday. He had said he stayed at your friend - your stepsister, Clara. He had smiled, been with you, played with you. You were happy and giddy, but he had to go.

“Hilda, I would be home tomorrow all day till it is next month to stay at Clara. Then the month after that would be your mum and the month...” he had kept saying, and you nodded, knowing that ever since the day you found out about your stepsister was the day everything changed for you. Now, your father switched from home to home every one month to balance the two marriages. And, you switched from happy to sad every one month to balance your heart. 

That day, your mother had told you, “Hilda, I am sorry. Your father and I are sorry. I do not know how to put all this. It would be too much for you to take.” You had stared at her, wondering what had happened and how it had made her cry. 

“Hilda,” your father had spoken, entering into your room and conversation, “I would tell her, dear,” he had said, looking into your confused eyes, placing your hands in his. He had pecked your cheek, “No matter what, I would always love you even if you and Clara are—” 

Your eyes had gone wide. You had tried to rack your brain of any day you had forgotten to tell them you had a new friend, one you shared everything with. You had thought that your father was going to reprimand you for making such a choice while he had been away at intervals. You had moved your eyes to your mother, believing that was the reason she had been crying.

“—siblings.” 

The world had almost stopped for a while, with memories replaying like a flashback in historical tales. You had frowned a bit, wondering why you never resembled. You had tightened your squeeze on your father.

“Stepsiblings,” your mother had corrected. You had heard distinct explanations of your father marrying your mother, birthing you and falling ill. He had remarried her mother to take care of you since there had been a slight hope of your mother surviving. But, she had, and her mother had birthed her. 

You had gone to her that day when you got to school, “Did-did you know-know?” She had sighed and nodded. She had been vibrant, while you looked terrible. You had known she was always carefree, but it was not enough to not be furious about what had happened, and that had surprised you. 

“Hilda, see, I like you honestly. But, I do not know—” she had paused, fiddling with her fingers. She was never the shy type, you had remembered.

“I do not appreciate family relationships in school.”

And, like that, you began from being close friends to acquaintances. 

You clean your nose with tissue paper before tossing it into a nearby rubbish bin, hoping you meet her today without showing any more emotions. There were places for everything and, family time in school was one of those.

She leaves the Literature classroom; you leave the upstairs restroom. She sees you hoodless with your head up high; you know you had seen her too. She ascends the staircase; you descend the staircase. She walks by you; you walk by her. She does not look at you; you do not look at her. 

You did it! You both are officially outsiders in your family relationship.