Louder Than Words

If life was a dance, then Hazel was off beat. Everything was throwing off her rhythm. Lately, it was as if she moved like one of those blow up tube dancers in front of car dealerships; painfully uncoordinated but something people couldn’t seem to stop looking at. The looks she got as her 70s platforms clomped down the hallway burned the back of her neck, and the whispers that filled her ears distracted her from her usual steady beat. These constant missteps, though, were not caused solely by the whispers or the looks. In fact, Hazel liked it when people noticed her, whispering about her big city fashion, with some girls even bold enough to ask her if she could help them master the art of thrifting. Being noticed, as the aspiring artist she considered herself to be, had always been the punch behind Hazel’s confident steps. Hazel relished in the exposure, or always had. That was until the moment the sunshine, vibrant eclectic fashion, and her very life were snatched away as fast as if the universe had used a remote to turn it off. Click. Just like that,  Hazel’s path became not of what she carved, but of the fate that fell upon her. Suddenly, all anyone could talk about was Hazel’s circumstance. 

That’s what happens with an arch enemy like Delia Rose. 

Just based on her name itself, it wasn’t too hard to figure out she was, according to Hazel anyway, absolutely deplorable in nature. Always the one to stand out with fashion and boldness, Hazel automatically despised the way Delia, like a ravenous beast, gorged over her phone to eat up whatever look was getting the most likes on social media, or whoever was the most recent “it” celebrity that all of the behemoth drones, or more commonly known as teenage boys, were fawning over. Delia’s hair was bleached as intensely as a covered up murder scene, but never dead or stringy. No, Delia’s entire world was devoted to her looks, of which she had quite an abundance. Where Hazel wore platforms to school and devoted her time to sustainable fashion club and the school paper, Delia wore Gucci sneakers and spent her days throwing out whatever clothes were suddenly out of style and igniting over the shriveling terror she caused from destroying her competitors on the debate team.

One found purpose in her fashion, the other saw it as a means to create an image. One believed in reuse, the other wouldn’t dream of it. One loved to bring people’s stories to the public, while the other found refuge in dominating over opposition and squandering voices who dared speak against her. Both were in total opposition and both were fervent in their ways and their beliefs.

When it came down to it, there was only one thing the two girls wholeheartedly agreed on. It was that they each found the other absolutely intolerable.

It had become almost a legend at school. The girls had been rivals seemingly since the moment Hazel moved to town in the third grade. She had bounced into Mrs. Cullen’s class in a sundress with watermelons scattered across it, smiling bright. Delia detested the way she walked, bouncing as if the world was perfect. Even at that young age, Delia had a different view. Life wasn’t perfect, people could only pretend it was. Her mother had taught her that. So at the end of that first school day, when the children were in line for dismissal, Delia shoved her mounted backpack promptly into the new student behind her, causing her to fall back and spill the apple juice on which she had been sipping. Hazel’s eyes had welled. Her first day in a new school had been terrifying enough, but now the lovechild of Cruella Deville and Gaston (her two LEAST favorite villains) was smirking over her ruined dress.

“Sorry,” sneered Delia, “But at least now you don’t have to wear that ugly dress!” Hazel glared at the girl in front of her and pushed herself back onto her feet. Her dad had always told her that bullies were only that way because they had problems of their own. Hazel, in all her apple juice drip, said as much, which only lit the fire inside Delia’s heart more. Two days later, Hazel wore the watermelon dress again, this time with her chin resolute and a slight line of an apple juice stain that the wash just couldn’t convince to vanish. 

Ever since that day in the third grade, the two had been adamant in avoiding each other. They spent their days in their own worlds, only ever acknowledging each other when exam grades came back, subtly trying to catch a glance at what the other received to see who outranked who. It was a silent competition, filled with irked eye rolls and scoffs. No one truly knew why it had come to be that way, but everyone was certain that it had been so from the moment they met, and that the closer the two got physically, the more essential it became for all in their vicinity to vacate the ticking time bomb. 

Needless to say, when eyes caught on Delia Rose strutting over to Hazel alone at a cafeteria table  awaiting her friends, the world seemed to collectively hold it’s breath. Onlookers dared only to look through discrete side eyes. The two girls made eye contact and smoke nearly unfurled from their nostrils. Every emotion between them was tighter, more enraged and entangled in contempt. Everyone felt it the way one feels heat from a flame too close to the skin. It was the type of flame that came not from the wildfire rumors of a high school hallway, for what had happened between these two enemies was not mere speculation. Everything that filled the air around Delia Rose and Hazel Davis was caused by utterly accurate and wholly true circumstances.

How terrifying. 

Delia stood like a Barbie doll. That wasn’t a compliment in Hazel’s eyes, who looked at Delia standing across from her lunch table. Her cold, dead eyes, stiff posture and most noticeably her wreak of plastic struck Hazel as unnerving. This was the last person on Earth Hazel wanted to see at any point during the day, but during lunch, especially when she had her dad’s leftover lasagna? Her presence was like an act of war.

Delia raised her voice about eight octaves before she spoke, the way only girls who absolutely despise each other can manage when faced with an audience. “Hazel, hey! Just wanted to pop over and see how your day was going, you know, I heard you had a big exam last period.” 

Get away from me you absolute psychotic disturbance of all things good. Thought Hazel, but she knew that she had to play nice. People were watching. Realizing that Delia knew this and relished in the way it forced Hazel into a corner, Hazel growled. Fine. She thought. Two can play along at this game. 

Hazel did her best at matching Delia’s pitch in tone, but increased the volume dramatically. If Delia wanted a crowd, then Hazel was going to make sure she got one. “Oh my gosh, Delia you’re literally the sweetest. Yeah, I had an exam but I think I did well. You’re such a good friend for checking in.”

Because that’s what he asked us if we could try to be, right? Hazel thought. “Friends.” 

Delia’s insides curdled at the word. It was an abomination, really. Friends? How could Delia be friends with her arch nemesis? She couldn’t (wouldn’t, would probably be more accurate, but alas, her mind wasn’t concerned with accuracy at that point). She had said as much when it was asked that she try to make it work with Hazel. Delia had argued with all the chops her hours in debate had taught her, but at that point it was already too late. The damage was done. 

“Well, what are friends,” Delia had to physically force the word like vomit out of her mouth, “for.” Hazel stabbed her lasagna and took a massive bite before smiling at the vermin that stood before her. Well, if a wrinkled nose and a conglomeration of bared teeth and half chewed lasagna could be considered a smile. Delia rolled her eyes. She turned her head, spotting her friends looking at her like she had just committed arson. Half terrified, half concerned. 

Mostly terrified. 

“I love your shirt by the way,” Hazel sneered. How many years did Earth lose with it’s mass manufacturing? 

“Aw, thanks. That means a lot coming from you,” Delia returned. I wouldn’t be caught dead in one of your stupid outfits.

“How has the debate club been going? I heard you made, like, ten freshmen cry the other day. You must be a hell of a debater.” Surprised your icy glare didn’t just turn them all to stone. 

“Oh, yeah. Well, it was actually only three freshmen, but I was doing them a favor honestly. Better they know now they can't handle it, you know?” You're just jealous.

Hazel almost bled by how intensely she bit her tongue. All she wanted was to stand up and rip Delia Rose apart for the conniving monster she felt as though she was. Instead, she settled on, “How thoughtful of you.” 

You’re the worst were her actual thoughts. 

Hazel was praying for her friends to hurry from art class so she wouldn’t have to subject herself to the conversation she was in any longer. Stupid balloon splatter paint. She inwardly cursed, the art teacher and her eccentrics making every student re-enact the scene from The Princess Diaries. Clean up takes forever. 

“Oh, and Hazel?” Delia’s voice pierced through Hazel’s inner monologue like a screeching violin. Delia palmed her hand on the table and leaned over, exposing her cleavage. Hazel did her best not to gag. “I forgot to tell you, I saw the best movie the other night. You would have loved it. Too bad you weren’t there.”

With those words, though seemingly conversational, Delia seemed empty a rapid-fire weapon upon the conversation.

Two words flamed like fiery rods of lightning in Hazel’s eyes. 

THE. AUDACITY. 

You stole him. Hazel screamed in her head. You stole him from me you bitch. 

Movie night had been a long standing tradition for Hazel. Every other Friday night, she used to laugh at the way he went on for hours about “real movies,” exposing Hazel to what he thought were all the greats. It always took the two of them hours to comb through the film, her pausing to ask questions and share her thoughts, him pausing to make sure she had really been relishing the cinematic moment or to explain the history behind the scene. Movie night was sacred. That is, it was until Delia came into the picture and, with her plasticity and winning debate team antics, ripped away one of the most important things in her life. How could you? Hazel thought, though, at that point it was unclear at who that was directed at-Delia Rose, or the one who broke her heart.

Delia could see she had struck a chord. Instinctively, her soul's fervent hands shot up in fists of victory, like when she felt herself winning a debate. They lifted inside her, but something caught onto them before they could fully celebrate. It was a dull throbbing, and though she couldn’t see it, Delia could feel it was mottled gray and black. It was the pain. Anytime Delia felt it trying to take it’s hold on her, she braced herself against it. Like a shield she fought tooth and nail, throwing herself into hair tutorials, debate team practices, anything and everything. Life wasn’t perfect, people could only pretend it was. And pretend Delia did, but that didn’t stop another part of her from wanting to lash out. Delia feigned fierceness, but she sought out destruction to counteract the hurt she felt. Isn’t that what Hazel had said, all those years ago? That cruelty masked something deeper going on? Looking at Hazel, the way her eyes flamed at her, Delia’s heart faltered. She faltered because in the eyes of her enemy, she saw the same pain. It made sense, didn’t it? They had both ended up getting hurt in the exact same way. 

“Yeah, bummer. Glad you liked it, though,” Hazel muttered, relenting her high octave act. I hope you hated it. I wish you never met him. I wish we never had to move here. I wish my mom never died and left us no choice but to get away from it all. All things that were what Hazel truly felt, but would leave unsaid at the precipice of her tongue. “He always picks the best ones.”

The cafeteria swarmed around them, having since decided that even some drama was just too much, too raw and real, for the loose lips of high school students. The two arch enemies sat still in the midst of the chaos of students flooding in to stuff their hungry faces. Two girls who absolutely despised each other, but hurt in ways so similar that they knew only each other could ever understand. That reality of what had happened, that it left them evermore entangled and their lives completely flipped upside down,  petrified them. 

Perhaps that’s why the two girls hid behind their words. Weren’t those, after everything that had happened, all they had left to control?

The two enemies sized each other up. For that fraction of a second, Hazel thought Delia was going to cry. She thought she was going pull out a seat and take her hand. Maybe they would, after all this time, settle their differences. Friends. He had asked of Hazel. For a second she thought it was possible, but reality had a way with irony. Instead of breaking down, Delia hardened. What Hazel witnessed was like a wall going up. No, it was fiercer than that. It was more like a shield. Hazel watched as Delia shielded herself with a viciousness that only she could manage. All the emotions drained out of Delia’s eyes in an instant. Hazel shut down, seeing the way Delia shot up straighter. A devilish Barbie on overdrive. There was no point in dreaming, even for a second, that the two of them could even try to be friends. It was foolish to even think it possible.

Delia saw her window of opportunity like a cheetah sees a gazelle in the wild. Destruction would block the pain, at least, Delia was determined to see it succeed just once. Destruction was what Delia did best, though then it was impossible to discern whether she was trying to destroy those around her or to simply succeed in the destruction of herself.

“Well,” she spat out, “Your dad knows his movies. And when he marries my mom we can have movie nights all the time. Like one, big, happy, family.” The words came out like a sarcastic taunt that dripped with venom. Her mother might have forced Delia to say the right things, but that didn’t stop her from meaning something entirely different in her delivery. I’d rather eat dog shit than ever have to live under the same roof as you. She thought. Damn Dad for being a whore and divorcing Mom. That bastard loves to ruin everything. 

Unsaid words beneath the layers of other meaningless ones.

Hazel laughed, “One big happy family, for sure. You can learn all about movies from my dad, and I can learn all about being a brainless gold-digger from you and your mom!”

Or...maybe not. 

For a girl like Delia, acting came easy. She could play a role or dramatize to win an argument. That was her style. Hazel’s style was to wear it all on her sleeve. She literally expressed herself through her sleeves, bearing herself on her clothes. She was never anything but authentic. Delia shouldn’t have assumed she would fight fire with fire. Hazel didn't ever try to match what others gave her, especially when Delia was the one doing all the giving. 

What had their parents expected? Two arch enemies to be friends at the mere request that it be so during a two minute conversation at the kitchen countertop? That was the image of absurdity.

So was the one of Delia Rose slapping Hazel Davis across the face in their high school cafeteria, a ticking time bomb having exploded in it's entirety.

That moment, like the one when Hazel's dad proposed to Delia's mom, was wholly, utterly, and quite shockingly actual. What's more, is that that Delia absolutely meant what she did. That's because, when it came down to it, actions always seemed to have a way of speaking louder than words.

How terrifying.