Vanilla

Chapter Five

Dedicated to starlightt because you all need to go vote for her story Superior (On The Rise, Science Fiction) in the Watty Awards. Right after you go vote for me.

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            I didn’t know where the bathroom was, but a stab in the dark led me to the door directly opposite; all I could do was hope it was the right one. Thankfully, as it swung open, I was greeted by a roomful of gleaming white tile and a significantly cooler temperature, both of which I didn’t hesitate to stumble into.

            What was wrong with me? Jesus, I’d never had a reaction like that before. I thought I’d dealt with the fact that my parents weren’t around anymore long ago. Whilst I was still prone to onsets of sadness if they were mentioned, it was usually nothing more crippling than a twinge, or tears that I’d quickly wipe with the back of my hand.

            But that?

            I knew Jay hadn’t meant anything by it. After all, how was he supposed to know that the girl beside him – the one who looked completely normal, with curly hair and freckles on her nose – had been ripped apart by grief only several years before? No one could tell. I didn’t have a tattoo that read orphan on my forehead. I didn’t come with a warning label that instructed the outside world to approach the topic with caution. I didn’t have any visible scars.

            So who could blame him, really? In fact, I was the one at fault.

            I took a few minutes to compose myself, splashing cold water onto my face and furiously commanding my reflection in the pristine mirror to get a grip. But that was easier said than done. Honestly, I was considering making a break for it out the front door. It wasn’t like I wanted to abandon the group of people who were my only escape from the prospect of a pathetically friendless summer. But what was I supposed to say to them?

            I couldn’t go back and explain the real reason behind my sudden exit. It’d ruin everything – and just fifteen minutes into the evening. I’d be stuck with a label that would stretch well beyond the end of summer. I could kiss goodbye to being just Flo, the new girl. The moment the truth came out, I was destined to become Flo, the new girl with the dead parents. The one who might freak out at any minute. And, as I knew from experience, that was an impossible stain to get off.

            Back home in London, in the initial aftermath of the accident, the entire school found out within a matter of days. I still wasn’t sure exactly how it spread so quickly, but I became a tragic case overnight, plagued by whispers and bated breath everywhere I set foot. People tiptoed around me, keeping themselves at arm’s length like I was a bomb at risk of exploding at the slightest thing. And then there were the pity looks: those awful expressions, masking the faces of everybody I knew. I got them from everybody: my friends; classmates I’d never spoken to; teachers, especially. Suddenly I was never the girl picked last for teams in PE, never expected to go up to the whiteboard and explain one of the homework questions, never receiving detention for missing homework in the first place. I was permanently excused.

            And I hated every second of it.

            Here in Walden, I wasn’t that girl. Daniel had looked at Nora and I with more than sympathy, and to the others, I was more than just a tragic past. I was the new girl, clinging with both hands to the potential to be anybody I wanted. For the first time in three years, I was without the label stuck over my forehead.

            I couldn’t tell them. I couldn’t lose grip on those endless possibilities, of finally having people who knew me for me, not the tragic details of what had shaped my being.