✨️ONC 2023 Shortlisted✨️
'And I knew then, with an earth-shattering certainty, that everything I'd worked for, strived for, suffered for, had just turned to dust. My life as I knew it, scattered along the pavement with shards of windscreen and the c...
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My phone continues to beep as I slap more paint on the wall. I grimace. Despite fighting tooth and nail with Dad on avoiding 'beige mom' colours, I'm not sure baby-blinding yellow was the way to go. I keep painting, my arms ache and my belly, which seemed neat and compact a few weeks ago, now makes me look less like a person and more a backwards camel. I'm swollen and round and don't recognise myself in the mirror.
I'm scared I never will again.
My phone vibrates, and I groan. After months of being ignored by almost everyone, I now seem to have acquired a group of people thinking about my wellbeing at every moment. Sarah will still argue with anyone who will listen that she hates my guts, but she bought me a pregnancy pillow a few days ago. Shrugging casually as she handed it to me as if that's a normal thing for enemies to do. And at least I was sleeping better, awkwardly wrapped in the snake-shaped velour monstrosity.
I hear Dad's gruff voice in greeting as the door opens. A moment later, heavy feet pound up the stairs. Sarah doesn't knock, just storms in. Her flushed face unhappy as she holds up her phone.
"Have you momentarily lost the ability to respond to messages?"
I keep painting and turn back to the wall.
"Did me ignoring the first five not tell you that?"
Groaning, she walks over. Sarah screws up her nose, looking at my handiwork on the wall and finding it lacking.
"Didn't Connor offer to do this? Or Phil. Or literally anyone but you?"
"Yes, and yes, but I don't need help to paint a wall." She glances down and smirks.
"Clearly... your edges could do with a little work."
"You try painting with a beach ball attached to your ribs." I hiss and she giggles, then her face turns serious.
"I know you've seen my messages. You cannot let them get away with this! The Valentine's dance was your stupid idea." I shoot her a look, which she ignores. "Did it even exist before you started at the academy? Did they even have dances before you?"
"Of course not."
"And how much money have these moronic things raised for charity since you started them?"
"It's not like I keep a tally," I huff.
"Liar. Why aren't you fighting them tooth and nail? They're decorating the hall right now, with your designs, your props, every piece of work you put into it and tomorrow night, they'll be taking all the credit. For the second time! Aren't you angry?"
My bottom lip is wobbling as I twist away sharply, splashing neon yellow all over me and her.
"Of course, I'm angry! But what am I supposed to do? I raise my head up and suddenly everyone is talking about me again, lying about me again! I can't do it."
