Stained Glass Souls (Wattys 2014, Collector's Dream Award Winner)

Ariel: Together Again, For Better or For Worse

(Ariel: unedited)

It felt so strange, wandering through the halls of a crowded high school without Katrina. Living half of your life attached to one person, growing so used to their presence that it becomes second nature, feels utterly discomforting when they are gone. Ariel imagined this was what heartbreak felt like – everything in life seemed messy, ragged and unresolved. People looked disjointed, arms and legs moving like marionettes.

She felt bare. Before, Katrina would concoct outlandish outfits to wear every day. They'd shown up with colored hair and fishnet tights, blazers with spiked shoulder pads and gaga boots so thick-soled it felt like walking upon another set of feet. It had been exhilarating, heads turned as they walked down the halls. Katrina always carried a beautiful silver-etched cigarette lighter, and every Monday they'd skip Math class to loiter around the back of the building and inhale a pack of Camels. Somehow, caricature jackets, pants ripped to the ankles, and Victorian nightdresses worn as shirts were given purpose – life.

Now, stripped down to the essence of who she had been before Katrina, she didn't feel particularly exciting or exotic. She kept her Doc Martens: perfectly scratched-up, covered with neon sharpie, stick pins forming metal walls along her ankles. The treads on the heels were melted from stubbing out cigarettes, and dragged a little along the floor when she walked. Yet parting with them was out of the question. They were Ariel, the real Ariel, the one that few people in Redemption had gotten to see.

She hated this high school. Her gym locker required a full five minutes of jiggling before it unlocked, and it was impossible to get lost among the handful of dingy halls. Her classrooms were small, the possibility of friends even smaller.

Friendship isn't real.

She stood in the doorway of the cafeteria, hands tight on her purse. She had an apple inside. 120 calories. Scanning the faces, she recognized a few people from various classes, all huddled around their own tables, immersed in the art of social circles. Benny was huddled in a table along the back wall, next to the garbage cans. His laptop propped open in front of him, fingers flying, he looked like a target. Red circles, painted on his back. But then Ariel remembered: this was the dead boy's brother, and so he was left alone.

"Hey." She shot him a weak smile as she sat down.

He tore his eyes away from his screen, bushy eyebrows furrowing together in surprise. "Oh. Hey." There was an opened milk carton beside him, droplets upon the empty sandwich bag wedged underneath one elbow.

Ariel pulled out her apple. She needed a water bottle, but walking over to the lunch line, in front of a bunch of vicious teenagers, wasn't an appealing option. Her jeans felt so snug today – too snug. The black fabric stretched tightly over her thighs. Showcasing her swollen figure by parading around was horrifying. She took a studious, tiny bite of her apple. 5 calories.

"How's html coding going?"

Benny's head jerked back up. Again, he looked astonished. "Uhm...fine. Fine. You know I code?"

You know I code. Ariel took another tiny bite. That was a good mantra. Food was code for fat. French fries were code for flabby arms. Pizza, pepperoni dots for lumps underneath her thighs. "Iris mentioned it."

"Oh." He ducked back under. "She does that."

Lunch was always like this – approach, sit, surprise. Eat, conversation, falling flat. Ariel stood, half her apple clenched in her fist. "See you around."

She threw away the rest and made her way to the bathroom. It was relatively empty, a lonely pair of black converse and a pair of metallic purple flats residing behind stall doors. Ariel locked herself inside an empty stall. Her name was scribbled in sharpie across the back of the door: ARIEL F. IS A SKNY BTCH.