Flower Girl

Twenty-Seven

But avoiding Bianca wasn't as easy as Poire thought it out to be, especially when Bianca was the one purposely running into her.

It was at least once per day that a terrible occurrence happened to Poire. Whether it was a fake spider in her yoghurt during recess, having her shoelaces hidden right before each outing, replacing her Bible with a people magazine to get her in trouble—Poire was never allowed to rest. And lest we forget the further tortures she had to endure: the uncounted amount of slaps she received from her darling neighbor as wake-up calls every morning; the fact that she found her menstrual pads floating in the river; and there was the time she found a real spider between the two flaps her bath towel—although, to be fair, whether this was Bianca's doing or not was debatable.

Poire wanted to hate Bianca so badly. It was terrible, what she did, especially when she'd go out of her way to tell the nuns how much she pitied Poire for apparently losing all her things. Yet, Poire was so busy hating herself that she had little energy left at the end of each day to pour into despising another person.

Today, however, was different.

Today, Bianca had gone too far.

There was a walk in the forest planned for the afternoon. Due to the nature of being obliged to cooperate with one's roommate as a pair, Poire found herself walking in silence, next to Bianca. To her surprise, however, Bianca had yet to do much to her since the first time they'd arrived here, leaving Poire to wonder if it was sheer luck or if her classmate had finally given Poire a day of reprieve.

As the group of teenagers were led up the first hill that led to the mountains, by four nuns speaking in singsong voices, they followed a trail that pointed straight toward a forest. Poire's steps started to slow as she approached the trees that shook above her head from the light breeze that smelled of hay and bright things. For a moment, even if it wasn't her forest, she expected to see the lemur. But nothing came.

Bianca elbowed her side. "What are you waiting for?" she said. "Come on, let's go."

And so they left, their sneakers crunching in the dirt filled by an array of pebbles both large and small. Poire's bag felt lighter against her shoulders than when she'd first packed it. As she marched on without a care in the world, a butterfly, donning the finest sapphire wings she'd ever seen, flew by her figure.

The modest group had been walking for hours when they finally decided to stop for lunch. They had set up portable tables alongside a tiny river in which some of the girls took off their shoes and dipped their feet into the fresh water. Poire was surprised to find Bianca doing the same—she had always assumed that her classmate would inevitably find such practices dirty, and therefore avoid them at all costs. And why is she bringing her backpack with her? Poire wondered. Weren't we supposed to leave them behind, near the tables?

As Poire went to take another bite from her sandwich, her eyes never leaving Bianca, she dropped her food, gasped, and rose to her feet. "No!" she shouted. The group turned around to look at her, but Poire didn't care, for she was only focused on getting from one point to another before it was too late. From behind her, there were shouted warnings from the nuns as they told her not to run against damp rocks, for she could easily slip and fall onto her head.

Poire only stopped once she realized it was no use. Her bag was bobbing up and down in the water, quickly flowing downstream toward God only knew where. Poire's hands balled into fists by her sides as her nails dug into the small of her palms. It hurt. Perhaps she was bleeding because of how much pain it caused her, but she gritted her teeth and did nothing more. The agony she'd had to endure over the past couple of days had been nothing compared to this. Because there were things in that bag, things she had deeply cared about, such as a book she had wanted to read while they were on their breaks.

And Bianca had taken those things from her again, again, and again.

And Poire? She was sick of it.

She looked up to the sky. A tear slid down her cheek. It was sunny, but it was also raining, and she screamed until her throat hurt. Until the group stopped talking. Until Bianca stopped laughing. Until the world heard all she had to say. And when she finally ceased, they tried to talk to her, or rather, talk her out of jumping over that river—but Poire was done listening to adults. They were only capable of seeing whatever was before their eyes; they would not question Bianca's lies, never. They would not help her.

She took a step forward.

"I'm sorry!" Bianca cried from behind her back. "I thought it was mine! I accidentally dropped it!"

As if I'm going to believe that, Poire thought. You're just a liar, Bianca. You'll always be a liar. She crossed the river and ran deeper into the forest.

Something had changed.

Poire blinked. She glanced downward. Her shorts were now leftovers of a golden dress, once so clean, now covered in mud. Poire looked around as she tried to figure out where she had landed. Her muscles did not ache, nor had she died. The world was grim, just like she had left it, and Poire was amazed at how she had almost forgotten about the state of the environment outside the castle.

Beside her lay the giant beetle.

It was on its back and flinching, yet she didn't know whether those were reflexes of its body or its mind. So, she stood back and left it alone, erasing the memory of broken wings and shattered dreams.