We met on a Tuesday.
Wait, met is the wrong word. 'We met' sounds like it was an accident, and chance had nothing to do with it.
She found me on a Tuesday.
That's better.
The sun grinned down onto Ilse Drassil, almost like it forgot the past rain-filled week ever existed. The campers clustered in cliques, some weaving in and out of the groups in a frenzy of short lived enthusiasm, some chattered in huddles brimming with backward glances and did you hears and others simply lounged in the heat, too tired, or too cool to do anything.
And where was I during the commotion? Well, I sat alone in the ash tree's charcoal shade, trying not to attract too much attention before the end of lunch. It wasn't a hard task. I was often overlooked anyway; all I had to do was keep my head down and act vaguely uninterested. It usually worked well enough.
But there will be some days when, for some reason or another, what usually works, doesn't. And there will be some days (rarer still) when that will lead to something very unusual indeed.
That Tuesday was one of them.
"Can I see your hat?"
I looked up, squinting, to see a mixed girl staring down, illuminated by the gleaming rays of the sun. She was about a head shorter than me, with a wild mop of curly black hair and faded red highlights that frayed around her collar. None of her clothes fit her quite right; her yellow striped tee was half tucked into her tiny black shorts and one of her clunky trainers had their laces undone. Even her scratched red headphones seemed to droop, too heavy for her shoulders.
"Can I see your hat? Don't worry, I'll give it back." Yeah, like that's what I was worried about.
Despite some obvious concerns, I obediently plucked my rim hat from my head and handed it to her. The girl sat next to me and turned it over, inspecting the frayed edges, lime green band and wilting curled fern. Meanwhile, I was bursting with questions.
Why do you want my hat?
Who are you?
Where have I seen you before?
What are you doing here?
And why me?
The hat question would be the easiest to answer.
"So... umm... why the hat?" Wow. Great job, Evelyn. Just let her know you're a loser and a coward in one sentence.
It took a second for her to understand; I half expected her to walk away there and then, hat and all. I wouldn't have blamed her.
"Oh, I just wanted to see it up close. It's hard to tell what type of hat it is from a distance." Her eyes were glued to the worn fabric.
"Why would you need to know that? Are you going to use it for something?"
She finally turned to face me, studying me as intensely as she did my hat, maybe even more so. Her eyes were an every-colour slurry, almost like she couldn't choose between grey, blue, green or brown and so had splashes of each, bleeding out from her iris. Perfect for a watercolour still life, or an oil painting with just the right blending...
"You haven't taken it off all week, not in the morning, not at lunch, not even during art. It must be important to you if you wear it so often. I just want to see why."
So that's where I knew her from! Art Class! If I remembered correctly, she was giggling at the back of the class with Ashely Warren and her posy – wait, Ashely Warren? The Ashely Warren? All those backward glances became much more ominous.
The girl handed the hat over with a smile. "Sorry that took so long. I'm Ramona, by the way."
"Evelyn."
A moment passed as I flattened my bangs in a last-ditch attempt to look somewhat presentable. But judging by my mismatching off-white blouse
Not wanting to end the conversation there, I added, "What type of hat is it?"
Her smile widened as she stood. There were pale grass stains patched on the back of her shorts, but I wasn't about to tell her.
"Couldn't tell. But at least I got a good look at the girl wearing it."
The bell responded before I could, with a sharp metallic ring, and she disappeared into the haze of teenaged groans, loosely tied ponytails and battered gym equipment that trickled out of the field and into tents for yet another afternoon registration.
Well, that was one way to answer a question.
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Thanks for reading the first chapter of Margin Doodles!
How did you find it? Who's your favourite character so far? Comment down below.
The next chapter is (hopefully) coming next week. See you then!
- Aubrey
YOU ARE READING
Margin Doodles
Teen FictionI had a vague idea of what was going to happen this summer. Sloppy, half baked and half finished breakfasts, showing up five minutes late to the wrong activity, unreasonably threatening wild horses roaming about and showers that were either too hot...
