Bad Decisions | Fred Weasley

Fifteen: Exile in Guyville

She was sitting on the edge of the dock over the lake. There was strange weather that day, the sun was out and the ground was dry despite it being early winter. Still, it wasn't warm enough for others to be out and Sylvie found herself alone on the edge of campus as she watched the tip of her shoe skim the water's defrosted surface. A flock of geese flew overhead, forming a V shape in the sky and a frog swam below her feet. She thought about Brendan. She thought about how often she'd cried the past two years when she had hardly ever shed a tear in her life before then. She thought about Fred.

She kept thinking about Fred.

She thought about the last time they spoke. How he touched her hair and wiped away the makeup from her cheek and said her hair was too short and that it used to be so long. Her hands moved up to rake impulsively through her chopped curls. They had hardly grown out an inch since the beginning of the school year. She remembered cutting her hair in the basement with old craft scissors as her mother yelled from upstairs that they were going to miss the train. When she saw her she nearly fainted, face going white, "What have you done?" Then, "Sylvia Louise Callis!" as her complexion went beet red. Quentin laughed so hard he had tears in his eyes. Then he said she looked like Ramona Quimby with a perm. Sylvia bought cheap black eyeliner at the train station and rubbed it on her eyelids with her ring finger in the public bathroom as a little girl with big brown eyes watched from the sink beside her.

Sylvia had grown so used to wearing the smudged eyeliner every day that she felt naked without it, vulnerable and exposed to the elements. She didn't wear any today, though. It was a Saturday and she'd slept in late, didn't feel like presenting herself only to wash it off a few hours later. There was an odd refreshment to it. She felt very usual, normal.

Someone's footsteps were crunching along the brittle grass and dead leaves behind her. She didn't have to turn around.

"You never gave me that joint."

His flat-soled skater shoes made soft but solid thumps against the wooden slats of the dock.

"I did tell you to remind me."

He sat next to her, holding his palms down flat as he criss-crossed his legs. His knee just barely touched her thigh.

"I guess I never did that, did I?"

A pressure grew in Sylvia's chest as she watched his fingers fiddle in his lap and wondered how hands could be so attractive. She couldn't look at his face. She was worried that if she did, she'd throw up from the wrench the sight would send to her stomach. To stop herself, she leaned back, laying down on the cool wood and closing her eyes, conscious of the way the hem of her skirt moved up her thighs. And he was conscious of it as well, more so, keeping his gaze directed forward, strictly watching the sun begin to scrape the top of the mountains as it turned the sky a deep orange, casting a golden glow over everything. It was getting cold and he knew there were probably goosebumps on her legs.

"It's so quiet today." Sylvia mumbled from beside him and Fred looked over to her finally. Her hands were folded on top of her stomach and he noticed a little silver ring on her pinky finger, her nails were painted dark green.

"Everyone's inside for dinner."

She sighed, long and deep, opening her eyes and squinting up at the hazy purple sky, "I can never eat when it's sunny out."

He sniffed, "Why not?"

Her eyes flicked over to his and she raised her brows, "I just photosynthesize."

Fred snorted, and the corner of her mouth turned up. Every time he thought she was actually kind of normal, she'd say something like that. It was like she was from a different planet.