H A U N T E D

t h i r t y

t h i r t y 

"Good morning, Renesmeé", I greet the younger girl as I shuffle in next to her, placing my canvas onto my easel. The girl makes a sound of acknowledgement, but doesn't look at me. I frown slightly at this, as we were perfectly fine last week Friday at the party. It feels as though an entire history and collision of worlds have happened since then. 

"I am sorry about the glove game. It wasn't right," I apologize and run my fingers through my hair and grab the hair clamp that's held around the band of my tote bag. Piling the hair together at the back of my head, I hold it together with the clamp and pull some strands out to hang down the sides of my face. The strands are slick from condensation from the freezing air that fills the Alaskan sky, and the thin layer of snow that fell last night. They expect heavier snow soon, but for the time being, the grass is covered with gray mush.

"It's okay", Renesmeé comforts before turning around to grab another paint brush from the table behind her. I stare at her back for a moment, contemplating whether I should give her space or talk it out, before going with the former. When I wanted space, it was given to me. I grab my covered canvas from where it stood against the wall, and place it on the easel across from the brunette.

For a few minutes, the classroom is silent as the teacher works through some Drama assignments we had to hand in last week. He briefly mentioned that he wanted to discuss an upcoming class trip to Europe soon, in which only five students will be able to go along.

In my one ear, singing from my Airpod, Holly Henry serenades her lover, in her angelic voice. I keep the other ear open for in case any announcements are made.

A soft snap of wood echoes through the small workspace Renesmeé and I have build for ourselves in the back of the classroom. I look up from my painting, only to see the splintered remains of an unfortunate paintbrush in the fifteen-year old girl's hand. She cusses softly, and lets the splinters fall to the floor.

I set down my own paintbrush and step closer to Renesmeé, careful not to draw attention to us. Her dark eyes look up at me, and I take an instinctive step back from her, at the murderous stare in her eyes.

"What?", she hisses through clenched teeth. I fumble with my hands as I try to form words, before remembering something. This is the girl who doesn't talk to others, the sweet girl who helped her sister - mom - to bake choc chip cookies for me on Wednesdays, the kind girl who helped me to study my lines for the play. I shouldn't be scared of her, any less than she should be of me.

"Why are you mad at me?", I demand and step closer, making sure to keep my voice lowered. Renesmeé glances towards the front of the class, and then settles her gaze onto me.

"I'm not mad."

"Is it because I know?"

With the admission that I indeed do know their secret, her jaw clenched and her eyes tighten with an ancient feeling that I myself have felt many times. Betrayal, shame, fear...all mixed together. The sudden need to comfort her, overtakes me as I give Renesmeé a wry smile, shaking my head slightly to emphasize my point.

"Honey, I would never tell a soul. I promise you this", I swear and raise my hand up, lifting my pinky. Renesmeé stares at my hand for a moment, before sighing.

"I know you won't say anything, Ophelia. It's just...you thought I was normal, and I liked that," she starts off slowly. I open my mouth to correct her, but she raises her hand to stop me from continuing.

"No, let me finish. I am a freak among freaks. Did you know I'm not supposed to exist?", she gives a dry chuckle and glances at her canvas. Tears gather in the corners of her eyes, and her pale skin colors to a light shade of pink, as her emotions overwhelm her.