Smile, Synonym

[8] A Rough Sketch

Fletcher found himself visiting Orchid's Park everyday after school soon after.

He would sit on the grass, face Thea's headstone that had the words "Thea Banks, whose smile will always be remembered" craved to it, and eat his lunch quietly until the sun started to set and the sky began to change its colours.

Fletcher would never admit this — nor would he ever understand either — but he didn't want Thea to be alone. Somewhere deep down, perhaps Fletcher knew that Thea spent most her life by herself, watching as people moved past her or walked away. And he certainly remembered the number of times he brushed her off, almost as if she was nothing. Because back then, she was. So suppose that was how Fletcher could relieve his unforgiving guilt.

Because maybe, in all the instances where Fletcher left Thea behind, he could make it up to her now by staying next to her grave.

After all, it was the least he could do, right?

Their peaceful silence only lasted a few moments though as suddenly, out of nowhere, Sam Gibbins appeared, standing next to Fletcher with a bouquet of sunflowers in his hands.

"Greenly," Sam said blankly, not sparing Fletcher a mere glance as he placed the flowers on top of Thea's grave. "Didn't expect to see you here."

Looking at Sam Gibbins — he was different. First of, he was a lot more talkative now than he was before. Back in seventh grade, he wouldn't speak to anyone unless necessary and always remained a few feet away just in case. But then again, Sam might not be the same timid boy he used to be. His shoulders were broader, he's much taller even, and his hair was less wild and more tamed. He probably didn't wear Avengers T-shirts anymore or watch Dragon Ball Z on repeat. He could have friends, tell lame jokes, and say whatever he wanted to without hesitation. Fletcher wondered if he still drew.

"I could say the same for you," Fletcher replied, taking anothe bite from his sandwich.

"Oh please," Sam scoffed. "Everyone knows you don't care for anyone but yourself."

"And your point is?"

"You can't be here," Sam pressed. "You push people away, Greenly. That's why you don't have any friends. You can't mourn for someone you don't know."

"What about you?" Fletcher levelled as he stood up. Because if Fletcher knew anything, it was that Thea had no one. It was the only reason why she desperately wanted to befriend him in first place. "You knew Thea?"

"I did," Sam countered, still refusing to look at him. "Because I don't leave people to rot. I'm not an asshole like you."

"So you're Thea's friend then?"

He had hit a nerve, somehow, though how Fletcher didn't know. He saw the way Sam's straight gaze faltered, with his eyes softer and filled with regret and his lips tugging itself to form a broken-hearted frown. But despite that, Sam shook it off. Maybe if Fletcher wasn't wearing his glasses, he'd still be wearing his blank expression.

"Yeah. I am," he said. "And if you'd excuse me, I'd like to have a few minutes alone with my friend."

Fletcher stared at Sam, fist clenching. A part of him wanted to come up with some retort but that would only cause a scene and, standing in front of Thea's grave, it wouldn't be right. So he shook his head and sighed before leaving the two of them be.

—

The more the days had past, the more Fletcher got used to his guilt.

It was unlike the afternoon he learned of Thea's death and how, the moment he got home, he sat on his bed and looked out the window. Somehow unable to move, speak, or even take a decent breathe as the feeling slowly swallowed him whole and painfully latched onto his skin.

Or the night after the funeral, when he sat under the street light, waiting for the bus home, and fiddled with glasses until his finger prints stuck onto the lenses. Replaying the words Thea's aunt said in her eulogy and feeling Thea just an inch away, like she was standing right behind him, haunting and judging him for what he did.

Now Fletcher found himself noticing every single little detail in the things Thea used to own. Like the slight change in angle of her old chair when someone had accidentally bumped into it with their bag or the cobwebs forming on the corners of her desk. With all these aspects begging for him to remember her and remember what he'd done.

So it wasn't a surprise when, on his way to Math class, Fletcher noticed the piece of paper stuck onto Thea's locker. On one side, the edge was ripped and the paper itself almost completely covered Thea's school photo. However what really caught Fletcher's attention were not the words written on it, but the lines drawn over it.

It was a drawing of Thea. A rough sketch that was imperfect and messy, but definitely not sloppy. It was like the artist knew exactly what they were doing — shading half of her face that it was nearly unrecognisable while using bent lines and curves to outline the rest of her features, like her golden eyes, soft cheeks, and perfect smile.

It showed two sides of Thea Banks: what people saw and what people didn't.

Though that alone spoke volumes, it was evidence enough to prove that somewhere in Kelly High, there was a person that truly knew Thea. And it was then that Fletcher began to realise — and find somewhat comforting — that maybe, even for just a moment, someone actually did care about Thea Banks.