by R. J. Sable
But no. I’m not. The rumours don’t bother me but the snide comments are getting to Blossom and she deserves better than that. People are labelling her as gay by association and she’s just too shy to fight back.
“Carpet munchers!” A lanky blond kid shouts out as Becky and I come out of a bathroom after fourth period. He compliments the filth coming out of his mouth with an even filthier finger-tongue gesture.
Bilge worm.
I see Becky’s bottom lip trembling as I flip the guy off and I wrap my arms around her. It’s probably not helping the rumours but I know she’s a tactile person and she needs it. She really does smell like sugar, and spice, and all things nice, and I’m getting much better at hugging her without looking like C-3PO.
“I’m sorry, Blossom,” I say gently as I release her. “It’s okay if you want to stop hanging around with me for a while. I’ll understand.”
“What? No!” She blurts, clearly horrified at the suggestion. “I just don’t understand how people can be so mean. You’ve not done anything to them.”
“Everyone has a bit of evil in them. Good people just chose not to act upon it,” I smile reassuringly. “Negative actions will never give you a positive life.”
“I like that,” Becky cheers up a bit. “Simple but a good rule to live by.”
“One of my mum’s many mantras,” I shake my head in fond amusement. “Speaking of my mum, she keeps demanding that I invite you round for dinner.”
“Really?” Becky’s eyes widen, rising above her thick glasses.
“Yeah,” I nod slightly awkwardly. Do sixteen year olds invite their friends round for dinner? I really have no clue.
“My mum wants to meet you too, but…” she breaks off and her cheeks flare up again.
“But what?” I frown.
“My Dad is a bit… well… he might be a bit funny about your make-up and stuff,” she explains bashfully.
I laugh. “Becky Blossom, I only wear this stuff to school. It’s not who I am. It’s just clothes and foundation.”
“I know that,” she nods and I know she means it. She’s not once judged me. “He’s just a bit… traditional.”
I laugh because I can sort of imagine a stiff, suit-wearing type as Becky’s dad.
“Sorry,” she purses her lips apologetically.
“No worries, Blossom,” I grin. “I’m not out to be best friends with your dad.”
She smiles but I can tell her thoughts are still on the mindless insults of the uninformed.
“At least it’s the weekend in an hour,” I reassure her. “Want to come over tomorrow?”
“To your house?” She perks up.
I nod. “We can mooch around town a bit then have lunch at mine. Maybe you could help me tone it down a bit so I can meet your parents when we drop you off at home?”
“You don’t have to do that for me, Ellie,” Becky Blossom frowns dejectedly. “You don’t have to change who you are.
“I told you, the clothes aren’t who I am. I don’t dress quite like this on the weekends,” I grin. “It’s just… just… it’s like a costume.”
She looks at me quizzically and I know she doesn’t really get it.
My look is a part of Ellie. It’s an extra layer of protection to help me keep what’s left of Elise safe. I need it at school because, as I’ve witnessed over the past few days, kids can be cruel. I need my armour.
“So, how about it? Town, then mine, then yours?” I prompt. I’m actually kind of nervous. I don’t do nervous. Considering I had no desire to make friends, it’s strange how attached I’ve become to Becky in such a short time.
“Awesome sauce!” She grins, squeezing my hand tightly.
As I predicted, mum, aunt Cecile, and Bear are all ridiculously excited at the prospect of me hanging out with another teenage girl. I complete the obligatory process of rolling my eyes at each of them, although I think the effect is lost over the phone with Bear.
They all think there’s something wrong with me because I’ve not really had any friends before. But that was a choice. There’ll be plenty of time for friends when I’m Elise again. When I’m perfect again.
Becky and I arranged to meet in town and she’s already waiting for me outside the main shopping centre. Her chunky glasses are dotted with droplets of rain and her normally straight hair has become slightly wavy.
“You never heard of an umbrella, Blossom?” I mock her affectionately, giving her the hug I know is coming anyway.
“It was sunny when I caught the bus,” she pouts.
I grin. “No worries, we can stay inside the shopping centre.”
“Awesome sauce,” she nods, grabbing my hand and leading the way in.
“Hey, I had an idea,” I grin wickedly.
“What?” She eyes me suspiciously.
“Okay, hear me out,” I say, because I’m not sure if she’ll go for it. “Let’s pick clothes and stuff for each other.”
“Like a makeover?” She purses her lips hesitantly.
“Sort of,” I shrug. “I just thought that maybe you could pick something that I could wear without freaking your dad out.”
“And you’d pick clothes for me?” She frowns.
“Yeah,” I shrug again, a little less confident because she looks unhappy. “Only if you want to. I just thought it could be fun. You always wear really bright clothes, which is perfect because you have a bright personality. I thought it’d be fun to pick some out for you as well.”
“So I wouldn’t have to wear um… alternative clothes?” She narrows her eyes at me suspiciously.
I laugh, I can’t help it. “No, Becky Blossom. You’re too happy to wear sad clothes.”
“Okay,” she grins. “Yeah! This will be so much fun.”
I relax and even crack a smile. Becky is beautiful. She thinks she needs to lose weight but she looks healthy as she is. She doesn’t seem to realise how beautiful she is and she definitely dresses as though she doesn’t. She has nice, colourful clothes but they often clash and they’re usually quite shapeless. I’m hoping I can show her that she can still wear bright colours but in a way that will force her to stop hiding.
We spend far too long trying on ridiculous outfits and I have to make a dash to the toilet to stop from wetting myself when Becky comes out wearing dungarees over a pair of rainbow striped tights.
Eventually, once we’ve calmed down and won the battle over the giggles, we get down to the real shopping. I find the perfect olive green blouse and a pair of high-waisted, tan trousers, which hug Blossom’s curvy figure to perfection. I know she usually tries to hide her figure but she definitely shouldn’t.
“Wow! You look amazing,” I tell her sincerely.
“But look at my belly,” she whines, looking at herself in the mirror like she might cry.
“What about it?” I frown.
She raises an eyebrow and pokes her stomach with one finger.
“Becky,” I sigh, drawing out her name. “So you have a little bit of a tummy, so what?” I roll up my own tank top to show her my slight pouch.
I’m not fat. I have a slightly rounded stomach but I have nothing against it. I’m no supermodel and that’s fine by me. I’m all about what’s on the inside.
“Am I fat, Becky?” I prompt seriously.
“Of course not,” she gasps.
“We have very similar figures, Blossom. You’re beautiful, don’t put yourself down. There are plenty of horrible people out there who will do that for you. Don’t make their job easier.”
“You’re just saying that,” she grimaces.
I scowl because this is the first time she’s made me anything but happy. I’m almost angry. “I don’t lie, Becky,” I snap. “If I say something then you can be damn sure I mean it.”
I turn around, leaving her a view of my back as I take a few deep breaths to calm myself down a bit. I know I’ve overreacted slightly, and I feel a bit stupid for doing it, but I thought Becky knew me better than that, even after such a short time, an
d I can’t stand the idea that she thinks my insides would be so filthy that I would spew lies.
“Ellie, I’m so sorry.” Becky’s chemical X grip encompasses me from behind. “That was wrong of me. You were just trying to be nice and I… well, I didn’t think. I’m just not used to seeing myself in clothes like this.”
I just nod, accepting her apology. Sometimes a lack of self-confidence can make us do silly things and I’m not going to hold it against her.
“So, I get to pick clothes for you now?” Becky beams, her eyes hopeful. Whether it’s hope that I say yes or hope that she’s forgiven, I’m not sure.
“Yup,” I nod. “Just not pink. Please, please, not pink.” There’s not point me having clothes I won’t wear again and I don’t usually have my dreads on when I’m at home. Pink clothes clash with my red hair something rotten.
“Okay,” she agrees thoughtfully. “What’s your favourite colour?”
I shrug. “I like all colours.”
“Really?” Becky seems sceptical. “Then how come you always wear black?”
“I don’t always wear black,” I grin. “I just…” I don’t know how to explain it to her. “It’s easier to let people assume they know who you are from your clothes than take the time to explain it to them. If I dress like I do at school, people assume they know me and only the good ones take the time to really learn.”
She studies me for a few seconds and then smiles brightly. She’s realised I’m paying her a discreet compliment; Becky Blossom is definitely the sort of person that gets to know what’s on the inside. That’s the sort of person I like.
“Right,” she nods, pulling me by the hand through rails and rails of clothes. “I know what you should wear.”
I’m dressed in dark grey jeans and a black band t-shirt that I’ve cut up to have strips missing from the back. Underneath that I have a bright blue tank top. My dreads are threaded with blue ribbons and I’ve omitted the foundation and contact lenses so that my green eyes are showing. They’re made brighter by the neutral shades of eye shadow I’m wearing.
“You look really good in blue,” Becky encourages, holding up a little navy dress. It’s got white detailing with red stitching. There’s a big red button in the middle of the white and blue sash around the waist.
I raise an eyebrow at her because I have no idea where she got the idea from. I do like the big round button in the middle though.
“I don’t usually wear dresses,” I grimace. They’re too similar to nighties. I hate nighties.
“I thought you could wear these under it?” Becky offers, holding up a pair of three quarter length white leggings.
I think about it. The leggings would definitely make me feel better about wearing a dress and Becky tried the clothes I picked for her without complaints.
I barely recognise myself once I’m wearing the little outfit. I know without a shadow of a doubt that I’d look awesome if my normal hair was out. It would really complete the red, white, and blue theme I’ve got going on here.
I’m not that patriotic and you wont find me sporting the Union Jack anytime soon but I like the combination. I have a pair of Jesus-style sandals Bear made me that would be perfect with the outfit if the weather were a little warmer.
“Oh, wow!” Becky grins when I open the cubicle door to show her. “You look great.”
“I’d look better without the wig,” I answer thoughtfully.
Can I do this? Can I go without my wig in public? If I’m honest with myself, the prospect is nowhere near as scary as it once might have been. I feel a little bit ridiculous with my goal of scaring people off now that I want Becky close.
“How come?” Becky looks at me curiously.
I smirk. “Because I have red hair.”
“You do?” She squeals loud enough to attract the attention of other customers.
I nod, amused by Becky’s predictably happy reaction. No doubt she’s already planning membership cards for the ginger club.
“Can I… Can I see?” Becky asks, still excited but obviously cautious.
I don’t give myself time to think about it. I quickly undo the ribbons woven through the dreads. The wig isn’t a wig in the normal sense. I basically part my hair into pigtails and the dreads sort of slot onto my normal hair, covering it completely.
“Oh!” Becky gasps. “It’s so wavy.”
She’s right; it is. I like my waves. Becky’s hair is more of a red-brown and it’s mostly straight. Mine is the kind of red that defines red. The sort of red you’d show a blind man if he miraculously regained his sight.
I slip the pigtails out and let it cascade down my back. Pigtails aren’t really me but they’re practical for the dreads.
“You look so amazing,” Becky coos. Her smile is so genuine and I know she’s happy for me, not because she’s proud of the outfit she picked like some people might be.
“I like it,” I grin. “We should do this more often.”
“We should,” she nods enthusiastically. “Do you… do you want to wear it out of here?”
“Only if you do,” I challenge. I’m not entirely comfortable being out and about without my goth armour but the strange thing is, with Becky Blossom at my side and the big round button on my front, I feel closer to Elise than I have done since my childhood.
“You’re on,” she announces, ducking back into the changing room to get back into the clothes I picked out.
I grab a pair of red ballerina pumps on the way to the till because the big black boots do not work with the dress. They have a little white button on the front and I’m fairly sure they were made for this outfit. They’re perfect and I like perfect.
After we’ve each paid for our clothes, me with the money from selling my work and Becky with money her parents gave her, we make for the bus stop so we can go back to my house.
Chapter 9
We’re about half way to Normanton and my house when I feel it. I know what I’m going to see before I turn my head to the front of the bus. Becky is in ignorant bliss as she stares out of the window and hums to herself. I’d give anything for that ignorance but I felt him before I saw him.
Karl Carter and Matt Smith flash their bus passes at the driver before they jog up the stairs onto the upper level.
I see Karl glance around the bus with a vaguely curious expression before he continues upwards. I feel an uncomfortable twinge in my stomach because he didn’t see me and that should make me happy, not sad.
I realise shortly after that he’s not used to seeing me without the goth ensemble. I wonder vaguely what they’re doing on the bus to Normanton. Unless they’ve moved, the Carters don’t live anywhere near this end of town. Their end may be nicer but I don’t want to be anywhere near it. Not if that house of horrors is still there.
When the bus approaches our stop, I rush to get out of my seat. I want off this bus and I want off it now. Becky looks a little startled but she gets up anyway. My efforts are thwarted when a little old lady almost falls over in front of me. I catch her before she bashes her hip from the momentum of the bus and I don’t mind but it’s slowed down my escape slightly
To my relief, I don’t see Karl or Matt anywhere and I breathe a sigh of relief as I step off the bus. The relief is short lived; they’re already a few feet ahead of me as my new shoes meet the tarmac. They must have slipped off the bus whilst I was borrowing some of Becky’s powerpuff girl superpowers to rescue old ladies.
To my dismay, they’re heading in the same direction we are. Blossom sees them for the first time and I see her nervous gaze out of the corner of my eye. She knows how I feel about Karl Carter. She knows he knows my secret and rejected me because of it.
She grabs my spare hand, the one not holding my shopping bags and squeezes it reassuringly. We don’t speak as we trail behind, keeping our distance, and I’m grateful. I don’t want them to know we’re here.
They turn a corner ahead of us and I finally breathe normally again. I can’t face Karl without my
armour in place. My heart can’t take it. I’m quite enjoying their family tactic of pretending I don’t exist. It’s working for all of us and if I had my way, we’d keep it up for the next two years until I never have to see them again.
My stomach doesn’t twist at that thought. It doesn’t.
“You following us for your little goth friend, Becky?” Matt accosts Blossom just as we pass the corner where we thought they’d turned off. Clearly, they were just waiting for us. They must have recognised Becky after all.
“I know you’re not from Normanton,” Matt continues, glaring at a slightly startled looking powerpuff girl.
“Ellie?” Karl’s gaze is firmly locked on me. He still looks angry but there’s something else there. Confusion.
“What?” I growl, balling my fists up at my sides.
“You look…”
“Normal?” Matt offers with an evil chuckle.
“Different,” Karl frowns. “You have red hair.”
“Observant,” I bite sarcastically.
“Come on, Ellie,” Becky tugs at my hand. “Let’s go.”
I’m all for following but Matt and Karl block our path.
“So you’re the one following us,” Matt drawls snarkily. “What do you want?”
Karl’s confusion is gone and he’s obviously angry again. “If you’re going to blackmail me it won’t work.”
“What are you talking about?” I blurt in irritation.
“Let me guess, you want me to stop the rumours about you? Well you can fuck off. I don’t give a shit what you think you know, you do anything about it and you’ll regret it.”
This is definitely not the boy I remember. This is an angry version. An angry, idiotic version. Why the hell would I blackmail him? I’ve kept his secret so far, why would I change my mind all of a sudden?
I don’t know if I’m more insulted by his assumption or by his rude threats against me.
“God, you’re such an idiot,” I snarl, giving his solid chest a hard shove. To my dismay it barely budges, which is a surprise considering my awesome woodworking strength.
For a split second, Karl looks surprised, but then I see the anger on his face morph into something else, something much more terrifying. The hatred in his eyes almost matches the burning fury I’ve seen in Matt’s. For the first time in my life, I’m actually a little scared of Karl and I hate myself for it. Men don’t scare me. Not any more.
