The Story of Awkward

by R.K. Ryals

  ~Peregrine Storke~

  Foster tossed and turned next to me during the night, his low moans and constant thrashing making it hard to sleep. Sweat beaded up on his brow, his mud-spattered cheeks growing damp. I didn’t know what he was dreaming about, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.

  The sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon when Elspeth joined me, her honey-colored hair unkempt. Dark circles marred the skin beneath her eyes.

  She nodded at Foster. “He doesn’t sleep well, does he?” Her voice had returned, hoarse but strong.

  My gaze found Foster’s strained expression. “I suppose not.”

  Elspeth tugged at her dress, settling the mud-stained hem around her legs. “There was no such thing as nightmares in Awkward until Perfection came,” the princess revealed, “but lately we’ve all been having them.

  I glanced at her. “Why is it so important we save Dash?” I asked. “Why does the survival of Awkward depend on him?”

  Her eyes grew dim. “Awkward has been dying for a long time now, destroyed by the world’s attempt to be perfect. No one wants to be awkward. If people can’t change themselves, then they pay to have themselves changed.”

  “Like plastic surgery and Botox,” I mumbled.

  Elspeth shrugged. “Among other things. Awkward thrives off those who don’t feel like they fit in otherwise. Prince Dash is one of its main citizens. If he is bespelled by Perfection and agrees to marry her daughter, then Awkward has lost their prince. I’ve lost my prince.”

  Awkward was a fairytale world, albeit a twisted one. Nothing worked the same way as a traditional fairytale in Awkward, but it still worked. There was a prince and a princess, there was a love story, and there was a lesson waiting to be learned underneath the strangeness. There was a happily ever after. Fairytales, if not played out, ceased being fairytales.

  “Save the prince from his tower, and the fairytale lives on,” Foster mumbled from the ground. Startled, we glanced at him, at his disheveled hair and weary eyes. He pushed himself up. “And here I thought white knights were supposed to save princesses.”

  I grinned. “This is Awkward, after all.”

  Foster smirked, amusement dancing in his eyes. His gaze dropped to my neck, and his amusement fled.

  His hand found my collarbone, and I winced. “Awkward is a dangerous fairytale,” he murmured.

  Neither Elspeth nor I argued with him. The skin around my neck throbbed, and my throat felt scratchy. Foster’s fingers slid to my chin. His was a gentle touch that made me shiver.

  “These abrasions need cleaned,” he said firmly.

  Pulling free of his touch, I muttered, “I’m okay.”

  Foster’s gaze lingered on my face far longer than I was comfortable with before he stood. Weasel, Nimble, and Herman began to stir, their bodies stretching. The need to be clean was suddenly strong.

  “If nothing has changed, Fuschia Falls shouldn’t be far,” I offered.

  Foster froze. “Fuschia?”

  My lips thinned. “I had a thing for pink once.”

  Nimble rose, her wings fanning, her cheeks flushed. “Oh, it’s the most beautiful waterfall in all of Awkward!” she exclaimed, her hands clasped.

  Weasel grinned. “The water tastes like cotton candy!”

  Foster grimaced, his gaze swinging to my face. “Cotton candy?”

  I fought back a laugh. “Let me guess, you don’t like spun sugar either?”

  Elspeth stood. “We’re running out of time, and we have a long way to go.”

  She stalked away, her tired eyes lowering. I’d never known Elspeth to be anything other than sunny. Her songbirds followed, but they kept to the air, their whistles low.

  Nimble landed on my shoulder. “Something’s wrong,” the fairy remarked.

  My gaze tracked Elspeth’s movements, my eyes tracing her regal back and swan-like neck. Her shoulders were slumped, her eyes on her feet.

  Nimble shrugged, lifting from my shoulder to fly ahead. Weasel lumbered behind.

  Foster joined me. “I’m guessing the princess’s mood wouldn’t have anything to do with hormones?”

  I threw him a look. “That kind of thing doesn’t exist in Awkward.”

  Foster whistled. “Lucky Prince Dash.”

  We followed the group, our eyes searching the Lane of Loveliness and forest beyond. It was quiet, the only noise breaking the silence was the sound of birds trilling and water rushing in the distance.

  Foster’s fingers brushed my neck again. Pain resonated down into my shoulders.

  “Does it look rough?” I asked.

  His gaze met mine. “It looks fine.”

  His words said one thing, his eyes said another. “Liar,” I scoffed.

  There was silence after that. We paused only to relieve ourselves and to nibble on the food in Weasel’s pack. There wasn’t much, just cranberry scones and a thermos full of the strange soup we’d had at the palace. It tasted like spaghetti and meatballs.

  The sun was high when we stumbled on the waterfall. The name suited it. Fuschia water rushed over rocks, a large, dark pink waterfall throwing a light spray into the air. Frothy pastel-pink bubbles gathered around the base of the falls.

  Weasel dropped to his knees next to the pool, dipping his head and drinking deeply. Nimble skipped on the surface, her purple teeth flashing as she giggled. Herman tried desperately not to fall off of Weasel’s head, his mouth twisting as he murmured something that sounded a lot like, “Gogglebits!” Elspeth waded into the pink liquid and cupped her hands. Foster paused on the shore.

  I waded in after Elspeth. “It won’t turn you pink,” I promised.

  Dipping my hand into the water, I lifted my fist. Loose mud slid into the pool. There was splashing as Foster joined us, each of us sinking to our necks in the cool water, our hands scrubbing away the mud from the Swamp of Sadness. My hair floated on the surface, my gaze going to the sky. The rose-shaped clouds above us were darker.

  Tension floated away with mud, the pink water soothing aches and bruises. The taste of cotton candy lingered on my tongue. The sun moved higher in the sky. The temptation to linger was strong, but Elspeth’s strange mood brought everyone down, her rushed movements making us anxious.

  Elspeth’s dress dripped onto jade-colored grass as she returned to the shore, her eyes despondent. There was no hesitation; she simply began to walk again.

  We followed more slowly, our feet carrying us from the water to the trails beyond. The sound of the falls grew weaker and weaker as we marched. My gaze stayed locked on Elspeth’s back. She’d been chirpy even in the Swamp of Sadness, her cheerful voice carrying us to safety. Her recent mood worried me.

  Elspeth’s words from that morning rang through my head, the sight of her shadowed eyes startling as she said, “There was no such thing as nightmares in Awkward until Perfection came, but lately we’ve all been having them.”

  Nightmares. What kind of nightmares had she been having?

  I was distracted by my thoughts when the rumbling began, the ground shaking beneath my feet. The force threw me into Foster. His arm went around my waist, his gaze sharp.

  “There are no earthquakes in Awkward,” I whispered.

  Foster’s breath tickled my ear as he breathed, “It’s not an earthquake.”

  Chapter 14

  “That awkward moment when you realize you’re more awkward than you thought you were, and it turns out you’re kind of okay with that.”