The Story of Awkward

by R.K. Ryals

  ~Peregrine Storke~

  We had just enough time to wash the blood from our hands and replace our tunics before the sun began to rise, the night wasted by a Reaper of Regret. The woman who lived in the cottage offered us fresh bread and water.

  She was handing me a piece of the steaming food when I realized I’d never named any of the people who lived in Farmingdale. They were simply happy people who lived their lives without complication.

  Her eyes met mine, and she smiled. “Water?” she asked.

  The liquid felt good sliding down my throat, and I peered at her over the rim of my cup.

  “Your name is Patience,” I told her.

  She eyed me, confusion warring with surprise in her gaze. I lifted the sketchbook from the belt at my waist. It had endured a lot of things on this journey. If we survived, I was going to beg Happenstance for another one.

  With the pencil, I sketched the woman in front of me, making her eyes gentle and kind, her mouth curved in a smile. Strands of hair framed a face full of understanding.

  Turning the book around, I flashed her the portrait. “Patience,” I repeated. “Your name is Patience.” I scrawled the name under her picture.

  She beamed, sudden understanding dawning on her face. “Patience,” she breathed.

  I made a mental note to name the rest of the cottage dwellers.

  “Perri,” a gentle voice prodded.

  I looked up to find Foster waiting by the door. In his palm, he held Queen Norma’s ball. The smoke within was completely red now. It reminded me of blood.

  Elspeth gazed at me from over Foster’s shoulder. “We should go,” she said.

  Weasel, Nimble, and Herman met us in the yard, their tired eyes full of something I’d never seen in them before … hopelessness.

  My head lifted, my shoulders thrown back. “We can do this,” I told them. My gaze went to the sky. The rose-clouds had been growing darker with each passing day, their wilting shapes a herald of evil. My eyes traced them.

  Foster’s gaze followed mine. “Have you noticed some of them are darker than others?” he asked.

  I stared. He was right.

  The implication of it dawned on me. “We follow the dark clouds.”

  Our feet began to move. There was no prodding, no conversation; just movement. Above us, Elspeth’s birds sang, their songs a spot of cheer in an otherwise gloomy situation. We watched the sky.

  “Is Foster your prince?” Princess Elspeth asked suddenly, her voice tinged with curiosity.

  My head snapped up. “Ummm …”

  Herman snorted. “He couldn’t be. He’s a bullygog, remember?”

  There are moments in life when a hole opening up in the ground wouldn’t be a bad thing.

  Nimble glanced at me, her violet cheeks growing a darker purple. She’d witnessed our kiss the night before. I saw in her eyes what I couldn’t say out loud.

  It was Foster who saved me. “It’s complicated,” he said.

  Elspeth frowned. “How?” she asked. “If you like each other, then you’re her prince.”

  I’d learned over the last week that Foster was good with words, but Elspeth was my creation … no, she was my friend.

  “Where we come from, it’s complicated,” I answered. “Our world doesn’t work that way. There’s … obstacles.”

  It was all I said. In the real world romance didn’t work the same way it did in fairytales. There wasn’t love at first sight. There wasn’t a prince who rode off into the sunset with you, and then spent the rest of your lives frozen in marital bliss with no arguments. There were past relationships, college, jobs, war, distance ... in the real world, princes weren’t the brothers of your best friend. In the real world, life often interfered. We had our whole lives in front of us and there were no guarantees.

  Princess Elspeth stared at the sky. “I’m not good enough for him,” she said suddenly.

  My gaze found her face. “For Dash? Elspeth, that’s not true.”

  Broken hearts weren’t something that mended overnight. Perfection often caused self-doubt. I’d come to realize a lot of things on this journey. I’d learned that too many people thought they had to change to be loved. That they had to be like everyone else to belong. Perfection depended on losing weight, on having sex when everyone else did, on parental approval, and on so many things that didn’t matter.

  The princess looked at me. “Why did you draw the Well of Forgetfulness? If we were enough, then why draw it?”

  The pain in her gaze took me back. She was right. I’d drawn an awkward world, but instead of loving it completely for what it was, I’d drawn them and myself a way to forget.

  I stared at her, my gaze sad. “Because I’d needed it,” I answered.

  It was a selfish answer. I’d drawn Awkward because I’d needed it. I’d drawn what I needed into it. It was my fairytale. It was my escape.

  Foster was right. There was nothing wrong with trying to be better. But I was right, too. It was okay to improve myself, but it was also okay to live life feeling worthy just the way I was. Improving me should be a personal decision.

  I inhaled. “The first thing I plan to do when this is over is tear up the picture of that damn well.”

  Elspeth’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”

  The look I gave her was confident. “Because avoiding the things that hurt us doesn’t fix us,” I told her. “There’s only so long you can hide from life. Don’t worry about being enough for Prince Dash. Worry about being enough for you. In the end, that’s what counts. He or someone else will love you more for that.”

  My feet carried me away from them, my heart and head needing the distance. There are moments when tears are all you have, when crying releases everything and leaves you fresh. It gives you a clean slate to work with.

  I glanced over my shoulder at Elspeth. “You know what?” I said. It wasn’t just her eyes that met mine. It was all of theirs. “I grew up believing in fairytales. They’re beautiful and simple and sweet, but I don’t really care for them as much as I used to.” I glanced at the clouds. “Let’s write a different fairytale or die trying.”

  There was a moment of silence before Foster broke the solitude with a whistle.

  “Well,” he announced, “that was sexy as hell.”

  “Sexy?” Elspeth asked.

  “That’s another story,” I called over my shoulder.

  Foster laughed. “I thought we were changing it.”

  My lips curved, my hips swaying more than they used to. The Well of Forgetfulness wasn’t the only thing being destroyed. There was a new wall being built, but this one wasn’t for defense. It was, brick for brick, a wall of confidence.

  Chapter 25

  “That awkward moment when you discover the way you’ve always perceived yourself was wrong.”