The Story of Awkward

by R.K. Ryals

  ~Peregrine Storke~

  The longer we walked, the darker the clouds became, the roses above us steadily wilting. I felt like Chicken Little waiting for the sky to fall.

  “He loves me, he loves me not …” Foster joked, his gaze going from the rose-shaped clouds to the glass ball he held in his palm. His jaw tensed, his hand slipping the orb back into the pouch he kept on his belt. His movements weren’t fast enough. I caught a glimpse of the black tendrils of smoke invading the crimson, and I knew our time was almost up.

  “It’s getting dark,” Nimble breathed, her voice tinged with awe. It was never dark in Awkward. There was always light.

  “The trees,” Weasel gasped.

  There was more than just darkness in the world of Awkward, there was death. The full, towering trees and man-sized foliage I’d drawn into the kingdom were changing the further we marched. In their place were intimidating, thin trees with delicate branches full of small leaves the color of silver. In a strange way, they were beautiful.

  Nimble flew toward them, her tiny fingers touching the silver leaves before backing away. What was once familiar territory for her wasn’t anymore, and she flew backward into the trunk of another tree, her small frame sliding down the sparkling bark. It was a cold kind of beauty, this part of Awkward. Everything surrounding us sparkled. There were jewel-like colors, glittering gold, and sparkling silver. The clouds above us had wilted away, replaced by luminous silver-tinged clouds shaped like cotton balls. They were perfect. They were terrifying.

  Elspeth froze. Weasel bumped into her, his large hand going to his top hat. Herman lifted it, his small, scared face peering out at us.

  “Look,” Elspeth stammered.

  Our gazes followed hers. There, standing like a wicked beacon of stunning light, was a tower. It was an ivory tower, a shimmering pearlescent stone that drew the eyes and held the gaze.

  “I think I expected something darker,” Foster murmured.

  Between us and the tower, there stood a bridge. It was a breathtaking bridge made of curved onyx. Beneath the structure was a pool of water. The small lake was an oval shape, the surface as smooth as glass. It threw back the reflection of the tower, the silver-tinged clouds above it, and the shimmering trees beyond. It was like walking inside of a jewelry store. Everything glittered, and I wasn’t sure what to look at first.

  Nimble shivered. “I have a terrible feeling about this.”

  Even though it was still daytime, we stood beneath a night full of trillions of twinkling stars. Foster’s hand lingered over the pouch on his belt.

  “There’s not a lot of time,” he said.

  There was a collective inhalation of breath before we started walking again. Foster took the lead, his coolness in dangerous situations making the rest of us feel stronger.

  Foster glanced at me. “Where’s that newfound confidence?” he asked.

  I threw him a look. “It died with the light.”

  A smile tugged at his lips. It was becoming a habit for the two of us, using humor to overcome that awful feeling of desperation.

  “We just march in?” I asked.

  Elspeth stared at the tower. “We have to convince the prince to come back to Awkward. That’s what we’re here for.”

  My gaze followed the tower up, up, and up some more. “Marching right in, it is,” I mumbled.

  Our feet touched the bridge. It was like walking on black ice surrounded by mirrors. We were halfway across when the water surrounding us began to toss, small waves pounding the bridge. It sloshed onto the onyx, making the surface slippery.

  “Faster,” Weasel called out, his voice full of panic.

  I tried to run and couldn’t. Every step was a challenge. My legs felt heavy, my body weighed down. Invisible ropes wrapped my arms and legs.

  “Faster,” Weasel repeated.

  His voice sounded slower, groggy. I tried to move my head and couldn’t. There was an overwhelming urgency to run, but my legs refused to listen to the warnings in my head. It felt like a dream. I was stuck in invisible quick sand. The enemy was coming, and I couldn’t get away.

  “Save me,” a voice cried out. I stiffened. It was my father’s voice, his speech slurred by alcohol.

  “Save me,” another voice shrieked. This one belonged to my mother, her speech slow and erratic, as if she were having trouble remembering how to form the words.

  Foster froze in front of me, his shoulders lifting, his jaw tight. There were voices inside of his head, too. They were inside all of us. I could see it in the way Nimble, Weasel, Herman, and Elspeth stared, their gazes full of worry and hard determination.

  My feet suddenly came unfrozen, the unseen chains around my legs loosening. I stumbled forward, my hands catching the side of the bridge.

  Foster slammed against it next to me, his gaze going to the water. In moments, we were joined by the rest of the group, the tossing waves below beckoning us.

  “Save me,” my parents’ voices echoed.

  The rolling water began to settle, the waves evening out, the surface returning to its eerie iciness. Our reflections stared back at us. And yet … it wasn’t our reflections. It was something different. I didn’t see myself in the water, I saw an atypical version of me. My hair was down, the strands lighter. There were large glasses on my face, my cheeks puffy. Acne marred my skin. There was fear in my gaze, dread and discomfort.

  Each reflection next to me was different. Nimble appeared broken; one of her wings much larger than it actually was while the other wing was torn in half. She wasn’t beautiful, she was broken and unsure. Weasel’s green face was covered in holes rather than pockmarks, his belly more swollen. His otherwise friendly face was angry and surly. Herman’s head was the size of a watermelon balancing on top of a tiny body, his cranium too heavy and large for him to carry. Elspeth’s wild hair looked like slithering snakes, her cheeks sagging.

  Our reflections were awful renditions of ourselves, but it was Foster’s reflection that surprised me the most. Instead of the broad warrior I knew he was, I saw a tall, thin man, his muscular arms stringy. He was all rotted teeth and scarlet hair. His gaze was distant and lonely. For the first time, I realized something. Foster Evans didn’t feel like he belonged here. Not the same way we did. The rest of our reflections were uncommon and out of character, but there was no loneliness. We belonged in Awkward. Here, Foster was the outsider, the bullygog, and I’d made him that way.

  “What an awful mirror,” Elspeth bit out, her tone hard.

  “You don’t like it?”

  We stiffened at the sound of the voice behind us. It was a beautiful, feminine voice, the kind that promised sin and seduction.

  We spun, our gazes finding the stunning figure of a woman. She had a tall, hourglass figure, her nose and lips perfectly formed. Her peaches and cream skin was smooth, her lips red. She had thick, shining blonde hair, her body enfolded in a black, body contouring dress.

  She smiled at us. “Is there something wrong with our bridge?” she asked.

  My parents’ voice rang out again, the sound of it echoing in my skull. “Save me.”

  The woman’s gaze found my face. “So many burdens amongst this group,” she sneered. “So many burdens and so many skewered perceptions.” She gestured at the bridge and lake. “The Bridge of Burdens and the Pool of Perception. They tell you a lot about yourself. There are so many things about you that should be changed. You’ve come to the right place for change.”

  She took a step toward me. “You,” she held up her hands as if she were framing my face, “I’d call you artistic, but other than your talent for drawing, you don’t seem to fit that profile.” She grinned, the movement transforming her face, turning her into an angel. “I think you’re more of a nerd, aren’t you? Judgmental, maybe? An introvert?”

  Her gaze skipped over Elspeth, Nimble, Weasel, and Herman, as if none of them mattered to her. Maybe they didn’t. They weren’t from the real world. They were
from my fantasy world, and she thought she could persuade them to change without insulting them.

  Her eyes landed on Foster. “But you,” she breathed. She sauntered toward him, her perfectly manicured nails running across his chest. “You’re perfect. You could join us here, you know.”

  Foster gazed down at her, his expression unreadable. “Let me guess,” he said. “You’re Stereotype.”

  She smirked. “How clever you are, too. Tell me, do you really consider yourself a part of this lot?” She tugged on his shirt. “You could do so much better. You could be great.” There was greediness in her gaze, an insatiable hunger to have everything she wanted.

  Foster grinned, his eyes glinting. “I think you mistake me for someone else.”

  Stereotype stepped back, frowning. “Mistake?” She eyed him.

  His smile grew. “Some awkwardness is more than skin deep. Just because the outside of something looks pretty, doesn’t mean the inside isn’t a mess.”

  My gaze found his face. He didn’t look at me, but he didn’t have to. Stereotype was right; I was judgmental. Foster had made up a teasing rhyme about me years ago, but instead of blaming the people who had bullied me, I’d made him the villain. I’d blamed one person for the sins of many.

  Stereotype stepped away from us, her beautiful face as hard as granite. “You came here to save a prince.” She laughed. “Don’t expect us to fight you. We won’t need to. He won’t leave with you. You’re too late.”

  Elspeth exhaled on a sob, her lips pinching together in an attempt to rein in her emotions.

  Stereotype beamed, her greed fed by despair. “You could change,” she told the princess. “You could be so much better.”

  She disappeared, her body fading like fog into the hauntingly beautiful background. For a long moment, no one moved. We stood on the bridge, our faces avoiding the water. There was no more weariness, the bridge’s grip on us having loosened. The Bridge of Burdens. My burden was my parents, my fear for them and my fear of being like them, and my burden was also myself. Everything I’d ever believed about myself was wrong.

  Foster was the first one to move, his steps taking him away from the bridge toward the tower.

  “It’s pointless,” Elspeth called after him.

  I stared at her. “Is it?” I asked. “Do you really believe that?”

  She returned my gaze. “Says the girl who misjudged a man who could have been her prince.”

  Her words were cruel. They were right. They were real.

  My hand found her shoulder, my throat tight. “You’re right. I did. I’ve misjudged a lot of things, but my reason for drawing Awkward hasn’t changed. The world needs this place. It needs all of you. It needs your awkwardness. It needs you to be real.”

  I glanced at the end of the bridge. Foster had paused there, his gaze on us.

  My eyes met his. “True courage isn’t about being brave. It’s about being real. It’s about being able to admit our weaknesses so that we can turn them into strengths.” My gaze went back to Elspeth. “Everyone belongs somewhere. Embrace what makes you awkward. We all should.”

  Weasel’s large, green hand fell on my shoulder. “Friends belong together,” he pointed out. “Even when we’re angry at each other.”

  Nimble landed on my opposite shoulder, her hand reaching for Elspeth. “They’re right,” she said. “I like that I’m different. I want to be okay with it. I love that I have friends who love me for who I am.”

  Herman lifted Weasel’s hat. “This is where I say I want to rule the world, right?”

  My awful laugh was loud, the sound ending on a snort. “Let’s go get Dash.”

  Together, we moved from the bridge. Foster waited on us.

  I glanced up at him. “I’m making you a white knight,” I told him, my fingers tapping the cover of the sketchbook at my waist. The next time I drew him, he was going to be a prince. Princes should never be perfect. They should have nightmares. They should be picky eaters and made queasy by the sight of blood. They should be blunt and occasionally a little arrogant. They should be loyal and determined. Most of all, they should be awkward and real.

  Foster winked. “I can’t be a maiden?” he asked. “I kind of like the idea of sitting on my rump while you slay all the dragons.”

  His words had all of us glancing at the tower, at the pearlescent prison holding Prince Dash. Elspeth’s head lifted, her eyes narrowing. She was stronger because of this journey. I saw it in her gaze. Something was changing inside of her.

  Chapter 26

  “That awkward moment when you realize not all fairytales end the same.”