The Story of Awkward

by R.K. Ryals

  ~Peregrine Storke~

  “What the hell were you thinking?”

  I’d know that yell anywhere. My brain woke groggy and uncomfortable, my body covered in blankets, a world of blackness shrouding my gaze. I refused to open my eyes.

  “Mr. Storke, we’re going to need you to keep it down, or we’re going to have to remove you from the premises,” someone said firmly.

  My father chose to ignore him. “You shouldn’t be allowed to drive, you good for nothing—”

  “Robert,” my mother interrupted, “he saved her life.”

  “How is she?” another voice asked. It was Mrs. Evans, her voice full of warning. Mrs. Evans was an easy going woman until you messed with one of her children.

  “She’s going to be fine, right?” Camilla’s voice inquired.

  There was a moment of silence, the sound of paper rattling, and then, “She’s going to be fine. There’s some irritation from inhaling the amount of water she did and …”

  Sleep pulled at me, the drowsiness drowning out the voices.

  A moment of sleep induced silence, and then, “There seems to be a little confusion, which isn’t abnormal after an accident of this magnitude. She keeps repeating the word ‘awkward’ and ‘nimble’ among others.” The doctor paused, his throat clearing. “She also keeps calling for you.”

  I didn’t have to open my eyes to know the “who” the doctor was referring to.

  “Of all the crazy, stupid things for her to say.” My dad laughed. “Awkward? Nimble?”

  “My face was the last face she saw in that vehicle, Mr. Evans,” Foster’s voice said suddenly. “As for the rest, the only awkward person in this room is you.”

  There was dead silence. No one dared breathe.

  “Foster,” Mrs. Evans murmured, the warning still present in her voice.

  “Why you—” my father began.

  “Robert, please,” my mother begged.

  “I really think everyone should leave,” the doctor interjected. “She doesn’t need this right now.”

  There was quiet murmuring, my mother’s apologies, and then the sound of a door falling shut.

  I waited for the click before I opened my eyes, my gaze on the ceiling. Images bombarded me. Awkward … King Happenstance … Queen Norma … Elspeth … Nimble … Weasel … Herman … Foster … The sob came before I even realized I was going to cry, my blurry vision made even worse by the tears. Had I imagined it all?

  My heart protested. The Sirens of Shame, the Beast of Belonging, the Cavern of Cliques, the Reaper of Regret, the Bridge of Burdens and the Pool of Perception … they couldn’t have been part of a dream. They couldn’t.

  There was the memory of the TrailBlazer, the rushing wall of flood water, and then Awkward. Real or induced by the accident?

  “This is not a movie,” I said, my eyes falling closed. “It happened. I didn’t dream it.”

  My heart swelled at the images that came next … Nimble facing off with the Beast of Belonging, Herman’s strange curses, the sound of songbirds, the taste of watermelon, Foster’s grip, Foster’s kiss, Elspeth standing up for herself and for Awkward, and the sketchbook.

  The sound of the door opening startled me, and I froze. There were thudding footsteps, the sound of a chair scraping across the floor, and the brush of fingers against my cheek.

  My breathing came faster.

  “Open your eyes, Perri.”

  It was Foster’s voice. My eyes shot open, my blurry gaze going to his face. He lifted his hand, something black dangling from his fingers.

  “These might help,” he murmured. The glasses slid onto my nose, the familiar frames comfortable against my cheeks. Hazel eyes met mine. “And this,” he added.

  A picture was suddenly thrust in front of my face, the paper dry and unharmed. On it was my sketch. Elspeth stood facing off with Prince Dash and Perfection in an ivory tower. She was strong, my princess, and her friends stood with her. All of them looked stronger, their differences making them formidable, more vibrant. Behind them sat Foster, his arms embracing me. For the first time since I’d drawn Awkward, I’d sketched myself into the story.

  My gaze met Foster’s. I didn’t have to ask him if everything that happened had been real. I knew by the wink he gave me that it was.

  My fingers touched the sketch.

  Foster released it. “They’re all safe,” he said. “All of the sketches.” He held something else up. “Even these.”

  In his hand he held the original Story of Awkward, the sketches within a varying mix of childish stick figures, pasted magazine clippings, and sketches done by an older, burgeoning artist.

  I took it from him, my fingers flipping through the pages. They stopped on the picture of a stone well with a wood-covered roof, a hanging pail, and churning water.

  Memories assaulted me—sobs, burning arms, Foster’s face above me as he tugged on the rope.

  Ripping the page from the book, I held it up, my fingers shaking.

  My eyes met Foster’s. “I never want to forget,” I said hoarsely.

  The sound of the page ripping was loud in the quiet room, the noise a harbinger of things to come.

  Foster tapped what was left of the sketchbook. “Don’t tell me you learned about romance from trashy romance novels.”

  I started to giggle, my palm covering my mouth to hide the laugh.

  Foster pulled it away. “Laugh, Perri. Laugh as much and as loudly as you want. Snort and all.” His gaze dropped to my lips. “You know after all of the … ahem … awkward adventures, dating kind of seems lame.” His gaze came back up to my eyes. “So we could just skip to the sex part.” He winked. “Brandished steel and all.”

  I laughed. “Do you think I like you?”

  He leaned close. “I think you do … a lot.”

  There was a serious glint in his eyes that went well past the teasing. I’d known Foster for six years, but I’d never truly known him. Not really.

  “New York,” I managed.

  His hand slid up my face. “Maybe this will work, and maybe it won’t. This is the real world, and we’re only human.” He leaned even closer. “But I think it’s worth a shot.”

  “Ugh,” I grinned. “I can’t date a guy who doesn’t eat anything!”

  He returned the grin. “I can’t date a girl who’s afraid of Halloween.” His lips hovered just above mine. “Then again, there’s lot you can do in the dark while everyone else is collecting candy.”

  This kiss, when it came, was gentle and unhurried. There was time in this kiss, a lot of time. There was understanding in it, there was hope, and …

  Foster pulled back. “You know, you kind of taste like the Louisiana swamp.”

  There was even a little awkwardness.

  The laugh when it came was followed by a snort.

  Chapter 29

  “That awkward moment when you embrace your awkward.”