Scars Like Wings

by Erin Stewart

  31

  Piper gasps.

  The photo shows me dripping with red punch, one hand holding my mask, the other wiping my eye, pulling it down in a way that disfigures me even more than normal.

  I zoom in on the picture, fighting back tears. Someone’s drawn a black, pointy hat on my head along with a word bubble by my face that says, “I’m melting. I’m melting!” Below, bold red letters: “Do you want this wicked witch on our stage?”

  Asad yanks back the phone and shuts off the screen, mumbling under his breath. Paralyzed, I hold on to Piper’s wheelchair as people file past us into the auditorium. A boy looking at his phone sniggers loudly before he notices me and turns his laugh into a cough, hurrying through the doors.

  Time moves in slow-mo just like it did in this hideous moment someone captured on film. All around me, people look at the melting face on their phones, at me, then away. It’s like the first day of school again, everyone seeing the Burned Girl for the first time.

  “Kenzie’s right,” I say. “I’m a joke.”

  Asad waves his phone at me.

  “This says nothing about who you are, but it screams volumes about who she is.”

  “But it’s my face everyone is looking at,” I say. “Did she send it to everyone?”

  Asad confirms that the text came from an unknown number to everyone in drama. Except me.

  VP Lynch walks out the auditorium doors with his usual somebody’s-doing-something-bad hunting scowl. Piper wheels up to him, shoving Asad’s phone in his face. He looks from the image to me three times before saying anything.

  “Who did this?”

  “Kenzie King,” Piper says. “I mean, she clearly used a new number because she’s evil, not stupid, but it was definitely her. Are you going to suspend her? You should totally suspend her. Don’t we have a zero-tolerance policy?”

  Lynch asks Asad if he can borrow his phone. Then he nods curtly in my direction. “Follow me.”

  He doesn’t say a word all the way to the front office. He doesn’t even acknowledge me until we get to Principal D’s door, where Kenzie sits on a folding chair. How did they already know?

  Kenzie smiles at me, except it isn’t a real smile, just loathing concealed behind upturned lips. Mr. Lynch tells me to wait while he goes into the office, leaving me with Kenzie and her dishonest smile.

  I want to yell at her. I want to tell her she’s the wicked witch, not me.

  Instead, in true girl fashion, I grin back.

  We sit there with our dueling smiles until Lynch pokes his head out and beckons to Kenzie. Behind the door, Lynch’s muffled voice rises, and I hear a thud like maybe he’s dropped a book on a table. He exits, red-faced with that forehead vein bulging in full force. He stomps off as Mr. D yells for me to come in.

  Inside, I catch a glimpse of my face on Asad’s phone on Mr. D’s desk. His eyes look tired when they catch mine.

  “I’d like to give you a chance to tell your side of things, Ava.”

  Kenzie uncrosses and recrosses her legs three times waiting for me to speak.

  “Well, Asad got the text first. I know Kenzie sent—”

  Mr. D cuts me off, shaking his head. “No, Ava. I’m not talking about this.” He holds up the phone. “We will get to the bottom of who did this, but Kenzie has assured us she was not involved in this prank.”

  Prank? Like she short-sheeted my bed at camp? She blasted my deepest fears to everyone in the one place that even came close to feeling like home again.

  This was no prank. This was pure hatred funneled into action.

  Mr. D sits, folds his arms on his desk, and turns to me again. “What we are talking about is the trouble you’ve been having in drama.”

  “The trouble you’ve been causing in drama,” Kenzie clarifies.

  Mr. D stares at me. Kenzie smirks. This isn’t a fact-finding mission about Kenzie’s bullying, it’s an ambush—on me.

  “I haven’t done anything,” I say.

  “Not even steal school property?” Mr. D asks.

  I blink, confused. “No, of course not.”

  He leans back in his chair.

  “Not even theater tickets?”

  Oh. I swallow hard. “I took them, yes, but—”

  “I told you,” Kenzie says, smiling.

  Mr. D shakes his head. “Ava, we can’t tolerate that kind of behavior. Theft. Bullying. None of it.”

  “I haven’t bullied anyone.” In what bizarro world am I the bully?

  Kenzie laughs again, her hatred once again wrapped up in a merry disguise.

  “You dropped a massive curtain on my head.”

  Mr. D rubs his forehead like he’d rather be anywhere but here.

  I dig into the front pocket of my bag. “I’ll give them back,” I say. “I can make this right.”

  As I look for the tickets, the ruby slippers tumble out. Before I can hide them, Kenzie grabs them off the floor.

  “Are those my shoes?”

  “I didn’t take those.” I sound guilty even to myself. “Someone gave them to me. For good luck.”

  She doesn’t even bother to accuse me, just holds the shoes up like Exhibits A and B in this rigged trial on my integrity. I hold out the tickets to Mr. D, but Kenzie snaps them from me, careful to use only two fingers to avoid my skin.

  Her eyes rest just above my shoulder like Mr. D’s did the first day I met him.

  “Mr. D, I just don’t think she’s a good fit for the drama club,” Kenzie says as if I’m not in the room. Her flower perfume chokes out any breathable air as she leans toward me, pointing to the picture of my face on Mr. D’s desk. “She’s just going to end up getting hurt.”

  She won’t look directly at me but has no problem pretending she cares about me.

  “You’re trying to get me to quit,” I say. “Because of the way I look?”

  I didn’t even want to do this play. But now everyone has seen me, and I’ve seen them, and I want more than my sad impostor bedroom and half a life. I want to get on that stage and see if Ava Before the Fire is still up there.

  I have just as much right to that theater as Kenzie does.

  I force myself to sit up straight in my chair, my eyes level with hers.

  “I’m not quitting.”

  Mr. D sighs heavily as he puts Asad’s phone in his desk. I can’t shake the feeling he has effectively closed the drawer on his investigation as well. Kenzie stares daggers at him; the look in her eyes tells me she’s used to getting her way in this office. And Mr. D no doubt is used to getting a big fat donation from Kenzie’s family….

  A knock breaks the tense silence. Without waiting for a reply, Tony swings the door open, ducks through the doorway, and strides across the room in one step to slam a clipboard down. He looks as out of place in this small office as he does in the red senior’s shirt he’s wearing instead of his usual black director’s getup. Behind him, Asad wheels in Piper.

  “That’s almost half the cast and crew,” Tony says, pointing to the clipboard. He’s out of breath. “Every one of them will vouch for Ava and will walk if you force her out.”

  Tony’s face is stern to Mr. D, but when he turns to me, he winks. Kenzie stands up.

  “This is ridiculous. She only got the part because of the way she looks.”

  Tony laughs. “She got the part because she was the best one for it. She was the best one period. And that kills you.”

  “Kenzie is the one who should go,” Piper declares, narrowing her eyes at her.

  Kenzie rolls her eyes. “This isn’t about us, Piper.”

  Mr. D stands, too, motioning for everyone to stop talking.

  “Yes, let’s not wander into that minefield.” He scans the list on the clipboard. Who was willing to put their name out for me?

  “Sage recoun
ted the votes,” Asad says. “Ava didn’t steal those tickets. She won them fair and square.”

  Kenzie balks. “Sage wouldn’t do that. She’s on my side.”

  Tony picks up the clipboard and waves it in her face. “Well, these people are on Ava’s side. Are you gonna take her word or theirs?”

  “Well, we certainly can’t have a spring play without half the cast,” he says. “But if I hear of any sort of misbehavior”—he looks from me to Kenzie—“from anyone, that’s it. Understood?”

  I nod, and he waves us toward the door. I can’t get out of there fast enough.

  I know I should just walk away, but with my friends beside me, I feel stronger. Kenzie steps back as I get close to her and say the words I couldn’t muster at the party.

  “In one week, I’m getting surgery and I will look slightly less ugly. But you? You will still be hideous.”

  Kenzie recoils from me, mouth agape, and for once—speechless.

  In the hallway, Asad pushes Piper’s wheelchair, jumping onto the pegs in the back with one foot, kicking the other behind him as they speed down the hallway. I have to half run to keep up with them and Tony, who takes one step for every two of mine.

  “That was amazeballs,” I say. “How did you all even know?”

  “Lynch,” Asad says. “Told us you were about to be railroaded.”

  “You should have seen how fast people signed that petition.” Piper pumps her fists high in the air and yells down the hallway, happier than I’ve seen her in weeks. “Drama geeks, unite!”

  I’m not sure if I’m more surprised by the list of names or that Mr. Lynch helped me.

  “I can’t believe people really did that,” I say.

  Tony bends slightly to put his arm around my shoulder as we walk down the hall, four of us side by side.

  “Of course we did,” he says. “You’re one of us.”

  April 23

  Orphan.

  An ugly word.

  A word

  for

  tear-soaked faces

  in

  faraway countries

  on

  infomercials.

  Not me.

  Before,

  I had

  a mother

  a father

  a home.

  After,

  I

  was

  a

  star

  with

  no

  constellation.

  A

  bird

  with

  no

  flock.

  A

  child

  who

  didn't

  belong

  anywhere

  to

  anyone.

  Until now.

  32

  Kenzie has mastered the art of the sour-faced silent treatment. She aggressively ignores me at rehearsal for a few days; then one afternoon when Tony’s gone, she calls everyone up on the stage for an announcement.

  I brace for the worst.

  “As you all know, Ava and I have had our differences.” She looks from face to face as she speaks, finally landing on mine. “But I want to end all this ugliness. I’m glad Ava is part of our cast, and as a show of friendship, I would like to give her these two Wicked tickets.”

  Whispers rocket through the circle as she offers the tickets to me. I’m too blindsided to do anything until Asad nudges me with his elbow, and I stand up to claim the peace offering. Everyone claps slowly, like they’re waiting for the punch line.

  As I’m about to make my escape from the center of the circle, Kenzie grabs my sleeve. “While you’re here,” she says, “and since so many of you clearly feel strongly about Ava, let’s do an extra trust circle today.”

  Kenzie snakes her arm through mine. “You don’t usually come to the circle, do you?” she says, knowing good and well I do not. “We all close our eyes and say one thing about our MVP. It can be good or bad, something they’ve done, a personality trait or a physical one.”

  Kenzie holds my right hand, and I don’t even try to offer my toe-hand to anyone.

  Asad scoops it up anyway.

  “I’ll go first,” he says, closing his eyes so quickly that Kenzie can’t argue. I close mine, too, but peek at the circle. Kenzie has her eyes closed. If she thinks this is going to break me, she’s dead wrong.

  I’ve fought worse things than Kenzie King.

  I squeeze my eyes tight.

  “Ava was burned,” Asad begins. “In a house fire. She has scars on her face, I think mostly on the left side? There’s something weird about her ear but I can’t remember which one. Oh, and she has this really cool scar halfway down her neck that looks like a shooting star.”

  Sage goes next.

  “Ava is not a very good dancer,” she starts with a giggle. “But she is always nice.”

  A boy next to her says I learned my lines quickly. Someone says I have a pretty voice.

  The boy who plays the Tin Man says I have a weird hand. “I think maybe it’s her toe?”

  The Wicked Witch says she likes my colorful bandanas. Another says I’ve made drama more interesting. I smile a lot. I’m sarcastic, in a funny way.

  When it gets to Kenzie, I hold my breath.

  “Ava is so strong.” She pauses. “She gets up every day and faces her life with bravery. She inspires me, and no matter what anyone else says, I think she’s beautiful.”

  She stretches out the final word into a breathy compliment that is clearly nothing but poison dipped in sugar.

  After we open our eyes, Kenzie hugs me dramatically. Someone get this girl an Oscar. She dabs fake tears from her eyes as the circle disintegrates.

  Asad hands me the end of a roll of masking tape to help him mark the stage for dress rehearsal.

  “I hope you didn’t mind what I said.” He stretches the tape out between us, motioning me to stick it down on center stage. “I mean, someone had to say it, right? I figured it was better if I just got it out of the way.”

  “It’s fine,” I tell him. “I liked the part where you pretended not to remember where my scars are. Spoiler alert: they’re ev-er-y-where.”

  “I wasn’t pretending,” he says. “Straight up, at first, your scars were all I could see. Now, you’re just my friend Ava, who, by the way, was burned.”

  I scoff. “Don’t feed me the ‘you’re not your body’ speech. I get enough of that at home and group.”

  Asad rips the tape with his teeth. “Who else can say they have a shooting star on their skin?”

  My fingers trace the scar that stretches across my collarbone and collides with the starburst tracheotomy scar at the base of my neck. I’ve always hated the way it cuts across my chest. Through Asad’s eyes, everything looks different—better.

  “But you’re more than your body,” he says. “Just like everyone else.”

  He heads up the auditorium aisle toward his lighting booth.

  “Asad?” I half yell after him. When he turns around, I hold up the tickets.

  “You free next Friday?”

  I bite my lip as Asad smiles wide.

  “I thought you’d never ask.”

  33

  Piper groans when I tell her about Kenzie’s center-stage apology.

  “Tell me you’re not buying it,” she says before group.

  “No, of course not. I’m sure she’s just trying to keep her enemies close and all that,” I say. “But she did give me the tickets. How nuts would it be if we end up being friends after all this? Not actual friends, obviously, but maybe we can coexist in the same room without seething hatred.”

  Piper’s eyes go wide before she spins her wheelchair abruptly, so her phoenix faces me.

  “Can you s
ee it?”

  “What?”

  “The knife.”

  I spin her back around by her chair handle. “Dramatic much? Besides, you used to be friends with her, so she can’t be all bad.”

  Piper’s usual smirk falls and she leans in closer to me so Layne can’t eavesdrop from where she’s still laying out refreshments.

  “Used to be is the key. After the crash, she became this bitter version of the girl who used to be my friend. This new Kenzie is incapable of being actual friends with anyone,” she says. “She and I used to do this stupid thing where we’d ask each other if we’d still be friends ‘if.’ Like, ‘Would you still be my friend if I had a nose on my forehead?’ or ‘If I stole your boyfriend?’ Of course the answer was always yes. Turns out, our friendship had some serious fine print and a gaping drunken-crash-that-lands-me-in-a-wheelchair loophole.”

  Piper grabs my hand tightly. “Just promise me you won’t fall for it like I did.”

  I mutter my commitment as Dr. Layne takes command of the group.

  “People don’t always know how to react to your burns. They may feel nervous or scared, just like you,” she says. “Does anyone have examples of someone saying the wrong thing?”

  I tell about a time an old lady stopped me at the post office to tell me that God still loves me, no matter what I look like. Olivia talks about how some girls on her second-grade swim team wouldn’t get in the pool with her because they were afraid they’d catch her “disease.”

  “I’ve worn a full cover-up ever since,” she says.

  Braden says his friends call him Stumps.

  “I hate it. But it’s just a joke, so I laugh along. It makes people feel better about it, I guess?”

  Piper jumps in. “You gotta tell people to buzz off.” She then details my run-in with the lady at the ice-cream store. “You should have seen her face. Vegetitis. It was awesome.”

  Dr. Layne seems less than impressed.

  “I know none of you asked for this, and it’s not fair, but you are an ambassador for all burn survivors,” she says, pacing in the middle of our therapy circle. “People can be cruel and ignorant, as you all clearly know. But the way you react reflects not just on you, but on all of us. You should certainly stand up for yourself, but in an appropriate way.”