by Lucy Knott
‘That’s not fair, Scar; I didn’t drop everything. I tried to be a part of your life. You pushed me away. I’m not telling you to leave, I just don’t want you to forget who you are and what you’re capable of. You don’t have to bury that part of you – you can have it all.’ Tears well up in Devon’s dark brown eyes. He steps forward to console me, but I step back, bumping into the plain silver baubles on the tree that jingle when I hit them.
*
‘Scarlett, stop being so ridiculous, you’re going to school. Could you please take that cap off? That boy was not the only person in the world – you have lots of other friends,’ my mum scolds from the bottom of the stairs as she looks me up and down. I don’t remove my cap. I walk down the stairs at a snail’s pace and head to school and with every step I take I feel as if I’m going to be sick.
I sit quietly at the back of class trying not to look over at where Devon usually sits, distracting myself by trying to draw with my left hand. Mr Cassidy is talking about equations, but I barely hear a word, until he clears his throat in front of me. ‘Miss Davis, I think you’ll find that you will have more success in life if you stop with your silly doodling and actually pay attention to the lesson.’
The whole class sniggers.
The lunch bell twists my stomach into uncomfortable knots. I make it to the cafeteria door and glance around at the tables, trying to figure out where to sit when Beth, Ruby’s right-hand bodyguard, swipes my hat off my head, before Ruby steps in front of me. ‘Oh my God, she’s crying,’ Ruby says, her voice carrying across the large space.
‘No, I’m not. Go away, Ruby,’ I mutter, grabbing for my hat. How could my eyes still be puffy from this morning?
‘You’re so pathetic. I’m not surprised Devon had to go all the way to New York to get away from you,’ she says and I don’t stick around to hear the laughter. I turn and flee to the girls’ toilets where I hide until the bell indicates it’s home time.
*
‘I know who I am. You don’t get to come here after ten years and tell me who you think I am. I’m so happy New York was and is a success for you and I’m ridiculously proud of how your life has turned out. But I’m the alien-loving weirdo who failed her GCSEs and had to make them up in college because her mother made her. I’m the girl who went on dates in dresses her mother picked out for her and who barely ate because said dresses were too tight. I’m the girl who keeps Hope’s life organised so I don’t have to spend too much time dwelling on mine, the girl who loves nights in with her goldfish and staring at the sky from a park bench while comic strips swirl around in her head.
I’m the girl who, since you left, has felt too afraid to dream too big because sometimes when you take too big a leap you end up with broken and fractured pieces of you that you don’t quite know how to put back together again on your own,’ I tell him, tears falling down my cheeks, my choppy hair getting stuck to them. I shouldn’t have let Devon in. This week was a mistake. I don’t know what I was thinking. ‘It’s time to go now, Devon,’ I add hastily when he goes to speak. I walk past him and gesture towards the stairs. ‘I don’t get to have it all. You’ve got to get back to your world. I’m not good enough for you,’ I mumble.
‘Scar, don’t…’ Devon starts but I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want sympathy or pity for my insecurities or my truths. There were many reasons why Hope and Jess didn’t know about Devon Wood or my desire to be an artist and that would be one of them. If they didn’t know, they didn’t have to feel sorry for me for my lack of accomplishments.
‘Please, D, you’re going to be late,’ I say and turn my back on him and walk into the kitchen.
By the time I’ve tidied up the plates from breakfast, he’s standing in the doorway, head scraping the arch, cotton long-sleeve shirt hugging him in all the right places making him look delicious but at the same time cuddly and soft. ‘Scarlett, you can’t keep blaming me and pushing me away like this. You are…’
‘Don’t worry about it, Devon, I’m not blaming you,’ I say rather forcefully. His face is serious, no beaming smile on his lips; instead they curve down at the edges, his eyes cloudy under the dimming sky in the grey afternoon.
‘Then stop this and listen to me,’ he pleads walking into the kitchen. I walk out and stand by the front door.
‘Stop what?’ I ask, shielding my still bare legs from the icy breeze by hiding them behind the door when I open it.
‘Jeez, this, this whole pushing me away thing. You can’t be doing this right now,’ Devon says, and I can hear the anger rising in his tone. ‘You’re just going to throw me out. You don’t care what I have to say or how I feel. You’re simply happy to see me go?’ Devon says, his tone growing sterner and stronger as he rakes a hand through his hair. I don’t say a word. I simply look ahead at the path. Behind me I hear shuffling and huffing as Devon puts on his shoes and grabs his things.
‘I get it. It didn’t matter how I felt back then, and it doesn’t matter how I feel now. All this time you’ve only thought that it was you who was hurt and you’re doing it again. Have I ever made you feel not good enough? Because I’m truly sorry if I have, Scar, but I think you’ve put that on yourself. Maybe you need to ask yourself if you are good enough for you.’ The anger in Devon’s tone scares me. I’ve never heard him sound like this before. I catch the puffiness around his eyes when he storms past me. ‘Dreaming big doesn’t mean there aren’t ups and downs you know. At least when you leap there’s a chance you can fly; if you never leap you will never know, and you end up stuck and weeks like this would have never happened,’ Devon says as his tears start up again. He wipes at his face and shoves his hands in his pockets.
My emotions are running wild in my gut when I think over the joy I have felt this week. ‘Maybe this week shouldn’t have happened. Bye, Devon,’ I say closing the door, unable to look at the pain in his face for much longer.
20
‘Do you think she’ll like this one?’ I whisper to D as I fold my piece of paper in half. On the front I’ve drawn a robot that is holding a heart that says, “I love you.”
‘Put some more glitter on it,’ he suggests, passing me the tub of pink glitter from the craft pot.
‘How are you getting on over here, my loves?’ Mrs Bride asks, coming over to the children’s corner of the library where kids can sit and read on bean bags or craft at a large oval table. She always makes sure it’s stocked up with all sorts of glitter, colourful paper, glue, paint and crayons.
‘Does it look good, Mrs Bride?’ I ask, proudly holding up my mum’s surprise birthday card. Mrs Bride bends down and gives my card a good look.
‘My dear, it’s fabulous. Did you draw that robot?’ she says, peeking at me over her spectacles. I nod enthusiastically. ‘I think your mum is going to love it. You have a real talent, Miss Scarlett.’
I giggle at the praise. ‘I really hope so, she didn’t like the alien last year. I thought a robot might be better.’
*
It’s teeth-shatteringly frosty outside on Monday morning. Christmas Eve is on Thursday and I think there’s a strong chance it’s going to be a white Christmas. I pull my maroon beanie tighter over my ears and stuff my gloved hands inside my coat pocket as I quick-march to the library. With the fair and then having spent the weekend with Devon, I haven’t given much thought to Hope and my proposal for the governors and it’s due today, which only adds to my shaky state. The heating envelops me in a welcome hug when I pull open the door and jump inside. I dance on the spot for a moment to warm up.
‘Good morning, Miss Scarlett.’
‘Hey, Scarlett.’
I’m immediately greeted by Mrs Bride and Autumn who are stood behind the gorgeous oak desk with coffee mugs in hand. I can smell the peppermint aroma as it wafts over to me on the hot steam. ‘Good morning,’ I reply, loosening the top button of my fluffy parka and wiping my feet before walking over to them.
‘How are you, lovely?’ Autumn asks me with a warm smile. He
r tight curly auburn hair is loosely atop her head in a pretty messy bun and today she’s wearing a yellow knit jumper with black leggings; she looks gorgeous.
‘I’m doing great, thank you. How are things? Did you manage to organise your holiday?’ I return with a cheery smile.
‘I did, please keep your lips sealed. I’ve actually managed to keep it from Willow. I’ve just got to keep it a secret for another night. We leave tomorrow,’ she tells me with a soft chuckle. I mimic zipping my lips like she had done that night at the bar.
‘And how are you, Mrs Bride?’ I say a little louder, turning to the little old lady to Autumn’s right, who looks demure and elegant in her light blue fleece, white polo neck and a touch of pink blush on her cheeks.
‘I’m wonderful, dear. Now this magazine of yours,’ she replies, getting straight to the business of why I’m here early on a Monday morning. ‘You and Hope are doing a fine job and you know I will always support our villagers and I will of course be happy to carry it in here with the option to buy, but, Miss Scarlett, I know there’s more to you wanting to stock it here than either you or Hope are letting on and, well, I think it’s time for a change,’ she tells me coming out from behind the desk.
She lays a hand on my elbow and guides me to the children’s area and gestures we should sit down at the table. I oblige and pull out my notebook to jot down her ideas to report back to Hope, trying to think over my conversations with the village folk over the last week. Apart from my blunder at the bakery early on, letting it slip about trouble with the magazine, I feel that I’ve done a stellar job of keeping its struggle a secret.
‘You girls have been working so hard and Hope did a beautiful job taking over from Alfred and continuing the magazine’s traditions, but many of his ideas are dated now. While yes, we all love the horoscopes and coupons, notes about town and articles on the village’s history,’ she says this while waving her arms around as if to show me it’s a tad boring and monotonous, ‘Mable was telling me you’re going to be including recipes from the bake offs each month, which I think is gorgeous. It’s nice to include us folk but we want that imagination of yours. I know you and Hope have plenty of it,’ she finishes, her blue eyes opening wide. She rests a delicate hand on mine, the one I have atop my notebook where I haven’t actually written anything, being distracted by her words and just listening.
‘Hmm,’ is all that comes out of my mouth as I squint in thought. I thought tradition and village news was what the people of Springhollow wanted.
Mrs Bride chuckles and shakes her head. ‘Sometimes we get so caught up in thinking we know what people want that we forget to ask them or we do what other people want and end of up losing ourselves, and we never can grow when we do that. No, dear, we get so stuck being what everyone else wants us to be that we don’t get to show them who we are. And who we are might actually be just what they need – they just don’t know it yet. You need to show them. You need to open their eyes,’ she says patting me gently on the hand.
I swallow down the lump in my throat, afraid that if I speak, I will cry. So, I just sit there and stare at her hand in mine.
‘You know, it’s been a long time since I’ve seen a birthday card with a cyclops holding a love heart and balloons. There’s plenty of teddy bears out there but sometimes I just don’t want a teddy bear. You and Hope have all these empty pages at your disposal; you get to create the stories those pages tell,’ she adds.
‘That’s not really up to me, Mrs Bride. Hope’s in charge but I will pass on your advice,’ I say, finally finding my words, though they come out small, full of excuses, and I can’t look directly at her friendly face.
‘Nonsense, sweetheart. Hope would be lost without you; she tells everyone so. True, she has a lot on her plate in running things and yes, she has creative control, but she sings your praises from every rooftop. Why do you think that Christmas stall has been handed over to you for the past four years? You took a leap, you let her see a special side of you. Now, Miss Scarlett, there’s plenty more special in there – you’ve just got to let it out,’ she tells me, pinching my cheek when she’s finished before slowly standing up.
I say my farewells to Mrs Bride, giving her a tight hug because I still can’t quite find the right words to express how much what she said meant to me and I wave to Autumn, quickly wishing her a wonderful getaway, before I’m out in the icy air once more. The threatening blizzard has calmed in the cold air and has decided to take residency in my head instead. Could what Mrs Bride just said be the something big that I was looking for? “Think like Scarlett,” choruses in the back of my mind.
Have Hope and I been going about this magazine all wrong? Subscriptions have dropped over the last year as had single purchases. Surely, that was a sign that it had grown stale and the people wanted something new. My heart starts racing as fast as quicksilver. Mrs Bride talked about empty pages. She remembered my drawings growing up and she was right: since Hope had taken over the magazine I had taken leaps in sharing my ideas each year for the Christmas fair. I may have hidden my drawings, but I had expressed my creativity in a different way and the village had loved it. Could it be that they might accept more of me if I dared to show them? I don’t have to leave Hope, but I don’t have to give up on my dream either. How had I never thought of it before?
Empty pages. Empty pages. The words keep ringing out in my brain. I pay attention to those ones and choose to ignore the other voice that’s reminding me that Devon had said that very thing only yesterday and I had gotten angry with him.
I supress thoughts of Devon and race up the stairs, practically skipping across the floor towards mine and Hope’s office. My palms are sweating but I have an idea. When I walk into the room, I’m greeted by Hope waving a letter in the air and squealing. Her eyes are enormous through her giant glasses and she’s grinning like a child who knows Santa will be visiting in only three days.
‘What’s going on?’ I ask, hand on my chest, tired from my skipping excursion.
‘You won!!’ she shouts, with enthusiasm. ‘You won!!’ She grips onto my shoulders.
She makes it difficult for me not to smile when she begins to jump up and down on the spot; her excitement contagious, but I have no idea what I’ve won or why I’m now bouncing up and down.
‘What did I win?’ My brows knit together in confusion, contradicting my lips that are smiling a happy yet nervous grin for Hope.
‘You won the opportunity of a lifetime. The School of Visual Arts runs a summer program and you just won the opportunity to attend next year,’ Hope explains, slowing down her jumping up and down so she can do so.
My brain already being a flurry of activity is finding it hard to let this new piece of information in to comprehend it. I stop bouncing. ‘What? But I didn’t enter a competition.’
Hope shrugs like there’s a magic fairy going around just granting people’s wishes that shouldn’t be questioned. ‘You just won a spot on a prestigious art course to hone your craft. This is amazing, can you please look more excited,’ she says, shoving me gently.
I walk over to my desk feeling dumbfounded and take a seat. ‘Hope, what’s going on? You can’t expect me to be excited when I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ I say, looking at my best friend as her bright smile is replaced by a sigh and a nervous grin. She pulls up a chair from in front of her desk and sits down next to mine.
‘Don’t be mad,’ she says, and I give her a pointed stare from under my lashes. I have heard that too many times this week. My stomach somersaults. ‘Devon kept referring to you drawing. I know you are creative. I love the way you build and craft and decorate your house, but I’ve never seen you draw. I was dropping off the chairs and bits and pieces from the fair and thought I’d take them up to your storage room for you.’ She pauses and I shift uncomfortably in my seat and close my eyes.
‘You shouldn’t have gone in there,’ I say, but strangely enough I don’t feel angry or mad, just defeated, like the fight in
me to hide that part of myself has grown too tired.
‘Scarlett, your artwork is out of this world and I’m sorry that you felt you couldn’t share it with Jess and me. I’m sorry we failed you as friends and you felt you couldn’t let us see that side to you. We never would have judged you or laughed.’ Hope’s face is crestfallen; her cheeks are as white as the snow outside. I immediately sit up in my chair.
‘Don’t be stupid, Hope. You and Jess have never failed me, not once. I love you both so much,’ I say urgently, not wanting to see her look so heartbroken. She looks up at me, her eyes glistening.
‘But we didn’t see you, not like Devon. When he’s around, you have this spark, this smile that I’ve never seen before. He pushes you and challenges you and I just accepted you.’ She flicks a hand over the collar of my ruffled baby pink blouse.
‘He’s had a few extra years than you and Jess to push me and my buttons – that’s for sure,’ I scoff, tears pooling in my eyes. Hope chuckles and passes me a tissue, getting one for herself too.
‘I saw the comic book on your desk. I couldn’t put it down. When Jess saw it, he said it was competition-worthy and spoke to his friends at work to see if anyone knew of any. I looked on the internet and found “The School of Visual Arts” and the best part is it’s in New York,’ she informs me, wiping at her eyes and smiling now, excitement creeping back on her face. My stomach plummets to my feet.
‘I can’t leave you,’ I say, feeling the same wall go up I felt yesterday when Devon was encouraging me to do the same thing.
‘You’re not leaving me, Scarlett; I wouldn’t let you,’ she says, playfully shoving me in the shoulder. ‘But I do know that this is an incredible opportunity for you and as your best friend and boss, I think you should take it and actually I’m demanding you take it – look at it like I’m sending you on a work course. You are wasted just being my personal assistant; from now on I’m pushing you. Consider this me pushing you,’ she declares, determination back on her face, confidence finding its way back in her tone. A small smile tugs at my lips but fails to fully form.