2 - Syianne

I'm a Jewel.

There is a barrier between me and the rest of the world. I can't allow myself to love others wholeheartedly, I can't allow myself to live as a child, I can't allow myself to feel sorry for myself.

Very soon, like every Jewel that ever was, I'm going to disappear. Very soon, everyone, except my parents who raised me, will forget I ever existed.

I sit with my legs folded and my skirt tucked between my knees on the high metal crate at the edge of the football field and watch. I'm still as a statue, my back straight, everything about me unmoving except my long brown hair that gets caught in the occasional breeze. I like to pretend that I'm not even really there, that I'm a thing rather than a person. That's how others came to treat me and I'm fond of that.

But I'm still very much alive. Alive, and watching.

I don't watch any of the others, only him. He's the only one that exists for me, that's how it always was. The other boys had tried, and failed, to speak with me, the girls too, but I wouldn't let them in. I was allowed only one mistake, one attachment. Only one person to leave behind, I had chosen Artus, he is more than enough.

He kicks the ball into the goal ripping off his shirt and before his teammates are upon him, he smiles right at me. I watch his smile, how it glows on his face, glorious and precious, tugging on the strings of my heart - but I don't smile back - I never have. I don't participate when others are around, I only watch over him.

I want to smile, and wave too. I want to return every ounce of affection he bestows upon me. I want to go to the café with my classmates after school to joke around and gossip. I want to be stupid and careless, to speak their names aloud and not just in my mind, to have them say my name, even the bad ones, even the dumb ones, I want them as part of my life.

I can't. Not in this life, not in this world, they're not for me; I'll never be able to belong among them. Funny how I've learned so soon that the world isn't fair, the cake of life isn't cut into even pieces. I have to make do with what I've been served, it's sad and maddening how such a small difference between me and them can be so important.

I've cried my tears over it, into my pillow in my room at night, I've kicked and screamed and cursed the universe. But now I'm fine. I made my rules and I've constructed my methods. If you're like me, you have to harden your heart, wrap it in layer after layer of protection until everything that comes your way automatically slips off.

Otherwise, I'll simply fall apart. Even though I was born like this - a Jewel - in the end, I'm still human and forever sad, forever caught, bound and captive.

You see, all this time, all I wanted was to somehow hold it together. That's how I became how I am - dry, like a barren land, all my emotions fossilised within the stone coating of my coldly beating heart. They all like it that way, I'm easy to understand, steady as a mountain, calm as an isolated lake; my chill waters can make even the biggest problems distant.

Only Artus and my dad see right through me, right to all the pain I'm hiding.

When my resolve began to take hold of my life, Dad was always trying to make me laugh or even smile. He'd try making jokes and funny faces as if I was an infant, but eventually he'd shrug his shoulders and say: "You're a hard lemon, Syianne, but you'll ripen with time." He'd pat my head, "You'll see, my girl, one day you'll be a grand provider of the sweetest lemonade."

Always the same words, in exactly the same tone, accompanied by the same expressions and motions. They were recorded into my soul, and while I never smiled with my mouth, they always made my eyes smile - for dad, that was enough.

Of course, it was dad who taught me a thing or two about how hard life is. He was the most wonderful person to me, and also, the most terrible.

I always had him for limited times, between what my mum referred to as "the episodes."

The episodes would start gradually, creeping up on us gently until we were right in the middle of it without ever realising we had been on our way. The first stages of the episodes are pretty amazing; my dad would get very cheerful, shinning like the sun. We'd all fill up with his energy, as if it was contagious. There would be a feeling in the air regardless if it was the middle of December, or the middle of August - it felt like spring.

Then the sweetness and the energy would start getting a bitter, dangerous edge, he'd give up on eating and sleeping, he'd become superhuman, doing everything and anything that needed to be done, and then doing anything and everything he could invent.

At that point it was bad, the brightness of his sunny mood was scorching, the freshness of his cheerfulness poisonous. And then, all at once, he'd run out of it, and it'd be the worst, he'd turn inside out and become a black hole, sucking us all into the bottomless, lifeless, timeless darkness of despair.

His depressions could last weeks or several months. Little by little, he'd pull out, and we'd finally have him back for at least long enough to forget our misery. But the next episode was always lurking around the corner, a dark and dazzling beast waiting to pounce, ready to crush us.

I don't want to leave, but when I'm gone I won't have to ride that roller-coaster anymore. That's the only thing that can comfort me, although parts of me are willing to put up with dad for the rest of my life. Even though I try to be strong about it, the thought of leaving makes me feel like I'm dying.

When the game ends, Artus surprises me and doesn't go with his teammates to celebrate. He's been like this for the past few months, and the more time passes, the closer my birthday gets, the more he's around me. I know what he's doing; I need to tell him to stop. But I can't, I had my opportunity to push him away months ago and now it is too late.

I'm a teenaged girl. Even if I've spent years hardening my heart, I can't avoid the fact that Artus has grown up in frightful leaps and now he's very nearly a man. He lightly lifts himself up to sit beside me on the crate, wiping his sweaty face with his shirt. I take in the sour sweat odour mixed with the pungent smell of mud and grass. I'm not embarrassed to look directly at him, I always had and he doesn't mind. But this time, suddenly, the sight of his skin stretched over the muscles of his back and shoulders - when did he become this strong? - makes something inside of me quiver.

I look away at the darkening field, stifling the pain of wanting him that's blossoming in my stomach. I try to kill that part of me that's wishing that I had just a little more time with him, not just a few meagre weeks, but at least a year, at least five...

At least forever.

Without realising it, I gaze right back at him again - force of habit - and he's looking right at me. I don't flinch and look away, and neither does he. That's why I chose him, because he never left me alone. My strange unwavering behaviour doesn't intimidate him like it does everyone else. He just takes it all in and somehow turns it around and makes it okay, that's how it was when we were kids, and it's only gotten more so.

Because now I could so easily melt into him, close the gap between us, surrender to that irresistible pull -

But no, I can't open that box, not even for one whiff, not even for a little taste, it would be all over for me.

I'd be a goner, I'd never survive.

I break our gaze, I think I hear him sigh, and look up. "Art?"

"Sy, Curtis told me you shouldn't go home today," he says quietly.

This time I sigh, Curtis is my older brother, less than a year older; he's on Art's team. He's another issue I have. Our relationship has ups and downs, on the one hand, when it comes to dad, he's always trying to protect me. On the other hand, he was born normal, he truly belongs to our parents, to our family, he has the life I wish I had and next to him I'm always, always the outsider.

I hang my head, I knew this was coming. I knew that the closer my birthday got, so would one of my dad's episodes. It's too hard for him, the thought that he'll never see me again, I was never allowed to talk about it next to him, he always behaved as if it would never happen. It's why I have to be the one who stays strong, because everyone else will be breaking down.

Theoretically, since the day I turned twelve, the time to leave could have been at any moment, but somehow I knew I was going to be lucky enough to have them for a while longer, and unlucky enough to be an Undefined.

"Can I - ?" I ask.

"I've already told Nita to make a bed for you," he replies. He leans over and wraps his arm around my shoulders. His smell should be gross, but instead I inhale it hungrily, as if his sweat is a sweet perfume. In a time like this, when I am desperate and vulnerable, I crave comfort. I should be craving comfort from chocolate or from hiding under the quilt on my bed, I should be taking long walks on my own, I should be doing things that will make this easier, that will make this bearable.

But instead, I'm craving to taste the lips of my one and only friend, Artus Mide.

I push him away a little too forcefully. "You're all wet," I breathe out.

He chuckles and raises his hands in the air to defend himself. "Sorry, sorry! I forgot."

I tug at the shirt bunched in his hand. "Put that on before you catch your death," I command. He obeys, grumbling about not liking it when I snap at him.

I watch his every movement as he puts his shirt back on. My attraction to Artus Mide was almost instant. I don't mean in the way I'm attracted to him now, but I was always looking at him, even when we were kids. It's because he's so remarkable. He's always shinning, always luminous, brightening the world around him with his presence. Watching him was a medicine for me, it momentarily cured the constant bleakness of my soul.

He wasn't always handsome. As a boy, Artus was scrawny and impish. But even then, he was also radiant in a way that made it impossible for me to look away. Now his body has caught up with his soul and about a year ago I began having competition when it came to staring at Artus. But I always comforted myself with knowing that no other girl could see what I see in him, no girl would recognise that power he has, that quality that's hard to name and understand but nevertheless makes him helplessly wonderful.

I love Artus Mide because of his integrity, because he's brave and confident and truly, truly strong.

Not a fake, not a fraud, not like me. I'm selfish, I know I can't lay claim to him, but I'm possessive of him, I hold him in my spell somehow, and the other girls are only waiting for me to leave, so maybe then he'd notice them.

"Sy," he says my name and I'm startled by the concern in his voice. "What's wrong?"

"What?" My voice is weak.

"Are you cold? You're shaking."

He looks like he'll try to hug me again, to keep me warm, I lightly hop off the crate and hug myself. "Yes," I say, "let's go home."

It's so natural for me to go to his house, I've grown up there. Karnus and Nita are like my second parents. Art isn't their biological son either; they couldn't have any children, so they adopted him when he was a baby. His birth parents are both dead.

They also adopted me, when I needed them. I gave them only a tiny part of myself, I can't be too scattered, I can't love too many people, it's against the rules I set.

"How are things between you and Vencit?" I ask as we walk.

"Cold," he answers with a shrug. Vencit Frey is Art's best friend - beside me - he's one of the rare ones I've spoken to in our class. While Artus didn't offer me any details and I'm not the sort to pry, they had some fight a few weeks ago.

"That's weird," I say, because it is. I see girls fight all the time and stop talking with each other for years, but when boys fight they usually hit each other and then forget about it.

"It's not," he insists. "Why do you care so much?"

While my questions are subtle and might indicate innocent interest with anyone else, Artus naturally knows me better than that, if I don't care about something; I'd never even mention it. "I've never seen you like this."

"Things change," he says and that seals our conversation. I hate change, I don't speak the whole way home, Art doesn't either.