Dedicated to starlightt because you all need to go vote for her story Superior (On The Rise, Science Fiction) in the Watty Awards. Right after you go vote for me.

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            I didn’t know where the bathroom was, but a stab in the dark led me to the door directly opposite; all I could do was hope it was the right one. Thankfully, as it swung open, I was greeted by a roomful of gleaming white tile and a significantly cooler temperature, both of which I didn’t hesitate to stumble into.

            What was wrong with me? Jesus, I’d never had a reaction like that before. I thought I’d dealt with the fact that my parents weren’t around anymore long ago. Whilst I was still prone to onsets of sadness if they were mentioned, it was usually nothing more crippling than a twinge, or tears that I’d quickly wipe with the back of my hand.

            But that?

            I knew Jay hadn’t meant anything by it. After all, how was he supposed to know that the girl beside him – the one who looked completely normal, with curly hair and freckles on her nose – had been ripped apart by grief only several years before? No one could tell. I didn’t have a tattoo that read orphan on my forehead. I didn’t come with a warning label that instructed the outside world to approach the topic with caution. I didn’t have any visible scars.

            So who could blame him, really? In fact, I was the one at fault.

            I took a few minutes to compose myself, splashing cold water onto my face and furiously commanding my reflection in the pristine mirror to get a grip. But that was easier said than done. Honestly, I was considering making a break for it out the front door. It wasn’t like I wanted to abandon the group of people who were my only escape from the prospect of a pathetically friendless summer. But what was I supposed to say to them?

            I couldn’t go back and explain the real reason behind my sudden exit. It’d ruin everything – and just fifteen minutes into the evening. I’d be stuck with a label that would stretch well beyond the end of summer. I could kiss goodbye to being just Flo, the new girl. The moment the truth came out, I was destined to become Flo, the new girl with the dead parents. The one who might freak out at any minute. And, as I knew from experience, that was an impossible stain to get off.

            Back home in London, in the initial aftermath of the accident, the entire school found out within a matter of days. I still wasn’t sure exactly how it spread so quickly, but I became a tragic case overnight, plagued by whispers and bated breath everywhere I set foot. People tiptoed around me, keeping themselves at arm’s length like I was a bomb at risk of exploding at the slightest thing. And then there were the pity looks: those awful expressions, masking the faces of everybody I knew. I got them from everybody: my friends; classmates I’d never spoken to; teachers, especially. Suddenly I was never the girl picked last for teams in PE, never expected to go up to the whiteboard and explain one of the homework questions, never receiving detention for missing homework in the first place. I was permanently excused.

            And I hated every second of it.

            Here in Walden, I wasn’t that girl. Daniel had looked at Nora and I with more than sympathy, and to the others, I was more than just a tragic past. I was the new girl, clinging with both hands to the potential to be anybody I wanted. For the first time in three years, I was without the label stuck over my forehead.

            I couldn’t tell them. I couldn’t lose grip on those endless possibilities, of finally having people who knew me for me, not the tragic details of what had shaped my being.

            And most of all, I couldn’t handle Daniel taking pity on me.

            I couldn’t go back in there and face them. It was decided: the only thing for it was to make a break for it out of the door. I didn’t even care about the rain. If I ran into any of them later, I’d have to conjure up an excuse about not feeling well.

            Mercilessly, my plan was foiled the moment I stepped from the bathroom. I jumped slightly, suddenly noticing Erin standing in the hall, leaning against the doorframe and waiting for me. She looked up as the door clicked shut behind my frozen form.

            “Hey,” she said. “You okay?”

            I cleared my throat, which, for some reason, felt like sandpaper. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

            “You look pretty pale.” She was studying me through slightly narrowed eyes, but there was nothing judgemental about her gaze. “You sure you feel okay? I can get you a drink or something.”

            “Uh…” My own eyes flickered back to the living room. Its door was ever so slightly ajar, snatches of animated conversation escaping from the small gap. “A glass of water would be great, actually.”

            Erin pushed herself into an upright position, starting in the direction of a door at the other end of the hall. I followed after her. Seconds later, we emerged in a huge kitchen, all white tiles and granite worktops, each and every item stowed neatly in its allotted place. It was worlds away from Gram’s pleasantly untidy workspace, where the mess seemed almost comforting.

            Wandering over to the sink, Erin took a glass from a cupboard overhead and filled it from the tap. For a house that wasn’t her own, she seemed to know her way around. Maybe she and Collette were close, though I couldn’t imagine it.

            “Here.”

            I blinked, realising she was holding the glass out to me. Tentatively bringing it to my lips, I took a shaky sip, well aware of Erin’s eyes fixed on me.

            “So,” she said, as if deciding the moment of silence had stretched too wide, “you want to tell me what that was back there, or…?”

            I swallowed. Really, I should’ve known it was coming. “Um…”

            “I mean, you don’t have to if you don’t want to.” Erin was leaning back against the counter, her hair seeming a shade brighter amongst the abundance of white tile. I found myself wondering what had possessed her to even go for such a colour in the first place. She was still looking at me, trying to analyse my expression, but all I wanted to do was squirm.

            Desperate to detract from the question, but not really thinking, I blurted out, “What colour is your hair naturally?”

            I couldn’t read her look for the life of me. “Bright blue,” she said, completely serious, before resuming her original topic with ease. “Look, I know we’ve only just met. But I thought you might want to talk about it, you know—”

            “Did that thing in your tongue hurt?” I asked. I knew what I was doing was stupid, but I couldn’t bring myself to stop. Stopping meant talking, and talking, I wasn’t ready for.

            “Like a bitch,” she answered automatically. “Look, Flo—”

            “I could never get something like that done,” I babbled on. “I’d probably chicken out at the last minute, you know. I’d be way too scared for that sort of—”

            “Flo.” Her voice cut me off, and I froze. “Look, if you don’t want to talk about it, then I’m not forcing you. Just say.”

            Biting my lip, my gaze trailed to the spotless tiles beneath my feet. Each one seemed too perfect – so perfectly in line, free from even the tiniest specks of dirt – to an extent that I found myself irritated. But it still wasn’t enough to get me to look at Erin; she seemed too perceptive, like she could figure me out completely if she just looked for long enough. “It’s kind of… personal.”

            Was it? Up until now, the details had pretty much been public knowledge. But this was Walden, and I didn’t know where I stood.

            “Oh. Right.”

            I felt bad for shutting her out, but how was I supposed to tell her? Let it slip, and there wasn’t any way to take it back. Secrets were irreversible. Thirty minutes of knowing them – that was all – and I’d be labelled. Forever looked on with pity, listening to them censor their words for fear of saying the wrong thing. I’d had enough of that in the past three years. Was it really so wrong to disclose the truth for just a little while?

            I didn’t want to be Flo, the girl whose parents had died. The girl with only her sister left.

            For a while, couldn’t I just be Flo?

            Erin had finally moved her gaze away, no longer scrutinising my face and what might lie beneath it. The awkwardness was quickly approaching, beginning to seep in faster than we could stop it. “I… maybe we should go back.” Bringing the glass to my lips, I drained the rest in one go. “They’ll probably be wondering where we are.”

            “Oh. Yeah.” She blinked, like she’d forgotten about the other four people in the next room.

            I set the glass down quietly, starting towards the door. My damp socks squeaked on the polished floor as they skidded across it, the friction not quite enough to keep my feet steady. The sound of movement behind me confirmed that Erin was following my lead.

            Or at least she was, until I’d reached the door. I had one foot over the threshold, the other still skimming the tile, when her voice cut in. Her tone was quiet, yet had an impact as sharp as a carving knife. “How did you lose them?”

            I turned to ice, my body poised to take another step, but rendered physically incapable. Somehow, I regained enough composure to turn around, allowing my eyes to fall upon her solemn expression. “I…” I swallowed thickly. Could she really be referring to what I thought she was? I’d thought it impossible, but her gaze seemed to read nothing else. “What?”

            “Your parents,” she said evenly. “How did you lose them?”

            She knew. She really knew. How could she know? How had she figured me out in such a short space of time?

            She had. She knew. The words were buzzing around in my head, their movement wildly rabid, ricocheting off the sides and multiplying by the second. I wanted to lie, wanted so desperately to tell her that she’d got it wrong, but I knew there was no point. “It was a car accident,” I forced out, barely louder than a whisper. “Three years ago.”

            “I’m sorry.” I’d heard it hundreds of times before, each out of nothing more than politeness, but there was a kind of fiery sympathy behind her eyes that assured me it was genuine. There was something different about Erin. It was almost like she understood.

            “How did you know?”

            She sighed: a premonition. “We lost our dad,” she said eventually. “Daniel and I. It was almost a year ago now.”

            I swallowed over the lump in my throat; this, I had not expected. I wanted so desperately to say something, assure her that I knew exactly how she felt, let her know somehow that I could empathise with whatever they’d struggled through. I wanted to do something to alleviate the vacant look of sadness that had glazed over her face. But the words had lodged themselves somewhere in my throat; I could almost feel their physical presence digging into my windpipe. All I could bring myself to whisper was, “I’m sorry.”

            A saying I knew from experience was meaningless. Weak. Empty. And I hated myself for saying it.

            “It was cancer,” she explained, uttering the word with disturbing ease. “So it wasn’t like it was sudden, or anything. We knew he was sick for a while. Still… Daniel took it pretty hard.”

            His name sent a jolt of pain through me. I wondered if this was what other people felt when they heard about me, or whether my sense of grief had toyed with my emotions. Opening my mouth to speak, I racked my brain for something to say, but Erin had snapped out of it before anything could pass my lips. She shook her head vigorously, sending her purple waves flying.

            “God, this is a depressing conversation, isn’t it?”

            I nodded as she took several steps towards the door. I wanted to ask her about Daniel, get her to elaborate on his recent past, but this was clearly a line not to be overstepped.

            “Um, Erin?”

            She was already halfway out by this point, pausing to look at me. “Yeah?”

            “Could you not… you know, tell the others about this? Just yet.” I swallowed. “I’m not ready.”

            I watched her features shift, expression morphing into something unrecognisable for a split second, but it had vanished before I could take a proper look. “Got it,” she told me, with an almost melancholy smile. “My lips are sealed.”

            “Thanks.”

            “But Flo…” She paused, pondering her next thought, her voice gentle and tentative, forging a path through the silent air. “Just… don’t underestimate the others, okay? They’re more understanding than you think.”

            “I—”

            “Just trust me, okay?” she cut in softly. “Trust me.”

            I thought of Collette, and how she didn’t exactly seem the epitome of understanding, but something in Erin’s tone held me back from saying anything else. The whole situation seemed vaguely surreal, as if this formed part of a hazy dream whose details would ebb away later. I couldn’t even pinpoint the moment the uncomfortable clenching feeling in my chest had ceased.

            “You okay to go back in there?”

            I forced a smile, but I did feel infinitely more at ease. The lingering prospect of returning to Collette’s living room no longer filled me with laden dread. “Yeah,” I breathed, looking up to meet Erin’s gaze. “Thanks.”

            “You don’t need to thank me,” she said. “What are friends for?”

            Friends. An unknown reason sent an inner warmth spreading through me, igniting across every part of my body. It felt simultaneously peculiar and wonderful, a feeling so dated and unfamiliar I hadn’t even known I’d experience again. Let alone in a stranger’s shiny kitchen in the middle of Walden, after a conversation like that.

            “Now, come on,” she said, beckoning, “let’s go back. Just, you know, mentally prepare yourself for Jay.”

            As the thought of the shameless flirt and his ridiculously gelled hair slipped back into my mind, I was surprised to realise that his bold advances and awful sense of personal space no longer brought on a fit of anxiety. Instead, I actually laughed out loud. And when we re-entered the living room, and I plonked myself back in my original spot in the midst of it all, it occurred to me that they weren’t so intimidating after all. Even Collette looked considerably less frightening when she was giggling at something Scott had said.

            In fact, if you took the time to look closely, maybe we were more similar than I thought.

            Maybe.

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It sounds so cheesy, but I'm actually really proud of this story. Like, I'm actually motivated to edit it. Which is good news for you guys, because it means I upload more often.

Also, the Watty Awards voting starts today. I'm up for three categories (Most Popular Humour, Most Popular Short Story and Best Trailer). And right now, I've got almost half the votes in Short Story, which I'm over the moon about. The other categories I'm not expecting to win, but the votes are very much appreciated :-) So please do me a favour and go vote?

Oh, and happy new year guys!