Evelyn approached Wenda's locker in quick steps. The hallway buzzed with the usual teenage cacophony. The clatter of lockers, the distant laughter, and the scent of cafeteria pizza wafting from somewhere were the commonest phenomena at St. Agnes High.
But none of that mattered now. Not when she was about to invite Wenda to her home.

Wenda stood there, surrounded by her little universe of sketchbooks and coloured pencils.

"Wenda!"
Wenda looked up, her eyes widening in surprise. "What's up?"

Evelyn fumbled with the hem of her sweater. "Hey, Wenda. Um, I was wondering if you'd like to come over this weekend. You know, for a little hangout."

Wenda blinked, her round face a parapet of emotions. "Me? Why?"

Evelyn's heart raced. "Well, because... because you're amazing, Wenda. Your art is perfect and it's like you capture the soul of things. And I thought, maybe we could-"

Wenda cut her off with a scoff. "Get-together at your place? Seriously? What's the catch? You want to mock me, don't you?"

Evelyn's cheeks burned. She hadn't expected this reaction. "No, Wenda! I really-"

"Save it." Wenda snapped her sketchbook shut. "You think I don't hear the whispers? 'Wenda, the pumpkin girl.' 'Wenda, the chubby artist.' Well, I'm done being everyone's joke."

Evelyn's heart sank. She'd never meant to hurt Wenda. Not like this at least.
"It's not like that-"

"Of course it is!" Wenda's voice cracked. "You think I don't see the way people look at me? Like I'm some oddity. And you-you're no different. You just want to parade me around like a freak show."

Evelyn's fingers trembled. "Wenda, I-"

"No." Wenda's eyes blazed. "I won't be your token fat friend. I won't be your pity project. Find someone else."

And with that, Wenda turned away, leaving Evelyn standing there, her invitation crumpled in her hand.

...

The night wrapped Wenda in its inky shroud as she hurried along the deserted streets. She had finished her art class for the day, albeit late. The Michigan Art centre loomed behind her, its windows aglow with the dim night light.

And for a fact, it was her daily routine, but tonight, something was different.

A sixth sense prickled at the back of Wenda's neck. She glanced over her shoulder, catching a glimpse of movement, a shadow that clung to her like a desperate secret. Someone was following her.

Fear prickled her skin, urging her to sprint home, lock her door, and pretend this night never existed. But what if they follow her home? And like last time they stick those ugly posters outside her house?
She just has to mislead them.

Wenda veered off the well-trodden path, away from the safety of streetlights. The scent of decay enveloped her, the unmistakable odour of the town's dumping yard. And there, at the heart of it all, danced a fire, its flames reaching for the heavens.

They won't be able to find her here, right?

She hid behind a rusted barrel, her breaths shallow. Whoever followed her was close now, their presence palpable. Wenda's heart pounded, and she peeked around the barrel's edge.

And there she was: Evelyn, her eyes wide with determination. The same girl who had invited her to hang out!

"Why?" Wenda hissed when Evelyn stepped into view. "Why are you following me?"

Evelyn's lips curved into a smile. "Wenda," she said, her voice brittle as dried leaves. "I've come to take you home."

Wenda's confusion deepened. "Home? But-"

"My home," Evelyn interrupted, her eyes glinting with madness. "I am going to bake a nice and warm pumpkin pie."

Before Wenda could react, Evelyn moved forward. Her hands, once gentle, now pushed Wenda toward the roaring fire. Panic surged through Wenda's veins. She stumbled, her feet slipping on the uneven ground. The heat seared her skin, and she screamed.

"Why?"

Evelyn's laughter echoed. "Because, Wenda, you're not just an artist. You're a creation, a living embodiment of autumn and the very important ingredient. And what better fate for a pumpkin girl than to return to the flames?"

The flames consumed her. The plump girl with the dream of becoming an artist, the girl who had once dreamed of painting sunsets and whispering secrets to the moon. As Wenda burned, she wondered if her art would survive this fiery baptism.

And Evelyn watched, her eyes unblinking, until the last ember faded into the night. She nudged her hand inside her pocket pulling out the list of her ingredients.
Pumpkin puree.

She just had to mash the roasted pumpkin now.

⋅ ──────────── ⋅