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“What? Really?” she shifted forward, trying to see my sketchpad.
I angled it away from her curious eyes. “It’s not done.”
“Why me?” she asked, her eyes lighting on mine. Hers were a clear, bright blue it would take ages to mix just right.
“It was either you, or the trash can.”
She snorted softly. “What a compliment.”
“Were you looking for one?” I wondered.
She swallowed and shook her head. “No, why would I be?”
After a few minutes, I remembered the snack I had in my backpack. I took out the box of empanadas my mom had lovingly made at home and packed up for me that morning. Sweet empanadas, with cinnamon and stewed apple. My mom was a phenomenal cook. Finishing half in hungry bites, I shoved the rest back into the box and held it out to Winter.
“Here,” I offered. She stood and crossed to me, taking the box gingerly. “It’s not poison. It’s food,” I told her.
She eyed it distrustfully. “Who made it?” she wondered.
“My mom, and it’s the best fucking thing you’ll ever eat. Give it back if you’re going to be a picky brat about it,” I told her, my amusement turning to annoyance as she looked at my mom’s food with suspicion.
She clutched the box to her chest. “No. I’ll eat it. In a little bit,” she said quickly, taking the box and hurrying back to her perch.
I had no idea why I shared my food with her, only that letting her go hungry because she didn’t want to go to the cafeteria for the parents’ lunch didn’t sit right with me.
We weren’t so different, after all.
That afternoon, hidden from the world, I felt a connection to the girl sitting across from me, even though our worlds couldn’t have been further apart.
We sat in comfortable silence. I sketched her, and she watched.
It was the first Parents’ Day I hadn’t hated.
I saw her again at the end of the day, when my mom and Eve rushed over to me. They’d had a great day, and I was glad. I could take anything, as long as they’d enjoyed it.
I was waiting at the bus stop with them, while a procession of expensive cars paraded past, taking the rich kids of HHH home. A shiny black town car with tinted windows pulled in, just short of the bus stop, and a driver jumped out. Yep, there were actual kids at HHH who had drivers to take them to and from school. He had something in his hand. A familiar-looking box. He rounded the car and headed for the trash can on the sidewalk and lobbed the box in. I didn’t need to check to see what box it was.
I knew it was the one I’d given Winter. My feet were moving before I could stop myself. The town car pulled away, and I crossed the distance to the trash can. It took only a glance to see my mom’s carefully prepared food, untouched, spilled out onto the trash underneath. I supposed I should be grateful that she hadn’t thrown out the sketch I’d done of her and given her. The spoiled brat had even thrown away the Tupperware box. I reached in and grabbed the now empty box. My mom would miss it if I didn’t bring it home.
I’d been wrong.
We were completely different.
Winter’s world and mine weren’t even in the same universe. Believing anything else was a waste of time, and not something I’d repeat.
Winter
SENIOR YEAR
Parties at the beach were a staple of Hade Harbor summers. My best friend Selena always wanted to go, and I went with her because honestly, I didn’t have anything else to do. Home was quieter than ever, with both my parents busy and traveling more and more. When the silence got too loud, I tried to stay out of the house as much as I could.
“Oh, look, the hockey team is here, including the Ice Gods,” Selena smiled, fluffing her hair as we walked down the steps to the beach.
My heart fell.
Asher Martino had taken a disliking to me since that afternoon at Parents’ Day, and never wavered in his heartfelt disgust. I’d foolishly clung onto the memory of those moments when he’d sketched me and made me feel less alone for a few hours for far too long. I even still had the sketch. What I had cherished, had clearly had the opposite effect on him. Luckily, our paths seldom crossed.
Of course, he was just pretending to be nice to me. That’s what people did.
