When Sebastian Met June ✓

Part Two

She grimaces, her thick eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Sebastian seems to know her on a personal level which suggests she made a big enough impact on his memory. But she doesn't remember anything about him or whatever he was comically referring to as 'last time'.

"What?" She whispers, stunning Sebastian. He'd never heard June talk before. Her voice is a lot raspier than he envisioned it would be for a girl her size. As if she hadn't trained her vocal cords to work properly, they were weak.

"In second grade, remember. I sat by you, and you ignored me for a tree outside the window. You even threw a book at the teacher." Sebastian quotes, his eyes flitting through memories.

June nods, though she doesn't remember. Much about her childhood she chooses to forget, seeing as it was not very happy.

June never fit in, which she grew accustomed to over the years. But as a young kid, it all had been a whirlwind of confusion. Lessons taught to the others by their parents were never explained to young June. Her mother had been too involved being a teenager herself to show June the rules of being a little girl. She never learned to share or to forgive, only how to take.

"Oh," is all she says, her speech almost inaudible.

"Yeah, you were kinda mean then." He bumps his shoulders with hers in what is supposed to be a teasing matter.

June flinches away, recoiling at the pressure. Her eyes harden as she fixes him with a scowl. His smile fades at her aloofness. He has no way of knowing that June despises being touched by anyone, even Nadine.

"Don't." Her jaw hardens as she shakes her head.

Sebastian opens his mouth to mold some variety of an apology, but he's cut off by two advancing girls. Each of them was the type of girl June was expected to be at this age, glittery lip gloss coating their sneering lips.

June chooses to ignore them for her book, which they don't take lightly.

"Do you think you're better than everyone else just because you're smart? Like, reading is so stupid." The one girl laughs heartlessly, crossing her arms over her chest. Her vigilantes behind her nod in agreement.

June glimpses up, her almond eyes darting between the three girls before looking back down. Her fingers flip to the next page; lost in more words, more scenarios. As if her ignoring can make the two girls vanish.

June imagines she is the little girl in the book. Kicking her legs harder, pushing herself higher on the swing. She is sailing, defying gravity the higher she soars. Her bony arms extended upwards, her fingers reaching for the clouds. If she could only just pump her legs harder, push herself higher, she would reach them. Just barely out of her grasp.

Instead, June comes plummeting down from the imagined swing set and the clouds and the dream. One of the girls with malignant green eyes grabs her book. It is the same feeling as before, the tips of her ears turning red as static overwhelms her senses. Her chest constricts in a burning sensation that traces her throat, her fists balled at her sides in pent rage.

Like a glass doll she fragments into a million razor-sharp pieces, shooting out shards of her assassination. She claws at the petty girl, whose shrieks are met by June's inanimate glare. June hits her, grabbing at the flailing parts of her she can see, ignoring the other hands reaching to pull her back.

The yells of children against her, rooting for the doll-like girl with the amber eyes. Because June isn't their type of normal, so June is not cheered for.

Because June is not their friend.

June collapses into the wooden chair, the toes of her tennis shoes tapping against the terrazzo floor anxiously. She bounces her knee, ignoring the boisterous voices talking at her. She can see them standing there in front of her, each talking at her with frantic hands and angry gestures.

As if they are sculptures made of glass, she stares right through them; her eyes vacant. She doesn't care whatever they are mad at her about this time, she doesn't even really understand it if being honest. Her fingertips brush against the fingernail scrapes on her bony arms, not deep enough to draw blood, but tolerably they stung. The girl had fought back.

June waits for her teachers to be done speaking, for them to attempt calling home to her disappeared mom. Instead they receive the full answering machine. The monotonous voice repeats the same message, ending in a beep that would never be returned or checked.

Leave your message after the tone.

She could hear the teachers intimidating her with suspension and other forms of punishment, but June doesn't worry about it all that much. She doesn't understand school, she doesn't understand why her actions have consequences.

Most importantly, she doesn't understand people.

Disappearing inside her unbridled imagination, she ignores everyone as she takes the subway home, her home being the last stop. Sitting on the frayed blue chair, her fingers picking at the strings of the fabric. Groups of children around her age encompass her, all of them deep in conversation. June pushes herself further into a book, drowning out the voices around her.

I am a girl who disappeared, left behind by a trail of secrets.

June glances out the smudged windows as the subway goes above ground, watching her city pass before her eyes. The economic divide begins as if a line is mechanically drawn. The brick buildings begin to crumble down, artists' tags are left on every inch of open surface. This is June's home. The familiar strong smell of cigarettes and whisky as she climbs the rickety stairs towards the small apartment, each step groaning beneath her weight.

The old wooden door to her apartment is unlocked. Nadine sits in front of blaring cartoons on their falling apart couch. It's a mossy green color with several stains, sinking deep on the left side. June drops her heavy backpack at the entrance as she locks the door. Not anticipating their mother's arrival tonight.

"How was school today, Nat?" June asks Nadine, scuffling into the kitchen. The journey home from her school is long enough that the sun has begun to set, the moon takes its place in the gray sky. The soft glow of light in their cramped kitchen is fluttering. It's in need of a new lightbulb that June can't afford. Groceries are hard enough to come by as is.

"It was fine, my friends and I-"

June drowns out Nadine's response, lighting the stovetop. The soft flame warms her face as she leans over it. She places an old, stained pot filled with water over the flickering orange flame. She lets it boil enough for off-brand mac n' cheese noodles, the ones that taste like cardboard, to cook.

This is their usual every night routine. June plays the guardian, as their mother can not be trusted to be home every night of the week. And when she does come home, very infrequently, her breath reeks of booze and her eyes are almost always red-rimmed and hazed with intoxication.

While the noodles continue to soften in the boiling water, June glimpses at the one plant in the house they own. She brushes her fingertips over the flower petals, feeling the wilted softness beneath her fingertips. Placed on the bared-off window ledge, its once vibrant petals are shriveling with the absence of sunlight. Its green stem, once strong, now bends over itself.

June feels like the colorless flower petals. Her life grows slower each day as the burden of her existence is anchored on her sharp shoulders.