Who I Want to Be

Hearts

*****

After class I follow Emma behind the school. She walks three feet ahead, so that all I see is her straw-like blond hair as it's tussled in the wind. We do not speak.

In elementary school, we were friends. We walked together, and played together, and even bought friendship necklaces. Now we still are, but it feels so much different. Maybe because that was an entirely different Emma. She has changed so much that sometimes I barely recognize her. She is taller, her hair has grown out, and her freckles hide behind concealer. But it's the way she talks, her expressions, how she moves so confidently, that always surprises me. In some ways, I am jealous. I wish to be Emma - to be imposing - to be liked.

"I hate this school." She stops and sits back against the concrete building. I follow suit. The brick and pavement are hot against my back. "I can't wait until we graduate." She pops open her can of Coke and takes a long swig. If I had money, I would have bought one too. But I don't.

"Yeah, I guess." At this rate I will miss my bus and walk the 5 mile stretch home. Emma is fine because she lives close. For me it's more extranuous. But I do not want to leave this moment. Rare times where I hang out with Clo, Marion, or Emma are the best parts of my day. I feel included, liked, desired.

Emma and I sit in silence until there are no more students exiting the grounds. She finishes her drink and then begins filling it with small stones. I finally work up the courage to speak.

"Want to come over this weekend?" I look over towards Emma. She rattles her empty pop bottle and the pebbles bounce around the interior.

"Oh, sorry, I have plans." My stomach drops a little.

"With who?" She ignores my eyes and looks out across the vacant school field.

"Marion and Clo." Emma says it like it's something she didn't really want me to hear. I feel myself sinking further down.

"Can I... do you think I could... possibly come too?" My heart is thumping incredibly fast. If possible, Emma further avoids me.

"Well, uh, sorry but I don't think Marion's dad is very fond of you. And, well, we're going to her house so..." She trails off. I am mortified at myself for asking.

"Sorry. Nevermind." My face is burning.

"Maybe another time?" She turns to me and forces a smile.

"Yeah, maybe." I look beyond the field to a rise of hills dotted with houses. All the while, the misery threatens to consume me.

"I should probably get going." Emma stands up decisively. "Thanks for talking with me."

"Oh, uh, sure. No problem." I watch her walk across the field towards her house, one of the hundreds on the hill. On her way, she tosses her can at the trash but misses. She does not turn back around to pick it up. Instead, I get up and do it for her.

I walk home along the side of the road, gravel crunching beneath my sneakers. It is hot and humid and sweltering. Aside from the odd car, my walk is entirely silent. Perhaps this is better because nothing escapes me. The world halts for me, and for once I do not feel stupid or slow.

The sun is almost set by the time I pull up the walkway. It hangs low, buried behind rows of evergreen trees. If only I could hide that easily. The porch light turns on as I walk beneath it. As expected, the door is already unlocked.

"I'm home." I kick my shoes off to finally let my swollen feet breath.

"Gabby, is that you?" Anna rushes out of the kitchen and barrels towards me. "Where the hell have you been?!" Her bun is messy with hair haphazardly falling out; her brown eyes stare me down.

"I missed the bus." I watch her face for contortions. "Just hanging out with Emma," I add in, before she can ask anything else.

"You had me worried sick. Did you walk all the way home?" She looks me up and down, checking for scratches or bruises.

"Yeah, I did. I'm sorry to make you worry." Anna crouches and picks at my jeans.

"Another hole?" She looks up at me, eyes wide with concern. "If there's something wrong, you can always-"

"Everything's fine," I interject. "Is there dinner?"

"Yep," Anna replies, standing back up to return to the kitchen.

"I'm starving."

"Not surprised." She flashes me a large smile and I follow her through the hallway. I guess I do excel at some things, trivial as they are. Like lying to Anna, though only to relieve her stress. Or lying to myself, because as much as I would like, there are people I just cannot be. Instead I am ugly, and stupid, and unlikable. I am the one teased by my friends, the one left out in group assignments. I am the one who hates myself. I am the teenager who cannot let go of their belief that deep down, everyone is good.