Chapter 4: Fronts and Façades
SOMETIMES, YOU HAD BAD days.
Today was mine.
Moran and his friends had ordered three large pizzas to share. All seven of us were crowded around a table, stuffing our faces full.
Somehow, despite attending another school, Xavier managed to fit in better than I did, conversing with everyone fluidly and naturally. I guessed it helped that a few of us had attended middle school together. And even for those that hadn't, social media existed. These days, people knew each other from their social media presence, even if they'd never met in real life.
Like many of the people I knew, Xavier had a strong one online. He was just one of those people whose name other people—from different across school the city—could bring up in a conversation, and there would likely be at least someone who knew of him. I, on the other hand, lacked immensely in this department, completely uninterested in playing into this social game.
I piped into the conversation now and then, spending most of it listening and laughing awkwardly when it was demanded.
After thirty minutes, Melanie and her boyfriend unexpectedly arrived, pulling up seats to the table. An easy smile played on her face as she greeted everyone.
"Saint Mel, how've you been?" Lin tossed at her jokingly.
She laughed. "I've been good."
Her eyes shifted around the table, and when they met mine, she offered me a friendly smile, just like she had with everyone else.
No matter how many years had passed, it was always weird to think that Melanie and I had been rather good friends in elementary school. That, however, had shattered with all the bad blood and conflicts that had arose that year. She'd taken her side, and I'd had mine. By the time the end of middle school rolled around, most of the tension had been forgotten and we'd become somewhat friends. It was still awkward and uncomfortable, but we could make small-talk, which I'd say was definite progress from completing disregarding the other's entire existence.
Despite the former tension that had existed between us, Melanie was admittedly one of the kindest people I knew. It was difficult hating someone like her. She was patient, kind, and open. She embodied all the traits that I envied in a person. And, personas, it was these precise traits that enabled her to tolerate dating someone like Stetson, who was an absolute brat compared to her angelic-self. They'd been the best of friends ever since I could remember, so news had spread fast when they moved up a ring on the Relationship Ladder, a concept coined by yours truly and a Mark Valentine. Copyrighted.
Moran piled the pizzas onto one serving tray and then slid the tray down to Melanie and Melanie's boyfriend.
I zoned out, watching Vera Collins, who apparently worked here and had just assumbably come in for her shift. I was watching her chat with her co-worker when a question was directed at me.
"I heard you quit the soccer team, Violet?" Maria asked casually.
My eyes flickered to her, and I quickly felt small under their intense gazes.
"Yeah, I did." I laughed awkwardly, toying with the bracelet on my wrist beneath the table nervously. "I wasn't feeling it anymore," I added with a shrug, feeling the need to elaborate.
The conversation then changed to one about soccer, seeing as most of the team was here.
During this, Xavier leaned towards me. "I didn't know you quit soccer," he whispered, a frown forming on his face.
My chest grew heavy, and I stared at my plate. "I told you," I returned, an accusation lingering in my tone.
He pulled back after muttering a quiet, weightless apology.
With a sigh on the tip of my tongue, I decided to excuse myself, making up a white lie about how my Grandma was calling me and that she needed to talk to me urgently. Restaurant business. My voice came out tired, but no one questioned it. Not even Xavier, who I figured would have the most insight into my excuse being untrue. Instead, he remained seated, easily accepting my lie. I guessed I shouldn't have expected too much from him.
When I left the restaurant and settled against the hot edge of the curb, the sun beaming down brightly, I wondered if Xavier would come after me to check if everything was okay. Frankly, I didn't even think he noticed, too caught up in the festivities of the lively group.
As a sigh escaped my lips, I heard the chime of the door. My hopes rose. Upon spinning around, however, I was met with sharp disappointment when I saw Vera Collins striding out instead. She halted in her step, eyes falling to the spot where I was sitting.
I was probably a pitiful sight, sitting out on the curb by myself, while my boyfriend and supposed friends all laughed and chatted merrily inside.
"Hey," I finally greeted before turning around and staring out vacantly at the parking lot.
I was pretty sure the disappointment in my voice was palpable, but I could hardly summon the energy to care enough to conceal it.
Her footsteps came closer, and I figured she was going to pass me and find another place to enjoy her lunch. Incredulously enough, Vera Collins, the girl who acted like everyone in high school was as repulsive as pesky mosquitoes, plopped down beside me. And while there was a good meter separating us, which really wasn't anything odd considering this was Vera Collins, my lips couldn't help but curve up. I turned my head to hide it.
"Where's your fantastic company?" Vera drawled, taking a bite of her sandwich, arms resting languidly on her knees.
She didn't bother disguising the mockery that lingered in her tone. It was no secret that Vera Collins wasn't a people person—this, especially, when it came to the people who were seated inside the dinner now.
I opened my mouth to protest, only to promptly close it, deciding I didn't care enough to argue in their defense. I knew that she didn't particularly like most of the class because of how self-concerned sole of them were with their images and labels. She had been vocal about this throughout the years, unrelenting in all the snips and snark.
Vera did have a point.
Most high schoolers were like chameleons, all trying to mold and transfigure themselves to fit into certain social standards.
Fronts and façades.
That was high school.
"Probably having an absolutely riveting and engrossing conversation," I grumbled sarcastically.
She snorted. "Don't you sound happy."
I made an incoherent sound.
"Is—what's his face—your B.F. in there?" Vera wondered, her face twisting in disgust at the word. I nodded, pretending to not notice the inquisitive look she sent me at the sight of my unenthusiastic expression. "Well, he comes eat here a lot. He seems...tolerable."
I knew what she was really trying to say. Xavier was boisterous and rowdy, the sort of person was aware of how they presented themselves and strove to exude a certain likeableness about their person. Sometimes, though, this came off as overtly obnoxious to those that didn't know Xavier. And I could hazard a guess that this impression occurred often.
"He can be nice."
She didn't prod for more information, and for some reason, I wanted her, too. Any other person would have jumped at the opportunity to shove their nose in our relationship, pry for my secrets about the obvious fragility of it. But Vera didn't, and this made me want to tell her.
"I don't know if he... if he likes me as much as I like him," I found myself confessing to her.
The word love was on the tip of my tongue, but I couldn't say it. I'd never used it before, and I couldn't possibly divulge that much to Vera.
I felt a twinge if relief and regret as soon as I told her. I'd never revealed how I felt about my relationship to anyone before—not even to Mark or Kieran—in my fear of receiving pity and judgement. I hated being pitied; it was incredibly mortifying having people feel sorry for you after you had emotionally exposed yourself to them. It made me feel vulnerable.
A large part of me wanted to preserve a certain image that I had created of myself: Violet Boyle was strong, and she didn't hurt easily.
To me, opening yourself up to someone was one of the most vulnerable positions you could put yourself in. I hated how it made me feel so completely helpless and powerless, like I was actually opening up my chest and exposing entire my heart to someone, giving them full reins of power.
They could do whatever they wanted with my heart. And I was terrified of that, of not having control.
By way of self-preservation, I put up fronts and kept everything to myself—all my insecurities and fears. It was suffocating, and sometimes, I felt like I couldn't breathe, but I'd choose this over vulnerability any day.
For some reason, though, I found myself wanting to voluntarily confide in Vera, who had made it apparent that she didn't give a shit about me and a majority of the people at school. Because of that, it unexpectedly easier, revealing my secrets and insecurities to someone who was detached from the situation and from me. Vera was unbound by certain emotional restrictions, since she didn't care about me.
"The way I see it, point and blank, is why hold on to someone who will never love you as much as you love them?" I flinched. Hearing it out loud definitely hurt more. "Lettijt go is hard, but why waste your time? What if the right person comes by and you miss it?" Vera took a nonchalant another bite of her sandwich. "I say, fuck it. That's my motto."
"I guess," I breathed, not exactly wanting to agree or disagree with her.
We lapsed into a silence, one with me moodily prodding at the cemented ground with a branch that I'd found and her happily munching on her sandwich.
Eventually, Vera stood up and crumbled the wrapper of her sandwich into her fist. "Alright, Purple." I raised my brows at the nickname. "I probably should say, I'll catch you around. That's the courteous farewell, as they tell me. But I don't want that, so—see you hopefully never again."
She tipped the brim of her baseball towards me and then turned into her heels, striding back to work.
Huh. Who'd thought that it'd be Vera Collins who comforted me, with my boyfriend sitting only a few meters away?
Hell, raining fucking dogs and cats had seemed more likely.
When she was gone, my chest constricted and I had a sudden urge to cry. I pulled out my phone and texted Xavier that I was walking home because I didn't feel good. Admittedly, it was inconsiderate of me to leave without saying my goodbyes. My Mom would undoubtedly frown at me if she'd heard, since she was firm on the idea that we had to bid our greetings and farewells to people in social situations. It was good decorum, she would tell us.
But I needed get a breather, and I figured she would prefer me leaving abruptly over me bursting into tears in front of an audience.
Composing another message to him, I told him to stay and that I was sorry for leaving unexpectedly.
He texted back quickly, telling me to inform him of when I returned safely and that he would call me when he left.
When I got home, I sent Xavier that message and quickly sped to my room. Pulling my journal from where it was wedged between my bed, I flipped through it until I got to a blank page.
Heatedly, I scrawled out: Sometimes, I feel like no one really hears me.
As I stared at the sentence, I felt my chest grow heavy. I was hoping that writing that would help alleviate some of emotions whirling inside of me, intoxicating my mind. But it only made me feel worse.
I proceeded to write.
fuck people.
i hope people just fall into the depths of a never ending black hole of misery.
okay, scratch that.
i meant to say some people.
i'm not evil enough to wish upon the doom and gloom of all of earth. i can't do that to Old Man Melvin, who's most reckoning act was putting up that outrageously terrifying zombie decoration on Halloween. Old Man Melvin, who is so forgiving that he only shook his head when i nearly ran over his flowers yesterday.
so maybe the select few should endure this treachery. i swear i'm not that evil.
sincerely, Violet Boyle, aka the coolest person in the entire universe under Audrey Hepburn.
When I finished, I began to wonder why I was trying to justify my desire of condemning everyone to a black hole against an inanimate object.
Who was it going to tell?
Pen and pencil?
With an exasperated breath, I shoved the journal away. I stared blankly at the ceiling, feeling tears well in my eyes.
Fuck.
Pull yourself together, Violet.
I shouldn't feel this way.
I should feel happy.
I was happy.
I dropped a pillow onto my face and let out a muffled scream.
"Violet, I am trying to watch Lilo and Stich in peace! Will you please," Kieran shouted exasperatedly at me from his room.
* * *
"At precisely 5:53pm, a murderous, treacherous, and earth-shattering scream echoed through the Boyle's house, chilling the—"
"Violet, could you not?" my Mom scolded, cutting my fantastic narration off. When she waved a threatening spatula loaded with sauce at me, I clamped my mouth shut. "Your brother could have fallen in the shower. Don't make jokes," she lectured, moving around the counter and walking towards the hallway. "Kieran, honey, are you okay?"
"Mom!" Kieran wailed in vain.
Suddenly, a door slammed and he burst out like the devil himself.
I wasn't kidding, too.
Red dripped from his hair, staining his face and body like he'd taken a swim through a crimson river full of blood. A murderous look was painted his face, lips fastened into a furious scowl and eyes narrowed threateningly.
This was straight out of a horror movie.
Which meant I was a goner.
"Mom, run!" I shouted.
She ignored me. "Kieran!" she gasped, struggling to find her words. "I don't—what happened?"
"Her."
He took a threatening step towards me. I yelped, sliding off my barstool and moving across the room from him.
I didn't want to die yet.
The door leading to the garage opened at that second, and Grandma stepped in. She tugged off her sun hat and looked up, only to be met by a terrifying sight.
One Kieran Boyle.
She blanched, face growing terribly ashen. "Did you just murder someone? Am I an accomplice now?"
"Grandma!" Kieran exclaimed, appalled. "I didn't do anything! It was Violet. She did this," he gritted out, voice laced with a heavy accusation, a very true one at that.
"Is that paint?" Mom asked, reaching out to touch his forehead.
Understanding dawned on Grandma's face. "Violet, you should have gone for the purple paint." She sighed and stripped off her gardening gloves, dropping them by the door. "I'm disappointed in you for wasting a perfect opportunity. You should have used your trademark, instead of settling for this awful red and giving me such a fright."
"Mom." Kieran turned towards the scolding-and-lecturing machine that was apparently my Mother when he realized Grandma wouldn't unleash her wrath on me in his defense. "Can you—" he waved his hand frustratedly at me.
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.
Summoned, my mother, his Knight in Shining armor, jumped in. "Violet, this isn't funny. What if it got into his eyes?" she scolded, although quite feebly as if she merely wanted to appease Kieran.
"It's kid's paint! In my defense, I did this months ago! How was I to know that you hardly ever condition your hair!" I attempted to explain. "You told me to grow up defending myself from others. I was doing exactly that. This was in retaliation of him ambushing me with a paint balloon attack. Frankly, I should have done worse."
"Watch your back, kid," Kieran threatened, shooting a terrifying glare at me before turning around.
I gasped. "Kid! You foul-mouthed little brat! We're the same age."
"No prank wars," Mom shouted after Kieran, even though she probably knew it was lost on his ears. "Seventeen, and you both are so incredibly childish. I think Tamara's more mature than the two of you combined." Shaking her head, she headed back towards the kitchen.
"Did I just start another prank war?" I squeaked, looking at my Grandma helplessly and fearfully.
"What's the tally count?" Grandma asked, washing her hands in the sink.
"Don't encourage them, Dolores," Mom said, sighing.
"I would never," Grandma assured before mouthing 'good luck' at me from behind her back.
I was wholly and utterly doomed.