Young Writers Society

It is fall.

Unlike any other sense, smell can make you remember…things long forgotten surface again, pieces of life flashing and then dimming behind your gaze.

The leaves scrape and dance in patterns along the dusty street. The dying grass catches and holds them to the ground where they will rot, pieces into the soil until one day they’ll surface again.

The wind has a tang, the tang with no name that comes in on the wind in autumn and whistles beneath the dying sun in the brilliant blue sky.

The smell of fall hits me as I follow the leaves across the street, and I remember.

We stand in a line opposite the mirror, all block and angles, sharp corners that are left behind when the hard points hit the floor and you’re not touching ground any more than you have to. The floor is gone and the mirrors and everyone is gone, and your body forgets, your mind forgets the word impossible, you don’t remember that people can’t fly.

My feet hurt so badly but still I’m smiling as I make my way to the back of the line.

I look up at the soft thunk of wood pointes on floor, but the face above the perfect curving legs doesn’t smile, she never smiles even though she’s the best I’ve ever seen and even though we’re all supposed to be at the same level or we wouldn’t be in the company, everyone knows that she’s the best there is and if I’m ever half as good as she is not to mention half as gorgeous I’ll leave this company the happiest girl in the world.

When I let the glass front door swing shut behind me, the rain is already pouring down in sheets and within a few simple feet, I am deeply in hate with that Chuck Taylor guy because his shoes suck, my feet are soaking wet and its all I can do to keep my pointe slippers dry beneath my battered hoodie.

The rain increases its fury and I begin to run, trying to feel the ground beneath my numb feet. I slide my way down the slick asphalt, desperate to make it home before I dissolve or my feet slip and I shatter into pieces on the cold tough ground.

Through the rustling sound of rain, I can hear the faint crunch and splash of tires behind me. I move off to the side, balancing the edge of the ditch; I turn back and watch the twin glares of headlight coming towards me, and as they come along side me I hear a screech and the black car slides on the small layer of water building up and running in rivulets.

I can’t see inside, but all I hear is a voice yelling to be heard above the growing roar of rain;

“Christ! Are you fucking nuts? Get in!” The voice is somehow friendly, and I need no persuasion. I skid my way to the front passenger door, and the next thing I know I’m huddled in a cheap plush seat that seems like the warmest thing ever, and with another screech and splash we’re off.

I’m still reveling in the warmth when I notice a hand stuck reaching out towards me. I shake it, unable to avoid noticing that the palm is dry and, like the seat, unbelievably warm. I look up to the crooked smile of the hand’s owner, warm like everything else in this car seems to be. He takes back his hand, but his eyes don’t leave my face.

“Aidan Roth. Good thing I got you. This is brutal.”

Oh god. I know who he is. I’ve seen him in the halls, surrounded by a scintillating mass that he always seems to be drowning in the center of. I’ve seen his blonde hair and baggy jeans and his pierced eyebrow, but never before his eyes…they blaze nitrogen green like the grass after a lightening storm.

I smile back. “Lacey Vance.”

He turns those eyes back to the road and then slows down, the crooked smile washing over his face again like a ray of sunshine to fight the rain pushing down on us. “Wait, I don’t know where I’m going.”

I grope for bearings in the hazy grey nothing that surrounds us. I lean closer to him to try to see things from his perspective. He smells like white soap.

I point and gesture and we slide a few curves, probably going faster than would be advisable in the glossy storm. I laugh as we hit a bump and the battered black car goes a foot in the air at least. He hits all the puddles, and I grin when I realize he’s doing it on purpose. It’s a bit of a way to my house, and after a little while he slows down.

“You were going to walk this whole way?” He looks over at me with his eyebrow raised. I meet his gaze and shrug.

“No choice. My mom isn’t home and my sister…god knows where she is.” I roll my eyes at the image of my older sister, blonde, busty and perfect, not a thought in her pretty little head of anyone but herself. Just thinking about her pulls up the noxious scents of nail polish and hairspray.

“Your sister…”

“Valentine.” Lacey and Valentine. My parents were on crack.

“Val…fuck! You’re Valentine Vance’s sister? I didn’t know she had a family. I thought she just popped fully formed from the mall floor or something.”

I laugh unexpectedly. “I just think she’s adopted, but whatever. That makes sense too.”

He glances back at me again, and my skin heats under his gaze. I wish he would keep his eyes on the road.

“You look nothing like her.”

I catch a glimpse of myself in the side mirror, and once again I’m reminded of how true that is. Pale, skinny in all the wrong places. Stubborn auburn hair so dark that most people call it brown. I slink further down in the seat, crossing my arms across the pointe shoes that had been removed from underneath my sweatshirt. The plastic bag makes a rustling noise.

“I know. She’s so pretty. And I’m so…”

“Hey.” He shakes his head, and turns to face me again. “That’s not a bad thing. She doesn’t look real. What’s underneath that fake tan and hair dye anyway?”

A wry smile is coaxed out of me. “I really couldn’t tell you. I can’t remember.”

He keeps his eyes on the road this time. “Maybe under all that shit she looks just like you.”

Silence descends on the warm car, and soon I’ve pointed him to a small white house with green trim. The curtains are closed and the lights are off.

“Thank you,” I smile at him as I jump back out into the darkening night. He looks at the bleak house and then back at me, some sort of question in his eyes. I shrug and slam the door shut, and he gives me that crooked smile again, and I can feel some obscure part of me melt…

As I step into the garage, the tiny maroon Volvo in the corner catches my eye.

My voice matches the slam of the door behind me as I storm into the foyer.

“Val!” I shout. “Valentine!”

She saunters in with her arms crossed, looking immaculate as usual. Even in the dim light, her platinum hair shimmers and facets down her back.

“Why didn’t you pick me up?” The steady drip of water off my clothing echoes the deluge outside. Our tile floor looks like a small ocean. Aidan’s car seat will be soggy for weeks.

“Who was that?” She casts her eyes towards the window, ignoring my question, but he’s already gone. Swallowed by the gathering dark. “Was that Aidan Roth?”

I clench my teeth. “Why didn’t you pick me up?”

“You really shouldn’t hang out with that kid, Lacey. He’s got issues.”

“Valentine!” The rain seems to have washed away my sanity. “Just answer the fucking question!” I whip my pointe shoes on to the couch, getting them away from my wet body. The plastic bag kept them dry, thank god.

She shrugs calmly, pulling her eyes away from the window.

“I figured you had left already.”

Of course. Of course it’s too much trouble to go searching the streets in a rainstorm for your soaking sister, leaving her to be picked up by random strangers in black cars. Of course.

The world blurs and runs together outside the streaming windows as I pound up the stairs, pointe shoes clasped firmly in my hands once again.

The door of my room clicks shut behind me, and I rip off my wet jeans and the pink tights beneath them. Then the hoodie and leotard to join the growing puddle at my feet.

And back into water again, but this time it hisses and steams and coaxes the cold from my bones. I step out and wipe the sheen from my skin.

And then an image of Aidan, his crooked smile placing itself forward in my mind, fogged like the mirror in the bathroom.

Finally, sleep.

The world is still black when the sharp, insistent buzzing of the alarm clock brings me up from the murky depths of sleep. The wood floor makes my feet recoil from the chill and I can feel some kind of misery welling up in my throat like a curse word. It’s going to be an awful day.

I wrap myself tightly in a plaid blanket discovered beneath the bed and manage to get to the bathroom. As I reach for the doorknob Valentine gusts out like some sick summer breeze. She acknowledges me by raising one eyebrow and, without a word, sashays down the hall. Rolling my eyes, I manage to splash some warm water on my face and convince my weary eyes to open a bit more. I gather the day’s clothes together and, bracing myself, let the warm blanket drop to the floor. I hurriedly pull the jeans and t-shirt over myself and, stashing a jangling wad of necklaces and bracelets into the pocket of my jean jacket to be sorted out and put on the appropriate parts of my body later, I dash down the stairs.

Valentine is just whisking out the door as I grab my backpack and dash after her. She pauses in the doorway, and even though her face is mostly blank, her top lip has a curl to it that makes some obscure part of me flare up. I push past her and step into the garage, crossing it in a few strides. I open the door of the Volvo and throw my backpack in next to my feet. I cross my arms across my chest petulantly as Valentine slides in next to me. I’m not looking but it’s as if I can feel her rolling her eyes at the steering wheel.

“I’m not walking,” is all I say, and I guess she gives in because she shoves the key into the ignition and slams the car into reverse, out into the dying storm. The early morning has a sick greenish tinge to it as the sun tries to have its way with the thinning clouds. They’ve taken a self-defense class and are having none of it. The rain continues.

We sit in silence as we whip past drenched trees and growing flowers. My sister drives sharply and aggressively; I say nothing as she whips the car around sharp bends in the road and