Waves Against A Rock

• Zoe Dalton, Grade 10
• Short Story
• 2017

There are three of them. No escape. She hurries past, her head down, praying for refuge but knowing it’s still going to happen, this harmful barrage of words she’s forced to face daily. They burrow into her soul like worms into an apple. Slut. Worthless. Povo. She’s used to it now.
“Tegan, wait.”
It’s her name. Someone’s talking to her, one of the boys. Why now? Why here? She’s done with the insults, done with the judging. Why can’t they leave her alone? Why does her appearance automatically make her a slut?
“What?” she demands.
Done with this. Not gonna take it anymore. There’s an easy way out. Tegan’s tried not to think about it, but her parents are mostly away from home. She could have a deep, warm bath. It might be relaxing as the air was pulled from her lungs. But no, she wouldn’t. Always hope.
“Can I take a selfie with you?” he asks.
So you can post it and comment ‘trash’? As if it wasn’t enough that everyone hated her appearance in real life. Now it was going on social media?
“Why?” she asks simply.
Don’t give them ammo. Don’t say why you’re afraid, don’t give them ideas. They’re not worthy of you.
“Because you look good today,” he says.
The last word echoes in her head. Today. Like she hasn’t looked good any other day. She hears their words: God, just kill yourself, and why bother? Tegan knows why she bothers. She bothers because they don’t matter. They’re just stupid boys who know nothing.
“Leave me alone!” Tegan cries out.
She can feel tears in her eyes but knows she can’t let him see them. Weakness will draw him in for the kill, like blood in water. She makes it past the sharks without showing weakness, but now there’s a whole crowd waiting. They’re crowded in front of a bar, with a television.
“Dead,” says the television.
Who? I’m still here, not dead, she thinks. But it’s not her. It’s her only friend, Anne-Marie. The crowd is sobbing, crying, and then they see Tegan.
“Tegan, are you okay?” they ask.
Their voices are harsh waves against a rock, but Tegan’s not a rock anymore, and she falls to the ground. Why? She wakes in a hospital bed. There are fifty faces around her.
“What’s going on?” Tegan asks.
“You fainted…Anne-Marie is gone, remember?”
How could she forget? Tegan scans the room. Everyone’s there. They care. About her. They’ve got tears in their eyes.
“Why are you here?” Tegan asks.
She has to make sure that everything is okay, that they accept her differences.
“Because we care,” they murmur, and now it’s not waves against a rock, it’s tender, gentle, like a mother’s caress.
One walks forward, pats Tegan’s shoulder, and Tegan realises that she’s not the only one affected by Anne-Marie’s death. They’ve learned from it, all of them, that the most important thing isn’t what people think about you, but what you think.