Note: Silver Key recipient in the 2018 Scholastic Art and Writing Awards in Short Story
01. Chaos
Without chaos, what remains?
02. Lettuce
“I think that’s the lettuce your mother bought a month ago,” her father says after a long look into the refrigerator.
Through the gap between his legs, she catches sight of a football-sized, fuzzy and greyish-blue thing sitting in the bottomost drawer. She has no idea why it is there in the first place. Besides her mother, nobody in their family knows how to cook iceberg lettuce. Why would her mother buy it if she was planning to let it rot?
Her father answers her unspoken query. “She probably meant to cook it, but forgot. Get me a trash bag and a pair of gloves, will you?”
03. Flinches
She flinches as her mother yanks a comb through her hair.
As usual, her mother’s mind is clearly elsewhere.
04. Nondescript
The man with a foreign name is nondescript in every sense of the word. He’s of average stature, with brown hair of average length, carrying a black backpack of some random brand. Off looks alone, she finds it difficult to believe that this is the very man that her father raves about.
Upon the return of her father’s most recent trip to his motherland, in Asia, her father has taken to becoming a free advertiser for the man with the foreign name, claiming that this man was the equivalent of Jesus’s second reincarnation. Thanks to the man currently standing on the front porch of her home, her father’s greatest aspiration in life is to become a monk.
In mere days, it will no longer be just an aspiration.
She looks up, drinking in the foreign man’s absurdly average features. This is the man who is stealing her father.
If only she could remember his face.
05. Verdant
The sky was positively green the day her father left.
06. Glassy
Whenever she looks into her mother’s eyes, they’re always glassy.
07. Supply
The fridge is empty. So is the pantry.
08. Almost
It’s almost comical how quickly she went from having everything to having almost nothing. Just two years ago, she had loving parents, friends and a safe place. She used to have a home. Her biggest worry used to be whether or not she would like her dinner.
Now, she wonders if she’ll be getting one at all.
09. Steadfast
Every time he looks at her, his eyes speak of steadfast loyalty.
One time, she almost believed them.
She punched him that day.
10. Soup
Her mother has always loved soup. With every meal, her mother would always ensure that there was a bowl of something hearty. Her mother used to claim that she didn’t have a favorite soup, and that she loved all soups, gumbos, chowders, stews and broths equally.
Whenever her mother said that, she would always look at her father and smirk, for they all knew that her mother was lying. Serving tomato soup at least nine times a week, with a perpetual supply in the fridge, tomato soup was an undisputed favorite of her mother’s.
The school’s version of tomato soup tastes like watered-down ketchup, but she can’t help but savor it.
11. Comfortable
She thinks, with a twinge of self-pity, of how comfortable her life could have been.
If only she hadn’t been such a brat.
12. Copy
It was too easy.
For once, the boy with the steadfast gaze was looking away. Everyone else was looking away, too, watching attentively as the teacher ranted about their poor performance on their last test, his disappointment in them, and how, to prevent half the class from failing the semester, he was going to assign a massive, 200-point project.
Or something.
The boy with the steadfast gaze continued to rummage through his bag, oblivious to the fact that she was eyeing his completed assignment. The sheet of paper faced the ceiling, sitting on the very edge of his desk, almost like it was inviting her to come and take a grab—
So, she did.
She stuffed it into her bag faster than anyone could blink, and returned her gaze to the front of the room.
13. Potatoes
In her shared apartment with her mother, she arrives to what seems like a local grocer’s entire supply of potatoes and possibly the world’s largest stockpot.
14. After
“Meet me after class,” the teacher had said to her the second she entered the classroom.
The boy with the eyes that speak of steadfast loyalty stares at her as she sits, his eyes a little too wide.
15. Bucket
Every so often, she wonders what it would feel like to kick the bucket.
16. Trade
“Your salad for some tomato soup?” he asks, unscrewing his thermos lid.
She looks up, then frowns.
She doesn’t know why he’s talking to her, especially after that stunt she just pulled. After the bell had rung, after the rest of their classmates had vacated the room, she became a blubbering mess. She claimed that the teacher was terribly mistaken. She claimed that the boy with the steadfast gaze had copied her.
It had earned him three days of in-school suspension. There was no doubt that his mother, the perfect woman that packed him homemade crustless sandwiches and warm tomato soup in thermoses, would be furious.
The word slips out of her mouth before she can stop it. “Why?”
“I don't know,” he replies.
It’s the best soup she’s ever tasted.
17. Pedal
The bike pedal falls off, mid stride, catching her off guard. It’s only after her tightly coiled body slams into a stop sign that she’s able to process what just happened.
She gets up in time to watch the bike frame collide with a car.
Anger surges unexpectedly within her like an unwelcome guest. That bike had been her primary form of transportation. She could’ve fixed that pedal. That bike would’ve been salvageable.
But, just as suddenly, the anger dissipates.
With its departure, an underlying sense of overwhelming loss is revealed.
18. Divide
The policeman’s glares are divided equally between the car owner and herself.
19. Mark
“That’s not the right one,” she says. Her gaze is unreadable as she watches a policeman approach the door of yet another apartment. “I don’t know where mine is.”
The police are exhausted and exasperated, but they try again.
“Honey,” a female officer says in a tone of barely disguised annoyance, “Try and remember, will you?”
She knows her mother hasn’t paid the bill in three months. She knows about their eviction notice. She knows that when they get evicted, her mother will be sent to jail and she’ll be sent to live in an community home.
“I can’t.”
I can’t let that happen.
Later that night, her nails curl into fists so tight that they leave a mark as the police pound on the front door of the apartment of her residence. She prays, will all her might, that no one will notice the red, half-moon wedges imprinted onto her palms.
They don’t.
20. Ducks
Ducks are adaptable beings. They can swim, fly, and walk. They’re aggressive enough to keep unwanted attention at bay, but cuddly enough to love.
She could afford to learn a thing or two from a duck.
21. Trapping
Her jacket does not do a good job of trapping body heat. She’s desperately cold and thoroughly disappointed—she expected more from Calvin Klein.
22. Detail
The boy with the steadfast gaze pays too much attention to detail.
“Did you have a good night’s sleep last night?”
She looks away. Regardless of what comes out of her mouth, she knows he’ll see right through her.
23. Stew
Her mother stirs a massive potato stew.
She chooses not to ask.
24. Filthy
“Hey, you!”
She looks up and comes face to face with someone unrecognizable.
Not that that’s surprising. She hasn’t made any effort to get to know anyone in this horrible city. Only a few are recognizable to her, and even then, she doesn’t know any names. She refuses to learn anyone’s names. This isn’t her home, so she refuses to make herself at home.
He leans in, wrinkles his nose a bit, then leans in a bit more. “When was the last time you showered?”
A week. Almost two.
“We were talking about it and—can you do us a favor and take a shower? You smell filthy,” he whispers apologetically.
I’m aware. I’m sorry. The landlord cut our water.
She says nothing.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
