I can’t figure it out.

I can’t figure out why in the world Ryuji Haruta would find someone like me interesting enough to want to keep talking to me. Why? I stare at his number and name scrawled across that piece of paper, as I hold it above my head in the light of the window. Leaning back in my chair, I rest my back on the railing of Anwell’s bed. This time, I’ve come to visit him alone. Mom makes me go with her once a week, but sometimes when I find my thoughts in knots, I come here and talk to him, even if he can’t hear me.

Anwell used to be my sounding board. I’d come to him for all sorts of things. Whatever it was, he’d listen with patience and impart brotherly advice in a cool and collected manner. It wasn’t until I got older, and he was placed in a coma that I realized he was doing it just to sound cool. I smile at that. I thought he was the best thing since enchanted carriages.

 “What do you think?” I ask the empty room as I turn my thoughts back to Ryuji. “There’s got to be something. Some reason other than the fact that I used to write and like the same shows he does.”

Of course there’s no answer. It’s been so long since last I made a friend that I’m not sure what exactly being friends entailed. Isn’t there some kind of criteria? Some way you have to fill an absence in the other person, or at least add to what they already have?

I sigh and prop my elbows on the railing behind me.

“Maybe he was just being nice.” Like people are with dying animals. They look on them with pity and cry, and then once that animal is gone, they find a new one to replace it. I wrinkle my nose at that thought. Was that the best analogy? Probably not.

I sit up in my chair, suddenly struck with another thought. What if he’s using me somehow? How, I have no idea, but what if there’s some way he’s using my presence to get something he wants? What if he has a crazy ex-girlfriend and is using me as a shield. After all, a lot of people find my overall presence intimidating at first.

You’re overthinking again. I can almost hear Anwell’s voice in my head. If he was awake, he’d tell me something like, How do you know he’s not just being nice? There’s nothing wrong with wanting to make friends. You should go ahead and try.

How many times had he said something like that to me? I think the last time was in elementary school when a girl asked if she could hang out with me at recess. I panicked and after school ran to Anwell for his advice. He listened patiently to my rant of all the bad things that could happen and quietly replied with, But what if she just wants to be friends? That girl had become my only friend in elementary school. And then she moved away.

It's always been hard for me to pick up the subtle signals people send to one another. Half the time I don’t understand them. That’ probably why, once I hit high school, all my middle school friends left me in the dust. Sometimes I see them in the hallways, but at this point it’s like seeing glimpses of strangers.

It doesn’t matter. He didn’t say I had to answer right away. I’ll just let it wait for now. Besides, I have other things to think on.

Like, how in all three moons I’m going to enter that contest? I crush the paper in my fist and turn in my seat to face Anwell, careful not to look at the curse mark. I fold my arms on the railing and rest my cheek against my hands.

“I wish you’d wake up and tell me what to do like you always did before.” A lump forms in my throat. “It’s hard without you.”

My only answer is the sound of the respirator and the quiet beeping of the heart monitor.

###

The next day at school, I see Ryuji’s wings before he spots me and I shrink off to the side, hoping that I can somehow blend in with a group of fairies. His eyes instantly turn to me, and he waves enthusiastically, almost hitting the fire sprite beside him in the face. The sprite, Sseshii, doesn’t seem to mind, and waves as well.

I shrink even further inside myself when a couple of icarus boys tackle him and they all laugh, looking in my direction. A blush of embarrassment heats my cheeks and I walk as fast as my legs can take me in the opposite direction. The only thought that goes through my mind is, Wow, he has a lot of friends. Why in the world would he want to hang out with me?

The next day is the same. I hunch over, carrying books with my head down, hoping he doesn’t notice me. He still does, and this time he calls out my name, loud enough for the whole school to hear.

“Did you decide yet?” he asks over the heads of the shorter students.

Great. My entire face is most likely bright red now. I shake my head, very aware of the fact that his friends are watching me. As well as everyone else in the hallway. With the way things look, to an outsider, people might think he asked me out on a date or something. Ugh. This is embarrassing.

He seems completely unbothered by the fact everyone is watching and continues to smile that huge, goofy smile. “Well, hurry up and decide by Friday, okay?”

I glare at him. Thanks for the short notice, buddy. Friday is the day after tomorrow. He’s been hounding me all week.

On the third day, he repeats himself, and this time, I tell him, “I’ll answer you tomorrow, okay?”

He gives me two thumbs up and that stupid grin. “Great!”

When I get home, I immediately hunt down Elsha, who is outside in the backyard sketching the tiny garden dragons that are sleeping amongst the flower beds Mom planted a few years back. Elsha’s the only one who takes care of the plants now and likes to strategically cultivate them to attract animals she can sketch. She’s even cast a few spells on the flowers so that they’ll bloom year round. At this point, it’s no longer odd to see carnations and daffodils thriving in the tail-end of winter.

I stop behind her and stare at a tiny yellow dragon curled around the stalk of a tulip.

“Okay, I need your help,” I say to Elsha’s back.

She works on drawing the dragon’s little nose before turning and looking up at me, eyebrows raised. “Yes?”

I flop down into a sitting position in the grass beside her. A cloud of grass sprites flit into the air like tiny green fireflies in a glowing frenzy. Elsha turns back to the dragon, no doubt hoping to sketch it before I scare it away.

“You remember that guy I told you about? The one from the train?”

“Yeah?”

“He found me in the library last week and invited me to go to his writer’s group. He even gave me his number so I can tell him whether I want to go or not.”

She continues to sketch, brows bent in concentration. “Okay?”

I purse my lips and glare at the side of her face. “Are you even listening?”

She glances at me. “Of course. The winged guy gave you his number and invited you to join his writer’s group.”

Leaning back on my elbows, I stare at the clouds passing overhead. “Thing is, I have no idea if I want to go or not. I don’t really know him all that well, and I haven’t written anything in ages. What if they expect me to write something? Or what if they all think I’m weird? What if they’re uncomfortable with me around? What if I’m treated as an outsider?”

“What if you have fun?” Elsha puts her sketchbook in her lap and looks me right in the eye. “What if you make friends? What if you actually start writing again?”

My chest pinches at those words. She sounds just like Anwell. My gaze slides over to the blue and green muse curled on her shoulder, almost blending in with her hair. It’s in the form of a snake, with curling green horns and a tiny, forked tongue. Her muse appeared around the same time mine did. We were both just pups, but we had high hopes and big dreams.

The loss of mine still sits like a rock in my stomach.

“I think you should just go for it. What’s the worst that could happen? If you have fun, you can go again. If you don’t like it, you don’t have to go.” Elsha shrugs. “It’s that simple.”

Heaving a sigh, I collapse onto my back. The train’s whistle blares through the air, hanging over the neighborhood like a call to war. I guess she’s right. I’ll try it out, but that doesn’t mean I have to keep going. I can always leave whenever I want, right?

My mind drifts back to the flyer. What if…what if this helps me start writing again? Then maybe, if I have the confidence, I can enter the contest. And I could finally escape the life Mom has planned for me.

A pipe dream.

What’s wrong with dreaming a little?

Pulling my phone and Ryuji’s number from my pocket, I sit up and take a deep breath. It’s now or never.

I type in his number, then send him a text. Just two words.

I’m in.