The door looked like it was about to fly off of its hinges as soon as it opened, causing Tristan to step back as she half expected it to hit her. What surprised her most was that she wasn’t met by a giant, instead by someone half her size. Tumbling red curls framed a doll-like face with dark brown eyes staring back at her, a smile toying at her plump pink lips. Tristan, always feeling like a bother, stepped to the side to allow this stranger inside the classroom. But the girl stood in place, looking mildly curious at Tristan’s demeanour.
Before long, the girl nodded once and stepped past Tristan, making a direct shot to Mr. Smith. Tristan was about to continue on her way, but the exchange she overheard caused her to stop in her tracks.
“H-hi?” Mr. Smith seemed very unsure of himself.
Whereas this girl wasn’t. “Henry Smith? I’m Esme Valentree --- new student. I just transferred here today,” She said, pouring over the attendance sheet. “See? Right there.”
Something about hearing that name made Tristan do a double-take, eyeing the ongoing interaction. Mr. Smith seemed in awe of Esme; his eyes were like saucers with his jaw hanging slack. He had seen something in this girl that Tristan had clearly missed, wondering if she was famous with how people were talking. Regardless, it was none of Tristan’s business. Until it was.
Because Mr. Smith didn’t look down to his paper once, instead he nodded with a smile on his face. “Oh, you’re right. I see it there. Please... have a seat, someone will move for you.”
Mr. Smith was mechanical in the way that he was speaking and yet his face was full of life, it was like he had seen something wonderful and wanted to tell everyone about it as soon as possible. With this in mind, Tristan held the door and watched on for another moment longer, because there was something else that caught her attention. As Tristan looked out over the classroom, she half expected to be met by at least two dirty looks, but lo and behold all eyes were on the new girl. A welcome momentary relief in Tristan’s mind, getting ready to slip unnoticed out the door.
“Only if she can sit,” The new girl said, chucking her thumb over her shoulder at Tristan. “Would someone move for her, too?”
These words caused Tristan to look around as if there was someone else standing with her, but Esme was talking about her. A little flattered, Tristan felt her cheeks grow hot before approaching Mr Smith’s desk, keeping a comfortable distance from the new girl. Tristan was about to interject, but the new girl continued on.
“Isn’t it your responsibility to make sure there’s enough desks for your students?” The new girl asked, shrugging it off. “No matter. We’ll take those two desks by the window, please.”
The desks that she was talking about happened to be occupied by Hasson and his friend, who were both looking on with stars in their eyes. As Tristan glanced over the room, that same look was plastered on every face. Where once she was met by laughter and name-calling, she was now invisible as all eyes were glued to the new girl. It was truly calming for the moment that it lasted, until Hasson jumped from his seat, looking dejected. He was going to argue but as soon as Esme snapped her head back, she put him instantly in his place with one look.
“Then, please, Hasson and Clint --- would you move?” Mr. Smith asked, but it was more of a demand at that point.
Realizing that he had no choice in the matter, Hasson grabbed his books from his desk before shooting one sharp look in Tristan’s direction, trotting past her as he went to fetch his own desk from the basement. His friend, Clint, wasn’t far behind. This left two seats open, Tristan’s original seat and one right beside her, now belonging to Esme.
With one curt nod of her head toward Mr. Smith, Esme turned around and motioned for Tristan to sit down with her. With a quiet thank you as Tristan passed by, she took her normal seat while Esme sat beside her. Now that they had settled, so had the rest of the class, their eyes all peeled to watch Esme’s every move. Mr. Smith had to pull himself out of his trance, clearing his throat as he once again began the rest of his lesson.
Even though nothing was said between them throughout the rest of the class, Tristan couldn’t help but feel like an entire conversation had gone on without her realizing it. There was something about Esme that Tristan couldn’t quite put her finger on, something different that caused the room around her to change. Even when Hasson and Clint returned with two new desks for themselves, they both willingly did everything that Esme had wanted without question. Hasson looked defeated as he did it, but he did it nonetheless.
As the class continued on, Esme asserted herself in ways that Tristan could never dare to. From the way Esme wore her wild red curls that matched her zip-fire of a mouth to the way she dressed (which, if Tristan was being completely honest, looked like something that had walked out of her grandmother’s attic from when she was in her teens), Esme possessed a certain tenacity that Tristan had never encountered before. It fascinated her to no end as she watched Esme answer questions like she had all the answers. Not to mention at one point it seemed as though Esme was the one conducting the lesson and not Mr. Smith. Whatever it was that Esme had put in her cereal that morning, Tristan wanted some of it.
Before Tristan had the opportunity to assert herself to ask Esme how she knew all the answers, the bell rang and ended the class. Esme, having brought nothing with her into the classroom, departed the same way that she came. Tristan didn’t have time to gather her belongings before Esme disappeared from view, heading into the abyss of the hallway. As soon as Esme was out of earshot, the classroom erupted in chatter, her name bouncing around with increasing frequency. Tristan, however, remained mystified, left to wonder how and why this little human created such a fuss in the span of one class.
Thinking very little of it from there on, Tristan was then faced with the fact that Hasson was still in her classroom, having transferred for only Gods know what reason. He was on the other side of the room now, packing his belongings away but his eyes were peeled on Tristan the entire time. Very quickly, Tristan darted from the classroom before Hasson had a chance to say anything, though his hand was up and ready to address her. Tristan knew Hasson had nothing nice to say, riddled with the echoes of names that he had called her and the things that he had said. It was one thing to lie about kissing her, it was another to exaggerate the lie and then victim blame. But Tristan had no voice, because it was two against one. More importantly, it was Twila against her.
Twila Venhessio wasn’t just any normal girl, she was one of the most popular girls at Northrop High. Above all, she was now Tristan’s ex-girlfriend. While popularity wasn’t the first thing on Tristan’s mind, it definitely came into play in the current situation as Tristan walked the hallways. She couldn’t help but notice the looks cast in her direction from many people she had once considered friends, or at the very least, acquaintances. It saddened her knowing how quickly the lie had spread, tarnishing any hope of having friends left after the mayhem. The chaos had settled to an extent, but it was a new year. The situation could change in the blink of an eye, and Tristan knew better than to trust Twila and her gaggle of friends.
Because the Twila that Tristan knew was long gone and didn’t appear to be coming back any time soon. How could they have eight amazing months together as a loving couple, only to spend the next year in a long, drawn-out feud as sworn enemies? Tristan had been blindsided, wondering if there was truly something she did wrong in the span of their relationship, but she knew she hadn’t. Yet, somehow, she ended up being the bad person and the reason Twila Venhessio herself was heartbroken.
Tristan kept on guard as she walked the halls, making sure she wasn’t about to fall right into the hands of the enemy. This was how Tristan figured the rest of her senior year was going to play out with her constantly walking on eggshells, afraid to be seen or spoken to, now a slave to Twila and Hasson’s mind games. What she didn’t expect was for things to change right before her eyes.
Second period came fast and the bell was chiming before Tristan had a chance to get to her locker, scrambling to get to class instead. It felt like she was juggling her life just as much as she was juggling her books, trying not to fall apart in front of everyone. As she neared her classroom, she noticed the demeanour in the other students began to change --- which made her wonder: If she fell apart, would they even notice? Because there was that name on their tongues again, consuming them whole with curiousity and wonder. When she passed by a large group on their way to class, not one of them looked in her direction or bothered to make some backhanded comment towards her. Instead, all they spoke about was Esme, and that gave Tristan a moment of relief while making her way to class.
Esme’s name was in the air like perfume and Tristan was unknowingly following the scent, leading down the hallway, around the mingling bodies that were marching towards their destinations, all the way into Mr. Fitzpatrick’s English class. The second that Tristan stepped into the room, there it was --- rather, there she was. The scene was confusing at first: Esme sat not bothered by the commotion of students around her, all trying to vie for her attention. But what threw off Tristan was that Esme was sitting with a completely straight posture, seemingly ignoring what everyone was saying to her, staring straight forward at the chalkboard. When Tristan saw this, she had to do a double-take to make sure her eyes weren’t deceiving her. Despite all the chaos of her attention-seeking classmates, Esme didn’t bat an eye.
Until Esme caught wind of Tristan, her head finally turning in Tristan’s direction and making eye contact, only momentarily, before she focused her attention on Mr. Fitzpatrick as he walked into class. The rest of the students still talked over one another as they discussed Esme. Tristan noted that everyone seemed to be talking about Esme as if she wasn’t right there in front of them, which she found a little comical considering how cool Esme looked in the midst of all the chaos. Briefly Tristan found herself feeling bad for Esme, but then she remembered how easily she was able to walk the halls just now without anyone saying a word to her. This made Tristan happy, waving off any bad feelings.
Mr. Fitzpatrick was the type of man who was always trying to catch up on what was going on around him, never quite aware. But today was different as he caught sight of Esme, stopping in his tracks to get a better look at her. His face ignited with excitement and soon he was clambering over to his desk to drop down his materials for the lesson, running over to personally introduce himself to Esme. Of all the weird things that had happened so far, this was what alerted Tristan that something wasn’t normal about Esme. The way that people were treating her made her seem like she was a celebrity, or even worse... like a God.
Then it dawned on Tristan as she sat at her desk. She watched as Mr. Fitzpatrick practically fawned over Esme like a teenager with their first crush, that look of admiration plastered across his usually drawn face. Meanwhile, the rest of the class crowded around Esme as they continued to banter on about her, asking questions which received no reply. The entire scene was awkward and hectic, none of it made sense. And yet, in the midst of all this, a smile played at the corner of Esme’s mouth.
Tristan cleared her throat, more out of nervousness than for attention, but it caused Mr. Fitzpatrick to snap back into reality. He, too, cleared his throat and adjusted his collar before heading to the front of the class, calmer now than he was before. Esme, however, seemed annoyed, watching as the students all began to take their seats around her. She shot a look over in Tristan’s direction, but Tristan quickly looked the other way.
The lesson was just as disorganized as Mr. Fitzpatrick, and Tristan found herself unnerved by the frequent transitions back to Esme throughout. She had all the answers, and once again, she could say everything exactly as it would have been written in a textbook. This annoyed Tristan, wondering what the point of all this was. She knew what was going on, or at least she thought that she did, and she found the entire concept ludicrous. But, she reserved herself, listening to Esme’s answers, all of which were eloquent.
Tristan couldn’t help but notice how everything about Esme was perfect. It appeared that there wasn’t even a hair out of place, that she was a picture put perfectly together. Her posture was so straight and yet she looked relaxed, knowing that she held the entire school in the palm of her hand. Which begged the biggest question: Why wasn’t Tristan under the same spell? Noting this, Tristan slouched a little at her desk, trying not to look at Esme as much as possible. Whatever was going on, Tristan wanted no part of it so long as Esme took the attention off of her.
After the bell rang, Tristan was quick to pack her belongings, not wanting to stick around to find out what was happening. As she tossed her books under her arm, shoving her chair out behind her while springing to the door, Tristan couldn’t help but notice the shift in the room. Where people would normally be packing up to leave as well, it appeared no one else was moving despite the chatter. Tristan didn’t bother to look behind her, shoving the door open and darting out into the hallway.
It was lunch hour, meaning Tristan had to get into her car and hide for an entire hour to eat and have some sense of peace. This time she made a beeline for her locker, exchanging books for her lunch bag. She barely had her locker closed before she was running through the halls, avoiding numerous bodies walking slowly. Before she knew it, she was hopping down the rain-slick front steps of Northrop, heading straight for the student parking lot. She barely avoided the front end of a car as she was trying to make her way through the lot, apologizing under her breath as she did. As soon as Julian’s silver car was in view, Tristan felt a great sense of relief.
Until Esme appeared beside Tristan’s vehicle, already waiting for her. Tristan stopped in her tracks, glancing over her shoulder at the school before meeting Esme’s dark eyes. A shiver crawled down Tristan’s spine, shaking it off as she took a deep breath and began walking towards her vehicle again. She had to be confident, this much she knew, if she was really going to meddle with this kind of trouble; the kind of trouble Tristan wasn’t familiar with.
The kind of trouble only a God can bring.