3.

Tristan didn't have much experience when it came to Gods, and she certainly didn't know what to do when one was leaning up against the side of her car. She wasn't completely oblivious to Gods and what they entailed, no one could be in this day and age with social media constantly advertising their whereabouts and doings. But in the Merrifield household there was no place for belief, at least not in a God. Tristan's dad, Mike, had been more or less oblivious to most dealings with Gods, but Julian, his best friend and soon-to-be-husband, was another story.

Julian didn't believe in Gods at all. As far as he was concerned, all Gods were playing a part to manipulate people into doing what they wanted. Beyond that, Julian spoke so little of believing that Tristan never dared to approach the subject beyond what Julian had already mentioned in passing. She knew that he had some sort of childhood trauma with a God, hence why Julian had moved in with Mike and his parents when they were both fifteen. They had been living together ever since, and Julian had even helped raise Tristan for the past seventeen years. He was practically a second dad to her. Therefore, his opinion of Gods and believing was the highest held opinion in their household, meaning Tristan had very little to do with Gods.

However, Tristan had watched videos and reality shows about Gods, she had caught the odd documentary and, once in a blue moon, listened a little too intently to an advertisement. Regardless, Tristan was more in-the-know about Gods than her fatherly counterparts. She knew that Gods gained power from people believing in them, and that worshipping services were often really weird. Her best friend, Leigha, believed in the God Bosere, so Tristan had heard passively about Gods through her as well.

Yet nothing could prepare Tristan for the moment she would cross paths with a God, especially one she hadn't recognised. She, admittedly, knew a few of their names and faces, and this combination matched neither that she was familiar with. Esme was new, to Tristan at least. The smallest God that Tristan had ever seen, but she knew that Esme had to be one. There was no other explanation for how charming she had been, and the effect she seemingly had on everyone. At this point, Tristan had started donning it the Esme Effect, half expecting herself to soon fall into the same admiration that her peers had. Which wasn't to say that Tristan was immune to Esme's apparent charm; Tristan could see just how beautiful Esme was. But what she couldn't understand was how Esme seemingly had all the answers and could wrap everyone around her finger to the point of receiving special treatment. More importantly, Tristan knew only a God could get away with all of it.

Esme leaned up against the side of the car and seemed cool as a cucumber as Tristan approached --- timidly, with her key fob clutched between thumb and pointer finger. Between the two of them, they exchanged a simple hey before Tristan pressed the button to unlock her car, waiting for Esme to move out of the way, which apparently wasn't an option at this point. Esme, still calm, smiled in a way that was probably meant to charm Tristan, and yet had little to no effect. Tristan was confused and, oddly enough, felt nervous to be around Esme. It wasn't every day that she got the opportunity to be around a God, after all.

Esme apparently didn't get the hint. Her small frame was barely covering the expanse of the car door and yet she seemed like such a large blockade to Tristan. Clearly there was something this little God wanted from Tristan, and there was no getting around it. Tristan paused as she looked between her key fob and Esme, unsure of what to do next. Her words felt like they would come out as a garbled mess if she spoke too soon, and her cheeks were just as hot with sudden embarrassment. She didn't know why she was embarrassed other than Tristan had never come face-to-face with a God before and she didn't know what to say.

"We didn't get to properly meet," The small God said, extending her hand cordially to Tristan. "I'm Esme."

Without thinking, Tristan shook the hand of the God and felt how warm her skin was. Esme was piping hot -- warmer than Tristan was, which was saying a lot because Tristan ran warmer than the average person. But now Tristan's mere mortal flesh felt cold in comparison to Esme's, her humanity showing it's fragility.

"I'm Tristan," She replied, taking back her hand from Esme. The two stood a few feet apart and yet it felt as though Esme was in Tristan's space, invading her boundaries. "Thanks for what you did in homeroom, that was... cool of you."

Cool of you? Could you be any more lame? Tristan thought, cringing internally. But Esme seemed flattered, or at the very least she feigned it well. She stepped aside from the car door, allowing Tristan to prop it open so that she could sit inside with her lunch. Tristan, realising how rude it was to keep Esme standing outside of her car, pointed for Esme to come sit in the passengers seat.

"You can come sit with me if you want. Usually I eat lunch alone, but you're welcome to join," Tristan felt the words slipping from her mouth as if something had possessed her, and that something was her instincts to be polite. Her dad and Julian had raised her to have manners, and she knew it was rude to not invite Esme to join her.

"Really? Thanks!" Esme said, circling the car so that she could go around to the passengers side. She propped the door open and then jumped inside, eyeing the interior of the vehicle. It was Julian's car, so most of the belongings were his. Esme noted the collection of beads around the rearview mirror, fondling them one by one.

Feeling the pang of hunger, Tristan couldn't ignore her lunch any longer and started to eat, picking away at a sandwich that had fallen apart in transportation. Her hand was still throbbing beneath the bandage from the previous night, threatening infection if not cared for properly. Esme finally took notice of the bandage, only because Tristan's sleeve slipped a little and exposed the rest of her hand that she had been hiding for most of the morning. Instantly, Esme's warm fingers were wrapping around Tristan's damaged hand, making Tristan focus less on her sandwich and more on the incessant prodding of Esme's curious fingers, trying to understand the cause of Tristan's mangled bandage and what it hid.

Conscious of how intimate Esme's fingers were around Tristan's hand, Tristan gently pulled it away from her investigative touch. But Esme seemed concerned, once more taking back Tristan's hand to examine it.

"Did someone do this to you?" Esme questioned.

This made Tristan chuckle, shaking her head. If mischievous raccoons counted, then yes. "Indirectly -- and less of a someone."

"I don't understand."

"I had an encounter with a sauce can," Tristan replied. She took her hand back and finally picked up her sandwich to take a bite. "Trust me, it's not as bad as it looks."

"But is it as bad as it feels?"

There was that genuine look of concern on Esme's face again, causing Tristan to evaluate what her intentions were. No one had shown any interest in Tristan since Esme's arrival, yet Esme seemed focused intently on Tristan alone. Esme could have had her pick of the litter and here she was, prodding at Tristan's mangled hand. Insecurity flooded Tristan, causing her to shy away.

"No, it's okay. Don't worry about it," Tristan mumbled between chewing.

Esme nodded to herself, sitting back in her seat. She eyed Tristan as she took another bite of her sandwich, examining her as if she were taking notes. Tristan, conscious of her new viewer, shied away and placed her sandwich back into the crinkled brown paper bag, slumping into her seat. The silence was deafening, so much so that Tristan felt implored to break it.

"So where are you from?"

Esme shifted a little in her seat, feeling the intensity behind Tristan's question despite Tristan simply trying to make small talk. Esme was from a lot of places, but where she wasn't from was here on earth. More importantly, she felt a sense of not belonging when it came to the city of Dansel and, in the smaller scope of things, Esme felt as though she didn't fit into Northrop High. She knew Tristan could sense this, and she felt there was no sense in lying.

"I should lie," Esme mumbled, fidgeting with the edge of her skirt, "but I'm implored to be honest with you."

Reaching out to place her hand on-top of Tristan's, Esme squeezed tightly. Tristan, still naive in her ways, felt awkward about sharing not only her personal space with a God, but having one practically leap into her arms. She couldn't help but notice how pretty Esme was, and for a moment, her heart started beating a little too hard. The two of them were at opposite ends of the spectrum when it came to how they felt in this situation and for entirely different reasons.

"You don't have to be anything with me," Tristan blurted out. When reflecting on it for a moment, she wasn't sure why she said it. "You don't need to be nice, either."

Tristan took her hand back from Esme's, feeling as cold as her human skin. Esme, a little taken aback, took a moment to evaluate why Tristan had reacted so coolly to her touch. Most humans would have started worshipping her on the spot, but Tristan seemed distant from any sort of belief.

"Do you know what I am?" Esme was inquisitive, watching Tristan down some more of her sandwich. "Is that why you feel the need to distance yourself from me?"

"I'm not doing anything except for eating this sandwich," Tristan replied, keeping her eyes straight ahead, almost as if she was afraid now to meet the dark fiery eyes of the small God sitting in her passenger seat.

The silence crept in only long enough for Esme to once more break it with her smooth, velvety voice. "Are you afraid of me?"

A guffaw of laughter poured out of Tristan's mouth, covering it with her hand to hide the food inside. Quickly recovering her composure, Tristan shook her head. "I'm anything but afraid of you. I know exactly what you are and if you think I'm phased -- you're wrong."

"Then why don't you want to worship me like everyone else?" Esme said, her words trying to convey some sort of power over Tristan but falling short.

With one shrug from Tristan, Esme felt her skin boiling hotter than usual. As much as she didn't want to admit it to herself, the concept of a human willfully choosing to ignore her -- a full-blooded God -- made Esme extremely annoyed. Tristan didn't notice any of this, keeping her eyes forward in fear that looking too closely at the God might cause her to use some kind of power on her. Tristan may not have been a believer, but she wasn't ignorant to their ways. She had watched the television shows and seen the news, not to mention her best friend, Leigha, had done nothing but talk about her God for months. Tristan had seen the effects a God can have on a person firsthand, knowing that she would likely never get her best friend back from the clutches of her beliefs. For this reason alone, Tristan felt that Esme wasn't any better than the other Gods -- all of which, she reasoned, were out to get more believers.

"See, I knew that's all you wanted," Tristan blurted out, folding the paper bag over a few times to conceal her half-eaten sandwich. She was uncomfortable, secretly wanting Esme to leave her vehicle. "I'm not interested in your schemes. Thanks, but no thanks."

Tristan, switching off the car, fidgeted with the keys a few times over while Esme sat beside her -- silently evaluating what was so different about Tristan. Did Tristan have no idea what kind of power she had over Esme? This was something that Tristan was, yet again, blissfully unaware of.

"I'm surprised at how little you know," Esme replied, not meaning to be rude but the tone in her voice didn't help matters any.

This made Tristan laugh, shaking her head. "Is that right? Well, I think you can leave my car now."

"I didn't mean --"

"I don't care. Leave." Tristan was serious now.

Trying to make eye contact with Tristan, Esme waited for any opportunity to use some sort of power against her. But Tristan remained firm in her inability to look at Esme, mostly out of fear. Esme knew Tristan was strong-willed, she had no idea it was to this extent. Gathering herself without saying another word, Esme parted from the car, leaving Tristan to listen to the bang of the car door reverberating inside the cabin. When Tristan was sure that Esme was gone (though was she ever really gone?), she resumed eating her sandwich in peace.

Before the bell rang ending the lunch hour, Tristan scurried through the hallways to make it to her next class before everyone else. There would be no more walking into class only to be gawked at or made a fool out of. She didn't care if she sat in someone else's seat at this point, finding the nearest desk to the exit. She was already tired of the drama and it was only her second day back, concluding that this senior year was already turning out to be a write-off. Tristan's horizons seemed very dim, unable to focus on any positives in her life.

The only thing that Tristan had to look forward to was her dad and Julian's wedding, which they were holding in a gazebo at Seraphine Park in two months time. They had been planning it for the last year and a half, having to put it off another six months due to some unforeseen financial issues. Now that they were in the clear, Mike and Julian could finally wed. The wedding wasn't big by any means, but Julian had put all of his blood, sweat, and tears into making it an extraordinary event. For that reason alone, Tristan wanted the wedding day to be perfect. She focused on this for the remainder of third period, no longer consumed by drama and name-calling. Instead, Tristan faded away into her daydreams.

Waking to the sound of the bell, Tristan scanned the classroom to see her teacher packing up his belongings. She apologised profusely for falling asleep in his class, but he made a comment about how he wasn't interested in hearing her excuses, going on to lecture her about why she should have her life together now in senior year otherwise she will have problems the following year in college. Tristan had really heard it all at this point, trying to reserve her tears for a later time when she could really let her dreams be crushed by his words. These things often came back later to haunt Tristan, weighing down her thoughts with everything that was said over the course of the day. It didn't help that her former friends were all calling her names and giving her the cold-shoulder, now she had to deal with disapproving teachers, too.

Feeling disheartened, Tristan carried her weight through the cramped hallways, narrowly avoiding bumping shoulders with people who weren't looking where they were going. When Tristan looked up from the ground, finally making eye contact with the first face she saw, it was Twila Venhessio's eyes that she met. The timing was impeccable, leaving Tristan to skid to a stop as the fear paralysed her. There she was -- all the beauty that encompassed her flooding to every eye in the hallway. Everyone wished that they could have her, but no one could have Twila like Tristan did. Instead of basking in Twila's beauty, Tristan was petrified -- still as a statue.

Twila was surrounded by equally as beautiful people, all of which were vying for her attention. She seemed to be listening less and less as she stared across the hall at Tristan, a smile rippling across her plump lips as she shushed around at her friends. She nodded in Tristan's direction, waving her over. As if there was a leash attached to Tristan and Twila was pulling her, Tristan was unable to say no and found herself mindlessly walking into the lion's den.

"Tristan!" Twila cooed, ushering Tristan over to her side as if nothing had changed at all. Her words, like knives on the best of days, seemed softer today. "Where have you been all day, doll-face? We missed you."

Immediately Tristan knew something was up as she scanned the far-too-friendly faces of Twila's friends. They were like cats circling around a mouse, getting ready to pounce at any moment. Aware of this, Tristan felt herself stepping away from the circle, instantly being drawn back in by Twila's soft hand meeting her own.

"I've been here," Tristan said, trying not to be as mousy as she felt. She could sense the circle closing in around her.

"Where's here? What class do you have for fourth period?" Twila pressed, her words coming out too quickly. The questions were more investigative than they were curious. "I don't like it when I can't find you."

Feeling claustrophobic, Tristan pulled her hand from Twila's. Luckily it wasn't her damaged hand, but this made Twila aware of the bandage now. As quickly as it had been exposed, Twila had her long fingers poking and prodding incessantly at Tristan's bandage, very quickly disassembling it.

"What's this? What'd you do now? Did you do this to yourself?" The questions poured from Twila's mouth, assessing the wound firsthand as she turned Tristan's over a few times. Twila couldn't seem to hide the satisfaction on her face, as if Tristan's pain caused her joy. "You aren't usually clumsy, at least you weren't when you were with me. But, you know, I bring out the good in people. So -- what's your excuse, then?"

Tristan pulled her hand back instantly from Twila, cradling it against her chest as if to conceal the wound from any other prying eyes. She wanted to come up with an elaborate story on the spot about how she was almost mugged but fought off the thief, at least something along the lines of that. She didn't want to be portrayed as weak and damaged, but that's exactly how Twila was painting her out to be.

"Why do you have to do that -- talk down to me like I'm some incompetent fool!" Tristan spat back, reaching down to pick up the discarded bandages.

The moment that Tristan grabbed the bandages with her good hand, someone in Twila's group of friends decided it would be funny to push her over while she was already bent down. Falling to her knees and grasping the floor palms first, Tristan tried her best to hide her pain. She looked up to Twila, whose feet she now sat at, seeing that she was pleased with herself.

Twila extended her hand down towards Tristan, but Tristan turned her head away and tried to get to her feet. But the second that she tried, one of Twila's friends, Dominic, bumped into her again as if he was trying to get past her to the locker.

"Oh, shoot, sorry about that," Dominic said, leaning up against the locker beside Twila. She turned to him and smiled as wide as she could before her attention came back to Tristan.

"You sure you don't need a hand?" Twila said. She laughed a little as she eyed the sore on Tristan's palm. "Oh, I guess you kind of do."

They all laughed in unison, but nothing about the situation was funny. Tristan, trying to hide how flustered she had become, finally rose to her feet as she dusted herself off. Part of her wanted to punch Dominic in the face, but she knew that she wasn't nearly strong nor coordinated enough to meet her fist to his face.

"Sorry about that, Tristan, I guess your clumsiness started rubbing off on my friends," Twila said. She turned her attention once more to Dominic, pointing at him as though she were his mother. "Apologise to her -- and really mean it."

Without hesitating, Dominic turned to Tristan, swooning around her as if he was madly in love with her. Uncomfortably, Tristan shoved him away, but not before he could blow her a few air kisses.

"I'm sorry, Merrifield. Maybe I can make it up with a few kisses -- since you swing that way now?" Dominic could barely hold back his laughter.

The rest of the group made equally as awful comments, all relating to the false narrative that had painted around Tristan's apparent change in sexuality. Hassan's name started to be tossed around and soon they were full-on calling Tristan names.

"Watch out -- she's apparently like a frog when she wants to kiss you. She'll just leap at you!" Dominic teased, his eyes burning straight through Tristan.

Meanwhile, Twila sat back to enjoy the continuing harassment of Tristan. This was enough for Tristan to feel the prick of tears forming in her eyes. The girl that Tristan had once been madly in love with was now mocking her and, worst of all -- thriving on it. They continued to make comments pertaining to Tristan's recent weight gain, pointing out that she was straight now according to them. Therefore, perhaps she was pregnant. In their minds, they concluded that Tristan was pregnant with Hassan's child. That was the last straw. Tristan could no longer take the insensitive jabs about her weight, already feeling self-conscious about practically everything.

Without even thinking, Tristan shoved her way out of the circle of Twila's friends that had enclosed her, causing them all to roar with upset. There were a few attempts to stop her from leaving, but Twila put an end to it. Tristan was able to escape from their clutches, tears brimming as she left them behind.

Finding the nearest exit, Tristan booked it from the scene into a stairwell. She could barely contain the tears as she pushed open the door, collapsing against it as soon as she was out of sight from any wandering eyes. She cried so hard that her throat burned raw, her tears staining her sweatshirt and matting her hair to her neck. At one point she was hyperventilating, unable to catch her breath from crying.

The last bell rang out, meaning fourth period was about to begin. But there was no way that Tristan could face her peers with her tear soaked clothing and red, puffy face. She sank against the stairs, burying her face into the cold cement. What else was she do besides go home? No one would understand, not even if she tried to explain. It would all seem petty in retrospect, Tristan reasoned. With this thought in her mind, she sank further into the stairs.

As soon as Tristan felt as though she had cried her fair share, she collected herself at the second sounding of the bell. There was no sense in trying to hide the fact that she had been crying -- no one would care anyhow. All she had to do was pretend to be invisible for a little while longer, then she could head home to cry as much and for as long as she needed to. Wiping the last of her tears, Tristan made her way to class, allowing the last of the rushing bodies to swallow her amidst them. For a moment she felt as though she disappeared in the crowd, keeping her eyes low out of fear that she may make eye contact with the wrong person again.

Somehow navigating the halls was a lot easier when Tristan simply followed the tiles on the floor instead of trying to find her way by reading the signs. She was already late at this point and didn't really care much, wanting to get this class over with as quickly as possible. When she reached the door to her classroom, Tristan levelled herself and took a deep, steady breath. Nothing was going to break her, not after all she had endured.