*** Clare’s POV

*** Nine Years Ago

It's often quite difficult to tune out everyone else. When I hear my name in passing conversation followed by barely restrained laughter… when they call me filthy names they know I don't appreciate… and especially when they send some kid I've never even met my way with the express purpose of ruining my day.

Here I am, almost done building a house of cards to kill time, and some boy who looks just as miserable as I am is drifting closer to my desk, never quite looking directly at me but failing miserably to be anything other than conspicuous. At first, I try to ignore him but the way his head nervously swings back and forth between my desk and the group of quietly cackling hyenas he was originally with is incredibly distracting. "What are you doing?" I finally ask, hoping to get whatever unsavory business this is over with.

My words cause the boy to flinch and look at his feet. "I… they want me to knock over your cards."

Looking over his shoulder at the nasty crowd of sneering faces, I turn back to the boy. "Yeah. That makes sense. Why you, though?"

His expression falls further, an incredible feat given how downtrodden he seemed already. "They said I'm too much of a wuss to do it. Now I have to show them I'm not."

I bring my shoulders up and down in an exaggerated shrug. "Fine, I don't care."

"But–"

"You care what they think, right?" I ask as the boy's eyes widen with panic. He nods. "Then do what you want."

The boy steps forward slowly until he's mere inches from my workspace. He reaches out his hand and taps one of the bottom cards, causing a swift chain reaction that ends with the whole structure falling down. "I… I'm sorry."

There are cheers and laughter from the boy's "friends" but he doesn’t look the least bit pleased. Slowly gathering the cards into one pile again, I ask, "Do you want to help me build the next one?"

"But, I knocked–"

"I was almost done, then I’d have nothing to do. Now we can both have fun!" I smile at the boy causing him to stare blankly at me for a moment. Slowly, his expression softens and he looks between me and the still reveling mass of bullies. The boy nods, so slightly I would have missed it hadn't been waiting for a response.

Sitting next to me, the boy forces a stiff smile onto his face while looking me in the eyes for the first time. "I… I'm Arnie. It's nice to meet you."

*** ~One Week Ago

"But are you happy?"

"Does it matter?"

Seeing the look in Luna's eyes, I can't help but step close and pull her into a tight hug. I don't know what else to do for her, what else I can do for her. "Yes. It does," I firmly declare as I squeeze tighter, somehow believing that she'll be able to feel what I do if I hold her close enough.

"Clare… just stop this already. There's nothing either of us can–"

"We can try–"

"I said, stop!" She growls, chest rising and falling with labored breaths. In a split second, my arms find nobody between them. I'm… I'm falling! Landing roughly on my back, I look up to see Luna's arm outstretched and face contorted in rage. Immediately after I hit the ground, the anger leaves her eyes, replaced with worry. “Oh my god, Clare! I’m sorry!” She takes a knee beside me, trying to help, but I instinctively flinch away.

“Why…” It’s the only word I can bring myself to say as I desperately search for any trace of my friend behind the wolf's eyes.

Luna stands up, trembling with an emotion I don’t quite understand. "You… you think you're helping. Always bringing up who I wanted to be, always using that goddamn name… it hurts. It hurts so much." I can see the all too familiar anger I’ve come to associate with her, bubbling up once again from within. “You… you mean a lot to me… but all you ever do is remind me of what I can never be.”

"But you can–"

A mirthless chuckle echoes in Luna’s throat as she looks at the ceiling. "You really can’t help yourself… can you?” The wolf looks down once again, no longer amused. “Just… stay the fuck away from me." Her words hit me harder than the shove, as she turns around and stomps down the hallway, away from me again.

Everything is cold, and numb, and even after I manage to stand up… I don't know what to do. So I stand in the hallway, and cry. Accepting at last, that she's… she's really gone.

*** Yesterday

I want to like people. I really do. Being lonely is terrible, and might be the worst feeling in the world. Well, the worst next to being beset on all sides by people who either dislike or don’t care about you. Which, honestly, is just loneliness taken to a cosmically taunting extreme. A sailor lost at sea can still die of thirst while surrounded by water.

People people everywhere, but not a friend to meet.

“Clare, you’re up next. You ready?” Looking up from my empty desk, I see the familiar face of our speech coach, Mr. Isaacs. His black goatee matches his curled-up ram horns perfectly, making him look much more sinister than he actually is. “You okay? If you’re not feeling well, you don’t have to go today. Or you can come in and make up practice later?” I shake my head. Distractions are priceless. Why the hell else would I come to school on a precious weekend day I could spend literally anywhere else?

Walking to the front of the classroom, passing all the other members of our team, with glassed-over eyes and faraway looks, I wonder if they’re here for the same reason as I am. Probably not. I imagine most of these people want to pad their college applications with accolades from a competitive activity without having to participate in sports. Which, honestly, is more than fair.

I read a lot of books, and scripts, and poems to choose the best scenes to perform for competitions. The most powerful type, the kind that I come back to again and again… is the “all is lost” moment. The moment where the hero fails, they’re brought low by fate and circumstance, the world comes crumbling down around them and everything seems meaningless. These scenes are usually as powerful and emotionally charged as a work gets, and I think I know why.

Because that’s life.

Life is just a constant series of worsening “all is lost” moments, slowly circling the drain of rock bottom. There is no eleventh-hour hero to make everything better. God isn’t waiting in some machine to poof away the problems. A kicking track of 90’s techno-rock isn’t going to play during a climactic confrontation between good and evil. In real life, the “all is lost” moment happens, and as you slowly try to claw your way back to happiness, it happens again. And again. And again. Ad nauseam.

So sometimes it’s fun to pretend I’m someone else, in a story meticulously written with a happier ending in mind. Where I can experience a single all is lost moment before being whisked away on the wings of unrealistic fortune to a satisfying conclusion. Escapism at its finest, if you ask me.

Taking my position in front of my apathetic audience, I silently go over my lines and cues in my head one last time. I draw in a deep breath, ready to begin my performance–

A sharp series of knocks on the door knocks the wind from my sails. Mr. Isaacs and the rest of the classroom full of students looks just as confused as I am. The whole team is here… and this is a Sunday afternoon. There shouldn’t be anyone roaming the halls to interrupt our practice.

Crossing the room quickly, Mr. Isaacs cracks the door open just a bit. “Hello there young man. What can I help you with?” I can hear a slightly muffled voice from beyond the door, but with our advisor in the way, I can’t quite tell who’s speaking. “Oh, yeah, no problem, come on in!” With his typical brand of unbound hospitality, Mr. Isaacs swings the door open further, gesturing for the wolf on the other side to come in.

Acting purely on instinct, I rush the door, blocking their path. “What are you doing here?” I ask, staring up into the eyes of my fr– ex-friend. Mr. Isaacs, sensing my immediate change in mood, takes a step back. The wolf opens their mouth, but before a single sound can come out, I’m already pointing in the direction of the school’s exit. “Get out.”

“Clare, please, I just want to talk and to apo–”

“So now that you want to talk, I’m supposed to jump at the opportunity?” I ask in a tone much colder than I’m used to using. “I’m not interested, and you’re interrupting practice.” I take a step forward, prompting them to retreat back slightly. “Please. Leave.”

The wolf’s tail and ears droop as their eyes dart between me and the exit, wide with panic. “But– I– There’s– No–” Finally calming down enough to form a sentence, they look back at me. “W– What if I want to join speech? You always said I’d be good at it, right?”

“Rosters full, sorry–”

“Oh, a new recruit?”

Mr. Isaacs and I chime in at the same time, prompting me to shoot him the harshest look I can muster. “Oh… right…” He continues, shrinking under my stare. “Well, umm, it’s too bad but we’re actually only looking for pairs that can participate in Duo Interpretation! Yeah… so if you’re by yourself, young man, I’m sorry.” The teacher flashes me a smile and a thumbs up in the most obviously conspiratorial way‌ I’ve ever witnessed.

Turning back to the wolf, I roll my eyes. “You heard our advisor. You’re by yourself, so you need to leave.”

“Clare…” The wolf starts, faltering under my immovable expression. They consider something for a moment before nodding. “So, if I’m part of a pair I can join… and we can talk?”

“Sure, if you can find someone else that wants to join speech with you, by all means, join. But I make no promises about talking things out.”

Nodding, with just a hint of a smile, the wolf starts walking away. “Thank you, Clare.”

Without another word, I slam the door shut. As I turn around, I find the entire classroom staring at me. Of course they're interested in that performance...