The Air Out Of [Wattys2018 shortlist]

02

JESS WALKER IS AN OUTCAST BY NATIONALITY, or at least that's what has been embedded into her mind as a blend of 90% Caucasian, and thanks to a small portion of her mother, 10% Latina. For some reason, that ten percent of not being caucasian has affected her life in more ways than she can imagine. In fact, it seems like one fact about her has led people to create remarkable conspiracies that aren't the least bit true.

She's got light brown wavy hair that cascading down her back in loose ringlets - like most other girls in her school, and looks nothing like a Latina goddess, but yet, not being pure white is like having a tag attached on you forever with the words 'Misfit' embedded into it since day one simply because you weren't one of them.

Jess could still remember the glares she received on her first day of school, how they pierced through her like lasers, burning out her skin as quickly as her confidence, which they impatiently shred to pieces as soon as she stepped her first foot into that school. Her confidence broke down like glass shattering to pieces. Quick, instant, and no matter how much you try, or how much effort is put into it, will never be the same as it once was when she was pure and innocent.

But she survived, and to her, another year was nothing to worry about. It wasn't anything new.

It still haunted her to this day, that is, the day she was labeled. Sometimes, she would think that she was pardoned at an early age, receiving a blast from a good old friend, reality at a young age because what doesn't kill you makes you stronger - yes, Jess does love that line and uses it every chance she gets - but life really does hate her, and surprises her in the process.

Oh, little did she know.

Aside from which, she hasn't got the typical blue, green, amber, or even brown eyes. Instead, after much deliberation in her head, she's finally come to a conclusion that she has absolutely none, as in a total percentage of 0% melanin in her eyes, resulting in radiating silver ones.

Once deemed as pretty in her so-called 'naive' mind or the tricks it plays on it when her mother had described them so intricately and fascinatedly, before becoming an alcoholic since losing her father and sister. She has, in fact, reached a conclusion.

They are not pretty.

It's what everyone says, so that's what she believes.

It's barely into the third week of school when Jess actually decides that she has enough motivation as depression, and therefore requires a Starbucks Frappuccino which subsequently injects at least 300 grams of sugar into her body just to keep her upright.

Sitting on the corner's pristine white and newly-polished table, alone, she's reminded of the harsh fact that she's not beautiful like the others, and is a misfit.

One of three.

Three misfits scattered around the hallways had meant absolutely nothing, they hadn't banded together through blood like actresses do in movies, but became lonely as they tried to hide as far from humanity as possible. She could hardly be referred to as anti-social anymore, hermit, was a better word.

It's lunch right now, her anti-socializing period.

"Look, it's Silver." Her school's very own personal - but worse in a billion unimaginable ways - Regina George strides over to the corner she had been hiding in. Feeling herself reel towards the edge tip of the seat, the beauty before her, named Britney flicks her hair in a dramatic sense. "Ugly's unfixable, babe." Flashing her pearly whites in Jess' direction before frowning, "Uh bye, you're damaging my oxygen."

Jess sighs, feeling her body tense up.

She wanted to fight, asking every part of her body to get up from her disoriented form to finally give the girl she hated most, what she actually deserved. But knowing Jess, she didn't bother, already imagining of the consequences while attempting to eat whatever scrap she had pulled together last minute, which was laid messily before her. She had already lost her appetite.

As expected, Britney's Regina George squad had sauntered over to her corner and continued laughing at her demise. Pointing their fingers in her direction in a sense of accusation. Jess sunk deeper into the plastic chair, hoping she could disappear from her reality.

She felt the anger inside her build up to a peak. At school, there was no Jess, in her place stood an alias named Silver. A girl to embarrassed to defend herself, scrawny to throw a punch. And yet, this girl was seventeen. Jess and Silver were the same people if anyone hadn't realized, Silver was just a nickname, a brand because the world couldn't accept eyes which didn't hold the same color.

As someone supposedly one year away from independence, and true maturity. This year was Jess' way to try to prove to the world that Silver - she - was finally worth something. She had worked hard to build her life upwards, but yet, everywhere she turned, she kept falling.

In a school where blonde hair and blue eyes were trending on the headlines, earning the attention, respect, and the votes for prom queen. Silver was just a one-way ticket to misfit central, and somehow being a hint of Latina had just made her drop even more.

She had even earned the grand honor of being famous, throughout the school called Silver. Even by teachers, it should've been insulting, but Jess would never have the backbone speak out, let alone say such a system of superiority had ever existed.

But Jess thought it would take more than that to become a misfit, in fact, she thought that she was so unworthy of attention that she was just wrong in every way. To be accepted, she would have to change herself in the ways of a fake.

And so, the anger built up through lunch of why she wasn't born with all the assets, and the beauty had lasted throughout the day, including her car ride home. Jess sat, boiling, in the driver's seat completely failing at trying to reach home in peace to cry about her shortcomings.

She doesn't remember much about the rest of her day except that she had stormed out of her school the second it was deemed possible, clutching her handbag as the tensions continued to rack her mind. As she slammed her car door shut, Jess glanced her disheveled appearance from the reflective portion of her windshield. Then she thought, why couldn't I just fight back for once. She asked herself, why am I always weak.

Many of her actions were rash, placing a continuous emphasis on her anger, one of them included her rapid driving. She was driving twice the maximum speed limit, knuckles yellow from her grip on the steering wheel. Her movements were hasty and abrupt, the car tires screeching every time she jerked the vehicle, turning in all the wrong directions and leading her into a place she never imagined.

So, she found herself lost in the middle of absolutely nowhere.

Maybe not that lost, or far away from civilization, because from her peripheral vision, she spotted a car she's seen for years, one with all the bumps, and scratches that have accumulated over years.

One she would be disappointed not to recognize.

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CHAPTER TWO

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