#also LMAOOO i guess i am back to writing fantasy after all because i mean

[takivvatanga]

review.

It’s ok to ask for help!

says the poster on the wall, in a room like so many others. Assire is no longer intimidated by rooms like this one. Two chairs, sometimes three. A table. The carpet patterned, a little bit threadbare. Water cooler in the corner. Sometimes there’s even plastic cups. Today, there’s none. It doesn’t matter. She’s not thirsty. A box of tissues on the table, right in the centre. In case you need to cry. Assire has set herself the challenge to never, never cry in one of these rooms, in front of one of the endless strings of people whose names she never remembers, but who are always so glad to meet her. Why do people say that, she wonders. Why say that when everyone knows that this is work, that she is work,nothing more than a name and a number written on a government form, an entry in a database, a bunch of papers in a file.  

“Assire? Are you listening to me?”

The teenager looks up, startled. There are dark circles under her eyes. Assire nods briefly, folds her hands in her lap.

“You look very tired.”

“I’m fine.” 

She tries to fake a smile, fails miserably. She’s never been good at pretending.

“I’m just… it’s hard. To be alone.”

It is, in fact, the hardest thing she has ever done.

Assire is not used to being alone. Back in the Community, there were always others. Her sisters, her parents, the other families. She remembers having meals at the big hall, the children at their own table, separated from the adults. She remembers the noise, the cramped space, sitting shoulder to shoulder between Jovanna and Cecilia, with Eviva curled up on her lap, a curly-haired toddler with chubby cheeks and sauce stains on her shirt. She remembers standing up, way up on the stage, holding her sisters’ hands while their voices soared, remembers the people below growing misty-eyed, their hands raised towards the skies. Like angels, people used to say. Those sisters sing like angels.

There’s a pub across from the boarding house where she now stays. They have concerts sometimes. In the summer, they open all the windows, the music drifting across the road and into her room. They are popular songs that people in the pub sing along with, rowdy and out of key, more shouting than singing. Assire doesn’t know the words, doesn’t recognise the melodies. Sometimes she tries to hum a harmony but she can never find the right key.

The woman’s name is Penny. At least Assire thinks so. Or is it Jenny? She has short blonde hair and reading glasses on a colourful lanyard. Her nails are painted red, perfectly shaped, not too long, not too short. Assire is ashamed of her own hands, dry and cracked, nails bitten almost to the quick. Penny’s (Jenny’s?) hands move quickly, clicking the pen, writing something down on an official looking form.

Assire can just make out the words Unsupported Youth - REVIEW printed along the top.

“Young people like you often feel lonely. You’re dealing with a lot, Assire. I want you to know that you don’t have to do it all on your own.”

It’s ok to ask for help!

But I do. I don’t have anyone else.

She nods again, smoothing out the folds in her sweatshirt. It’s too big for her, the colours are dull, washed out. The hem is starting to fray. She’s going to need to apply for a clothing allowance soon.

“Tell me about school.”

Assire’s eyes light up at the word, even though her body language remains guarded. She loves school and at the same time she loathes it. It is another world, full of discoveries, of surprises, but it’s not without danger. It is here that the feeling of not belonging, of being somehow displaced in a world that she can never quite make sense of is the most acute.

“It’s fine.”

“Your grades are very good.”

“I just like learning things.”

It is an understatement. Every day there is something new, another layer of lies that she used to believe peeled back. The earth is round, and it wasn’t created in seven days. Assire marvels at history, at geography, at biology. Literature made her feel guilty, at first. She never thought that such books, dealing with such matters could exist and that people should not only read them but discuss them so openly. Of course, she never joins the discussion, for fear of sounding stupid, of going red in the face, of stumbling over her words, of giving away the fact that she is, for lack of a better way of phrasing it, not from this world.

But it isn’t at literature that Assire excels – it’s mathematics. “Maths will likely be a struggle for you”, she was told when she started. “Given that you’ve always been a homeschooler. On such a restricted curriculum, too. You have a lot of material to catch up on.” In the end, she did much more than just catch up. She can’t explain how exactly it happened, it is as if she is being strung along on an invisible thread that runs between the numbers, the operations, a delicate web that Assire delights in untangling. Numbers don’t care where you came from, what you know of society, of people, of human nature. Numbers are absolute, perfect, logical. Numbers are black and white. Assire is good at black and white. She’s always been taught to think in absolutes.

“I’m trying for a scholarship. For university.”

As soon as she has said it, she feels stupid. The teenager looks up, furtive, half expecting Penny (Jenny?) to laugh at her. But she only smiles before writing something else down on her form.

“That’s fantastic, Assire. A really, really good idea. What do you want to study? Have you thought about that?”

Assire shrugs, feels her cheeks start to burn with embarrassment.  

“I really like… I don’t know. IT. I’ve been teaching myself a few things, just in the library.” ”What kind of things?”

Assire inhales sharply, her eyes growing wide. Is she in trouble? Should she have said that? Is this something bad, something wrong, something forbidden? She shifts in her seat, suddenly on edge.

“Just a few things nothing bad I swear! Just… a bit of C, Basic, Java. Languages. Honestly I’m not doing anything wrong I’m just-“

“Assire. It’s fine. I’m glad you’re doing something productive in your spare time. Something you enjoy.”

Penny (Jenny?) smiles a reassuring smile, reaches out to touch Assire’s arm with a reassuring gesture but thinks better of it when she sees the way the girl’s face closes, the way her body seems to fold in on itself as she flinches away from the touch.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. You’re okay. You’re safe, alright?”

“I’m okay.” Assire repeats. “I’m okay.”

“I don’t really know much about computers”, Penny (Jenny?) shrugs, twirling her pen between her fingers. An attempt to lift the mood. “It’s all a bit too complicated for me. Nothing wrong with pen and paper.”

“I think technology is important. Like, really important. For everyone.” Assire covers her mouth with her hand as soon as she says it. “Sorry. I… That was rude of me.”

“Not rude in the slightest. I think it’s really important that you speak your mind. You know. Have an opinion, and not be afraid to express it.”

It’s Assire’s turn to shrug. She wants to know why this is important. It’s not like she talks to anyone anyway. Beyond the people she meets in rooms just like these, of course.

“How are you getting on with, you know. Making friends. What we talked about last time.”

Of course. Of course it had to come down to this. Making friends. All Assire knows is that making friends is most definitely not her forte. She never knows what to say, how to behave, who to be. She is endlessly awkward, her mind full of thoughts that she doesn’t dare voice, ideas that she doesn’t dare share.  

“Good. Yeah, really good.”

Penny (Jenny?) gives her a look, over the rim of her glasses, sharp and more than just a little annoyed. She’s been working with young people for a long time and knows exactly when she is being lied to.

Better than you have tried, sweetheart.

“Don’t lie, Assire. Please. You’re better than that. Listen, you’re not in trouble. This… this talk isn’t about getting you in trouble. I’m not sitting here expecting you to answer my questions a certain way. All I want to know is how you’re getting on. Honestly. So I can find a way to support you. Do you know how many kids we get trying to get onto Unsupported Youth every month? A hell of a lot. Do you know how many can maintain it? Bugger all. Because it’s a lot to ask of a teenager, all these rules and all these appointments, keeping a roof over their head, keeping up with schoolwork, budgeting… I mean, you know how it is. And most kids, well, they don’t have to learn how to do all of these things first. They’re not trying to understand what is basically another world on top of everything else.”

“I’m not lying I’m just… I’m just…” This is a losing battle, and Assire knows it.

“I’m… I just need some time. I want to focus on school. And work. Other people… it’s too much.”

I’m too different.

“Can I… can I please go now? I got a paper due that I need to finish, and I got work tonight.”

“Sure. Would you like a ride home?”

”No. No thank you. I’ll walk.”

“Alright.”

Assire, visibly relieved, pulls on her jacket, picks up her backpack. The weight of the books stashed inside is solid, comforting. Something real, something to ground her. The girl takes care to push her chair close to the table, brushes a strand of greasy curls off her face as she makes her way to the door. She stops with her hand on the handle, casts a quick glance back over her shoulder.

“... Penny?”

“It’s Jenny. But never mind that, I been called much worse I can assure you. What is it?”

This time, Assire’s smile is genuine. It’s small, timid, tightlipped, awkward as anything, but it is there and it is real. 

“Thank you.”