With my body cracked open, the contents of my torso running down my thighs and staining every piece of myself I thought I’d admired, it would have hurt less than the look Beckett gave me as he turned away.

My mother always told me not to let a boy become my whole world, and I thought I’d listened.

Silly me.

Spinning on my heel, I trudged back toward my house, the frosty grass crumpling beneath my feet. Maybe life would be simpler if I had grown up to be a bear instead of a girl. In the hardest months, they can sleep uninterrupted, until all their troubles have passed. Bears know how to survive. People like me, don’t.

It was as if Willa could sense the sadness coming off me in waves, because she was at my door merely minutes after I got home. I’d always thought Willa was some sort of superhero, because she seemed to always understand what was going on inside my head, even when I didn’t.

She trudged in without knocking. “Oi, Duckling. Are you alright?” I growled at Willa like a feral cat, burying myself under a layer of itchy wool blankets. How could she call me such a sweet name at this time of distress? “June, come on…Did you get fired? Lose one of your beloved poetry books?”

I shook my head like a stubborn toddler.

“Is it Beck?”

I said nothing. She swore.

Rolling onto my back, I stared up at her freckled face, “Please let me wallow in peace.” I knew this was a bold request, considering Willa didn’t like to leave anyone in peace. Maybe in pieces.

“Get up.”

“Get out.”

“June, I said get up.”

I groaned and rolled onto the floor, making a loud sound as my bones rattled on the hardwood. I was beginning to regret telling Willa where my spare key was. She knelt down until she was in a crouch, our noses almost touching. “Get off your ass. We’re gonna go make him wish he’d never hurt you.”

“No, we’re not. He’s a nice person, he doesn’t deserve it.” I could almost feel the warmth of his lips pressed against mine, and for a moment I nearly smiled at the memory. But then I saw it again. That look.

My skin turned to ice.

“If he’s such a nice person, then why do you look like a deflated balloon?” I scrunched my nose indignantly at her, pulling the blankets closer around myself.

“Will you please piss off?” She was turning this already dreadful day sour. I wanted her to leave me alone, or at least make me some hot chocolate and turn on some ABBA or something.

Willa grabbed my arm, and half-dragged me to my feet. “No. What sort of friend would that make me?” She pulled me to my bedroom, her grip leaving small pink marks. Once we arrived she let go, and I poked at my forearm tenderly. She stepped forward and threw open the doors to my closet, her eyes set with determination.

“May I ask, what you are doing and why you are doing it?”

She gave me a twisted half smile over her shoulder. “There’s a party tonight, and you need to get out of this house or you might turn into a hermit crab. I bet that Beck’s gonna be there as well, and we’re gonna show him that you don’t need him.”

“But I do need him,” I moaned, burying my face in my hands.

Willa spun around and knelt in front of me, her hands gently pulling mine away from my face, so that our eyes met. I’ve always loved Willa’s eyes: the way her amber irises seemed to always be awake and ready to observe. “Hey…Duckling, don’t think like that.” Her voice was soft. “You’re brilliant.”

It was sweet, but about as true as werewolves and equality.

She got up and moved back to the closet. “Do you own a single thing that didn’t used to belong to your dad?” I doubted it. After what felt like a decade, Willa turned around holding a pair of strappy red heels that looked bold compared to the dark fabrics I normally wore.

Back about three winters ago, I remember finding those shoes at a small consignment store about a 30-minute bus ride away. I saw them and images of Hollywood and confidence and femme fatales flooded my mind.

Maybe one day, I thought, I could transform into the kind of person who would wear shoes like that, without a second thought or single doubt. Who would own them, rock them, and then rule the world.

“I don’t know…I don’t even have anything to wear those with.” For the past years they had just been sitting at the back of a closet, out of heart and out of mind. Willa extended her ringed hand, the vintage shoes hanging in front of my face like a Christmas ornament. Finally, I grabbed them.

Willa found me a black cotton dress that came down to my mid knee. I slipped the shoes over my feet, surprised at how much I felt like Cinderella. Standing up, I approached a mirror and my breath hitched.

For the first time in weeks I actually felt…pretty?

But that was the wrong word, too short and simple. My face looked exactly the same as it always did—like a frightened china doll, who hadn’t slept in days. But there was something about my image that made me feel audacious. Daring, undaunted.

My lips curved up at the ends, and suddenly I was a Cheshire cat who didn’t need to rely on articulate boys. If the real world were Wonderland, maybe I didn’t mind falling head over heels in after all.

“Alright, let’s go.”

—By Brigit S., 15, Vancouver