Aravella Celestine Dwayne's Point of View
I ran out of that coffee shop, my heart beating as if it'd shoot its way out my chest. For at first glance, when I saw them both, Madeline and Clementine sitting side by side, so very close together, quiet smiles shared, a commotion seemed to rob me of air.
Almost-best friend. And Clementine, the boy I wanted to have known better. I wasn't quite sure what I'd been expecting when I walked in off the street, but it certainly wasn't this.
Dania's words went through my head: weeks ago, now a conversation.
Flashback:
It was late afternoon, and we were sprawled across her bed, with snacks between us, talking about everything and nothing.
"Clementine Gray and Apollo Ezekiel, huh?" Dania teased, tossing a pillow at me. "Two very different worlds, Ara."
I rolled my eyes, embracing the pillow she had thrown. "They're just people, Dania."
Dania smirked knowingly. "Sure, but one is your piano instructor, and the other is that boy everybody keeps whispering about. Haven't you heard what Madeline said about him?"
I raised an eyebrow. "No. What did she say?"
Dania sat up straight, as if she was ready to drop the biggest bombshell gossip. "Well, apparently, according to her, Clementine is not just some run-of-the-mill guy. Old money family but he never really makes the news, unless it's when he hangs around her." She shrugged those eyebrows. "And rumor has it that he's really into her.".
I rolled my eyes. But a flicker of something troublesome in my chest made me shift uncomfortably. "Madeline's the daughter of a billionaire, of course she's got everyone wrapped around her finger."
"But that's Madeline for you," Dania agreed, crumpling handfuls of chips into her mouth. "She gets whatever she wants—and if she wants Clementine Gray, well…" Dania shrugged; it was as if the conclusion was obvious.
It was bitter and stayed with me as I ran without even any thought of it, crossing the street with my feet blurring more rapidly than my thoughts. Madeline. The perfect daughter of a billionaire. She had everything-looks, wealth, connections-and now, apparently, Clementine too.
And me? A dot in the background, a stranger who for one second allowed herself to believe she was part of something more.
I never see the speeding car until it is too late.
 
Tires squeal through the air as my body stiffens. I know I need to move but my feet feel glued onto the asphalt, like perhaps the weight of my thoughts have finally pinned me there.
Just as soon as that thought had crossed my mind, an arm yanked me back with enough force to knock the breath out of my chest. I got through space, pitched into someone's chest, and the car roared past, inches from the margin where my flesh would have danced along its bodywork.
I took in air, dazed and shaken. Arms released and I looked up, my heart pounding, to an eager, worried look on Clementine Gray's face.
"What the hell, Ara?" he exclaimed in dismay. "Do you have any idea how close that was?"
I tried to pull away from him, my breath catching in my throat. He held on tight, however, and his grip steadied me. "You almost killed yourself."
I-I wasn't. I stuttered trying to piece together what just happened.
"You didn't look; you ran," Clementine said, letting out her breath in a sharp exhalation, as if she were stifling her frustration. "What were you thinking?"
I turned my face away, biting hard into the inside of my cheek. What could I possibly say? That I ran because I couldn't take watching him dote on Madeline? That jealousy and betrayal went bloody to my head?
"It's nothing," I whispered, barely loud enough to hear myself.
"Nothing?" Clementine repeated incredulously. "You call almost dying nothing?"
I couldn't meet his eyes. "I just needed to get away."
He furrowed his brow, attempting to understand what I said. "From what?" he asked me.
I hadn't a chance to reply when I heard Caspian's voice across the street. "Clementine! Everything all right?"
He jerked a glance over his shoulder and gave another small nod. "Yeah we are good."
I backed myself into the corner and wrapped my arms around myself. Clementine's concern was overwhelming, the kindness too much.
"You need to be more careful," he said, his voice softening slightly. "Madeline would have been crushed if anything had happened to you."
My stomach churned at the mention of the word. Of course, Madeline cared—and I knew why; it's what perfect people like her did. They cared for everyone, even people like me.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
"I'll be okay," I whispered, forcing a small, tight-lipped smile. "Thanks for. saving me."
For a moment, he faltered, as if something inside him wanted to be said, but then his jaw moved in a brusque nod. "Just.take care of yourself, okay?"
He turned immediately without even waiting for a response and was away, striding across to the opposite side of the road where Caspian waited for him. I watched him disappear, feeling as though the space between us was in more ways than one physical.
Lie in bed that night, staring up at the ceiling, my thoughts churning like a storm.
Madeline. Clementine. The way they looked together.
 
It was jealousy that twisted in my chest. Madeline-rich, beautiful, effortlessly charming. And Clementine, pulled into her orbit, like everyone else. Me? Just some girl from the village, invisible and insignificant.
Of course, it was foolish of me to think like that. Madeline had committed no fault. She was living her life, and I had no reason to resent her for this. Yet the fact remained that I did. I resented her for all those things that she represented - for everything that I was not.
And I hated myself for allowing Clementine to shape me in this way.
And, for God's sake, he was only a boywhich was another piece in the tangle mess called my life. I had things to finish, exams to take, and a future to make out for myself. I couldn't waste my time nursing jealousy over some guy I hardly even knew.
But no matter how hard I tried to keep them at bay, the thoughts persisted, gnawing at the edges of my mind.
For deep down, I knew the truth:
I wasn't just jealous that Madeline had him; I was jealous of the way Clementine looked at her. She was the only thing in this whole world that he needs. And I resented wanting him to look at me like that too.
________
The motorcycle hummed on beneath me, vibrating gently as I rode through the village streets. I hadn't planned to drive by Clementine's house—at least, not that's what I was telling myself—but when I saw the crowd gathered in front of it, my grip on the handlebars tightened.
She was having a party, the kind where the music spilled out into the street and the laughter was loud enough to carry over fences. And there, to his immediate left was Emelyn-the model, the perfect girl who seemed to glide through life with no effort at all. She leaned in close enough almost to brush shoulders with Clementine, her eyes sparkling with mirth as they share some private joke.
I stood there, looking at the light, muttering something on my phone, pretending to care when in fact I was staring at nothing. Clementine smiled at Emelyn, that loose, easygoing smile that one day once made me briefly believe that the whole world could actually be lighter. He was made for that crowd, as if he belonged right there among them in the middle of it all where people laughed and celebrated just because of being there.
No. I slumped back into my seat. Madeline hadn't mentioned Clementine's party today. Not that I'd figured she would have, anyway, not after what I'd just seen. Madeline—my pseudo-best friend, the person who knew me better than anyone—had been hanging out with Clementine. Not that it was any of my business, really. And not casually, either. They were dating.
She hadn't even told me.
I remember my chest constricting tight, that odd, heavy ache as I recalled what we'd said weeks ago—Madeline bopping up to me, now talking about Clementine, her voice so light, like she wasn't confessing to the very thing that would twist our friendship into something complicated and bitter.
"He's just different," she'd said, twirling her hair with a dreamy smile. "I mean, he's not like the other guys we know."
Dania had warned me about Clementine. "He's got that charm that pulls people in without even trying," she'd said half-jokingly, half-serious. "But don't get caught up in it, Ara. You'll only end up hurting yourself."
Madeline hadn't cared. Why would she? She was the perfect daughter of a billionaire—beautiful, confident, and with the kind of life where everything just seemed to click for her.
I was just.me.
The invisible one. The girl who rode a motorcycle alone, watching the world pass by on the side of the road.
And without so much as a soft touch on the accelerator, I hit the road and peeled off from the party, the sound of laughter and cheers giving way to music. In fact, I hadn't even known where I was headed until I found myself at the park, a place where everything was easier—where no one cared about social circles or complicated relationships.
I parked the bike near the curb and started walking slowly toward the playground. There were kids on every inch of green grass, running, shouting, and giggling as they chased each other across the lawn. The sun was warm, with a scent of recently cut grass; for a moment it made me feel lighter.
Then I saw Dylan, my little brother, on the swings with our nanny. He was pumping his legs to go higher and was still not leaving another kid alone by making funny faces until that little tyke stuck out his tongue.
Dylan was always that way—mischievous but endearing. He had a way of getting under people's skin but never too much. And when the other boy toppled off the swing, Dylan was the first to lift him up, brushing dirt out of his clothes with the sincerity only a child could manage.
He made me smile watching him, but it also brought back memories—Clementine, with his cheeky grin, making everyone around laugh like the world was one big joke only he knew the punchline to. He was funny and charming and stubborn all at once. A little like Dylan but with the added complexity of someone who knew exactly how magnetic he was.
The very first time I met Clementine, he teased exactly like his playmate and friend, Dylan. Initially, he smiled-that bruising, boyish smile-and somehow, it didn't matter that I was irritated. He could do that: make you feel seen, even if only for a moment.
But that was the problem, wasn't it? Clementine didn't belong to anyone. He was a wind-roughed breeze-perishable, leaving behind warm patches, yet never staying long enough to capture one's breath. And now, Madeline had him.
I settled onto the bench, elbows resting on knees. My hands cupped my face.
It simply wasn't fair.
I had everything-a perfect life, perfect looks, and now the guy who made me feel something I hadn't even wanted to admit to myself. And here I am, sitting on a park bench, unnoticed by the world, watching children play like a ghost in the background of someone else's story.
Perhaps this was all I was meant to be: a silent observer. Always at the edges, never really included in anything. It was painful to think about, but safer that way: no expectations, no disappointment. Just the quiet comfort of knowing that if no one noticed you, no one could ever hurt you.
And my head turned toward Dylan, who, with the kids, was sitting on grassy ground, exchanging stories and nuts. And he regarded me with a lively smile, his arm out across his chest, waving to and fro. And so I was smiling and waving back, but nothing inside of me changed.
Somewhere in that village, moving along, Clementine's party would get underway. Madeline would laugh with him, fitting into his world like she had always been there. Maybe she had.
And I was nothing more than a stranger: not the kind who was unknown to the ends of consciousness, but rather the kind who slid through the cracks-there, but not significant enough to matter.
I sank back against the bench, eyes shut tight for a moment. The children were playing in the sound that came to fill the air with rustling leaves overhead. I closed my eyes and let the sounds wash over me, pretending they would be enough for me, that I didn't need anything more than this.
But deep down I knew.
I wanted to be like Madeline. I was jealous of her ease within the life of Clementine, within the lives of everyone, effortlessly so, without ever even considering it and despising the fact that no matter how much I convinced myself otherwise, I wanted to mean something, too.
The breeze swayed, cool against my skin, carrying in the faint sounds of music from Clementine's party. For a moment, I wished I might just wander back there, push my way into the crowd and make myself be seen.
But then, as fast as it had come to me, the idea vanished.
Some things were easier to watch from a distance, where they couldn't hurt you.
And so I stayed sitting on the bench as the sounds going on outside the world sounded away without me, trying to convince myself this really didn't matter.
Deep down inside of me, though, I knew it did.