I was tired of convincing Lisa to smile. Every time we sat down with her, she simply crossed her arms and stared at me through a set of deep, solemn eyes, her mouth refusing to curl into a smile. It was a shame, really. She had a plump figure and a lively blush on her cheeks that suggested she was really someone enjoyable to be with, however, her permanent frown told otherwise. I tapped my foot impatiently on the intricately designed carpet, frustration slithering around in my head like a serpent. Lisa was yet again assuming her position with her crossed arms and her defiant gaze. I refused to give up. I wanted nothing more than to paint her wearing a smile. I was confident that I could create a masterpiece out of her—A Secret Beauty—only she didn’t realize it yet. “Miss.” I fidgeted with my paintbrush as I looked into her serious brown eyes. “If you would just smile a little–” “I’m quite alright, thank you,” Lisa said, and her fingers twitched in irritation. I shut my mouth immediately and gave a single nod. “That’s fine,” I replied in disappointment. I started mixing my colors, glancing back at her hopefully as if suddenly she would change her mind and turn towards me with a bright smile on her face. It didn’t happen. “Exactly how long will this take?” Lisa asked impatiently. I stayed silent, not wanting to answer her question. In truth, it would take several years to paint a masterpiece. I would have to request a sitting with her multiple times just to accurately paint her features on canvas. “Not long,” I lied. She clearly saw past my lie as, several years later, she grew tired of listening to me pestering her for another sitting. “I-It takes a while, Miss!” I repeated hastily, “I’m almost done.” And it was true. I was indeed almost done. In fact, everything from her mane of dark oak-colored hair to her crossed hands was painted to perfection. Everything…except her mouth, that is. Where her mouth was supposed to be was a stretch of blank canvas. I refused to paint her in a frown. It just seemed wrong, but convincing Lisa to smile was not an option. “Look this way please,” I asked Lisa who had turned her attention to a stray strand of hair. Lisa nodded curtly and I began planning out my approach. It turned out beautifully. I found myself staring at the portrait several times. Her eyes seemed to follow me everywhere I went. Even Lisa had been taken aback when I had showed her the portrait—the portrait of Lisa. Lisa with her crossed hands and serious eyes and smile. The smile that seemed to hide something. Like she knew all the secrets in the world. A Secret Beauty.
Short Stories
An Unsent Letter
Ellis Yang, 12 (Los Altos, CA) An Unsent Letter Ellis Yang, 12 Dear Miriam, That morning in the city, two weeks before you left, I walked down the avenue as I do now. No sudden alteration great enough to be recognized transpired, for outwardly it was only a brief two weeks. For me, however, it could NOT be more different. My eyes gaze from down to up — from freshly cemented roads to twisted shrubberies to ostentatious Victorian-style houses behind the sidewalks. I follow across the first avenue, past the barbed wire fence, until I sight the rusty 49 on the condo’s face where you had lived. I am thinking of you, old friend, Miriam, as I walk down this avenue today. I am reminiscing about you. –––––|––––– “I can’t take it.” Your voice breaks up. “The other girls, the boys too, they’re all so — so — I don’t know. Whenever I do anything they all gang up on me — when someone else does they’re half blind. Don’t you think I’m not intimidating enough? Is it a ‘me’ problem?” I shake my head. If I could talk, I’d ask, “Ya who finna gave you that idea. Ain’t no girl deserves to fall victim to this madness. Ain’t nobody. Ain’t nobody these days knows you better than I. When I say you’re fine, them words are fortified by experience.” But I hold my tongue. “Girlie, you’re fine. Them broads can tail whatever browbeater they want. Better trust me when I say you ain’t a pushover,” I say. “But nobody else thinks that.” A silence. “Sharon asked me to hang out with her last Saturday. At my house. You can think what happened next. That morning Ma yanked me awake and we plowed through all the disgust in all the space — and then she never showed up. Nope. We sat on our couches, for what, an hour? And she never came.” I fold my arms. “Oh… that sucks. Really.” “Guess what — it gets worse. Sharon — oh god, I hate that girl so much — she posted this goddamn — what was it, they went to the beach, she and the girls? Look at them all, eating pizza and playing volleyball. Look at all of those jerks at the goddamn place —” “Woah there —” “— Look at her. Ditching me over a goddamn stale pizza. She could have just told me! Goddammit! That shrew! I can’t believe we’re friends.” I place a hand on her shoulder and sigh. “Then find new ones. She finna hang out with the popular kids — fine, if you’re so sure, ditch her. Don’t cut ties with her, just drift apart, you and her. Hate interacting with her — just don’t. No need to go all out.” “Alright…” you say. I reckon that’s a good enough answer. Over the next few weeks it gets worse. In PE, you say, Miss Hart asks y’all to pair up into twos. Of course you turn to Sharon — what other kid is there to stick with? But no — she’s already waving her racket next to Maggie. You slump away, wiping away your worthless tears in the ladies’ room. Ya say that during lunch Sharon saves a seat for Maggie and her gang as invisible currents tug y’all away. Her texts, too, come in slower — then stop altogether. Girl ghosted you completely. Ya say that some kind of dynamic between y’all has shifted — not dramatically, though, as if they could only be particularized in the subconscious… They occur gradually, too implicitly to measure, but you are certain. You are unsure of why — and so am I, but you are sure of it, nonetheless. –––––|––––– Today as I walk down Willow Avenue I remember your twinkling eyes — and beneath them your earnest smile — beneath that your sorrow. The diverse yet interconnected world we occupy is a beautiful one, and my time over at your place has helped me appreciate it. Yet as I gaze at the street, I swear it is not the same without you. I wish you had stayed somewhere nearby or switched to some closer school. Nonetheless, I am grateful that you trusted me enough to confide in me. Yours truly, P. Monica This story was originally submitted as part of Flash Contest #43, May 2022: Write a story where somebody betrays their best friend for a slice of slightly stale pizza.
Starry Night: A Series in Ekphrasis by Ella Yamamura, 14
Our village looks like a mirror without a reflection, lively, but bland. It wouldn’t, normally, but the village of Starry Night just a couple fields away outshines us by a million stars. Literally. Their side of the sky seems to favor the village of Starry Night by thousands, sprinkled with glittering souls of light that send down feathery beams of gold and silver. I lugged a basket of apples into the village of Starry Night, carrying out my mother’s bidding to sell the apples from our apple trees. It was a desperate move—especially when almost no one in their village went outside anymore. The dirt streets were barren, and all the doors of the houses locked shut. Nothing could be heard except for the faint chirping of birds, and the ringing of the church bell, which sounded steadily, a heartbeat for the village of Starry Night. A signal that they weren’t completely hiding. I rapped on the door of each house, waiting 12 seconds before moving onto the next. Soon the basket of apples seemed to grow heavier, in contrast to how I wanted it to grow lighter. I suppressed a sigh of irritation. I didn’t understand why the people of Starry Night were such hermits. As the sky grew darker and the first lights began to appear, I had almost given up. Not a single person had bothered to come out to buy an apple, or at least acknowledge me. I began to doubt the existence of these people. Wearily, I took a break at the front steps of the church and bit into one of the apples, eyes catching on a winding, twisting tower of cypress. It was just outside the village, like a guardian, or maybe a tree of curses. I wiped the juices from the apple away from my chin and tossed the core aside. Standing up, I turned and pounded on the church doors. “Apples!” I screeched like a madwoman. “Apples for sale!” After a while, there was still no response. “Or half off! You can have them at half price!” I banged on the church doors. I desperately threw my body against the door. The home my mother and I had barely gotten was slipping away from our grasp and if I couldn’t drag in at least a little bit of money we’d be living on the streets. Instantly, I could feel the wall I’d built for so many years crumble away inside me. Still, there was no response. “But we really need this money…” I whispered quietly. An overwhelming surge of anger rolled in waves through my head. “Open up!” I shrieked. Hundreds of more stars were starting to appear now, turning their watchful gazes upon me as they radiated in gold, their faint glows swirling slowly. I gazed silently at the heather hills that seemed to be moving along with the breeze. It was so quiet…
