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Calliope

Lorcan looked back at Ophelia, who had turned even pinker than her top. I couldn’t help a smile.

“Aren’t you being a wee bit harsh on her?”

“She has more than enough people to flatter her, I won’t be one of them,” I said.

Lorcan didn’t seem appeased by that answer, but that was just because he hadn’t seen the little social butterfly flitting between her adoring crowd, the stuck-up princess of cloud-cuckoo-land.

“I don’t know who you are. But I can tell by your crazy hair color that you’re someone who likes unnecessary attention. By any chance, is it ‘I will throw a tantrum’ day? Oh dear, I must have missed it.”

Oh, now he was going too far. I placed my hands on my hips and glared up at him. I had gotten good at glaring up at people. I spent a lot of time doing it.

In reality, I’d dyed my hair because I knew how much my parents would hate it. I considered it an excellent reason.

I grinned, trying to imitate Ophelia’s saccharine smile.

“Didn’t you receive the invitation? I suppose they decided you’d ruin it so they couldn’t let you attend. I can’t say I blame them.”

“And what’s with the indigo colour? Couldn’t go with a less crazy shade? Or was that your only option?” Lorcan decided, apparently deciding my hair color was something he could pick on.

I gritted my teeth, not so much at the insult as the reason behind it. He wanted to humiliate me, he wanted me to fade into the background, to become like everyone else. I wouldn’t. If the price of being myself was loneliness, so was it. I’d never been at home in any crowd.

“Well, I have been thinking about going back to green, but I try not to take fashion advice from someone who looks like an emo with a parrot as his only friend,” I bit back.

“I suppose that was meant as an insult. Except I have absolutely no clue what an emo is.” Lorcan said, entirely unimpressed.

I covered my mouth with my hand in an exaggerated motion of shock.

“No, you managed to pick up that it was an insult? If you keep practicing you might be able to do it more often,” I said, sarcasm dripping off my voice.

I realized Ophelia was no longer standing next to us. I glanced over and noticed her talking to a man and two girls.

Good, at least she wasn’t my problem anymore.

What had that comment about my hair been? Why had she complimented me without following it up with sarcasm or a cutting remark? Girls like her and Ophelia were allergic to anyone different from them, and they couldn’t stand anyone who wasn’t influenced by them.

Then why had she seemed genuine? I couldn’t understand it. That girl was odd.

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@irishcelticredflowercrown