Page 30 of Uncharmed

‘Oh, please. There’s no way that you, Ms Perfect, have ever had any kind of outburst that someone’s had to, like . . . fill in a form about. My whole life is documented in forms. Meanwhile, you’re the most calm and collected person I’ve ever met. Your reaction to my absolute disaster at school? And yesterday? It’s kind of terrifying, actually. I wouldn’t be all that surprised if you told me you’d killed a man.’

Annie laughed. She didn’t take Maeve’s dismissal as an insult. Any fifteen-year-old would assume that they are the only person to have ever felt the things they feel and, in a way, they weren’t wrong. After a lifetime of listening, she had learned that everyone sipped at their own entirely unique concoction of experiences and responses.

‘Calm and collected? Me?’ she replied. ‘I’ve always thought I’m a bit like a swan: calm on the surface but frantically kicking underneath – except my swan is doing an aquatic Irish jig. I spend most of my day trying to decide which thing to ruin next with worry and overthinking. I guess we show and process them in different ways, but I feel the big things, too, Maeve. I’m tying myself in knots most of the time.’

Maeve’s eyebrows spoke for her as they jolted up in doubt.

‘It’s true, I swear. I feel things so hard and so much, just like you, that sometimes it’s like they’re going to stop me from breathing,’ Annie said. She thought about the spell and what it did to her. ‘I feel it all on everyone else’s behalf without them even asking me to, they all take up so much space that there’s barely any room for me to figure out my own thoughts.’

An owl hooted softly above them, welcoming in the early evening and the first streak of pearly moonlight behind the clouds.

‘You might feel as though your feelings and your powers are bigger than you are, but at least you express them, Maeve. At least you let them out and you fight back against them and you show them who’s boss – or who will be boss eventually. That’s strength in itself. I really admire that about you, your bravery. Even if it does explode in ways that you’re not expecting sometimes.’

For the first time, Maeve looked properly at Annie as they walked, her mouth squashed into a frown. ‘What do you do with yours? All your feelings, I mean. I’m all ears for suggestions.’

Annie thought about it for a moment. ‘Nothing,’ she answered truthfully.

She laughed a breath through her nose as her mouth stretched into a line, but it couldn’t be classed as a smile. What did she do with her true feelings, to honour them or consider them or even acknowledge them? She had trained that out of herself long ago. That was where the spell stepped in, so that she could remain as perfect as she willed.

‘What, like, ever?’

‘No. I just find a way to make them feel smaller and controlled again and then I can move on.’ Annie had never been honest with anybody like this before; something about the girl’s vulnerability brought it out of her. If she expected Maeve to be honest with her, then it was only fair. Or maybe it was just because nobody had ever asked her before. It felt like splitting open a rock to reveal a fossil inside, the shape of the truth inside so strange and old that she was unsure of what it was really exposing.

Maeve gave her a baffled look, as though Annie were an alien that she’d just encountered in the middle of the woods. ‘What, so you don’t ever just . . . scream? Or yell? Or chuck something across the room and embarrass yourself a bit, but then feel better for it afterwards?’

Now it was Annie’s turn to shrug, feeling self-conscious. As though some kind of secret shortcoming had just been pointed out, even though she didn’t think Maeve meant it to feel like that. The girl seemed genuinely fascinated.

Maeve turned suddenly to Annie with a glint in her eye, a bubble of a mischievous grin unable to keep itself under wraps any longer.

‘Do a big shout.’

Annie spluttered. ‘What?’

‘Yeah, go on,’ Maeve said, laughing at her own dare.

Annie hesitated, giggling. ‘Right now?’

‘Right now. Just do a massive, ugly scream. Like you’re the hopeless blonde who’s about to be the first one murdered in a horror movie. No offence, by the way, but that would definitely be you. Shout as loud as you can.’ Leaning back with effort, Maeve let out a proud yell, right from the back of her throat that echoed monstrously through the canopy of leaves above. Birds erupted from the tree above in a gust of wings, startled by the noise. It made Annie jump, clutching at her heart. Maeve grinned wickedly, sinking her hands back into her dungarees pockets. ‘Like that.’

‘I can’t do that,’ Annie laughed, incredulous.

‘Course you can.’

Annie’s mouth pressed into a flat line, somewhere between a frown and a smirk. ‘Ahh,’ she squeaked in a fractionally louder voice, adding jazz hands into the effort for some impossibly confusing reason. It sounded more like a deflating balloon than anything else.

Maeve pulled an unimpressed face and crossed her arms. ‘Is that really the best you’ve got?’

‘Sorry, sorry.’ Annie felt as though she was failing at something again. ‘I’m not very good at . . . letting go. It makes me embarrassed to be seen like that.’

‘Even by me?’

Annie nodded. ‘I don’t know why. I felt it with the painting, too. It’s like a switch that I can’t turn off. It’s just not me. I can’t be that way.’

Maeve snorted, then sighed. ‘You’re so perfect. It must be exhausting to be you.’

Usually, when Annie heard that she was perfect or even that she was good, it felt like a compliment. A pat on the head or a squeeze of her shoulder that provided enough sustenance for her to live off for a little while. She would stow it away like a treasure and permit herself small glances until it vanished and the supply needed restoring. But from Maeve, she could guarantee that it wasn’t intended that way.

‘Well, thank you,’ Annie said uncertainly. ‘Yes, maybe it is hard work to live like this. But I’m not sure what happens if I stop being that way.’