Princess Charming

Maia Benson has loved, and has lost. People at her school, in her town, know her story. Their story. It hurts to remember, so she remembers one last time in an English Assignment Essay on the topic of 'Love.'

-This is a short story written for the Pixar competition here on movellas-

(Italics is the English Assignment, and regular text is present-day, FYI)
(I may one day turn this into a longer story)

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1. Princess Charming - Chapter One

I stare at her, chin falling into my hand, eyes moving downcast. Everything I've tried to say to her comes out wrong, and I'm not sure what to do. She's had my heart since we were younger, just barely into fourth grade. It doesn't help that what I am looking at is just a photograph of hers. I glance at the piece of paper in front of me, a piece of writing that I need to make for English, the topic of 'Love' going untouched. Sentimental teachers and their cheesy assignments. My teacher told me I could do a different assignment. She said she didn't want me to have to hurt anymore than I already do. Everyone knows what happened to me over this past year or so. Writing is just another form of remembering, and love deserves to be remembered. It may hurt, but it'll always hurt. I pick up my pencil. May as well get it over with. 

 

This is for the lovers who have lost. The lovers who have loved with all their heart, only to have it be stolen away from them. The star-crossed lovers, the old lovers, the young lovers, the lovers who have eternity, and yet a second of time together. This is for the lovers who love. The lovers who wish they had more time. The lovers who have too much time. This is for the lovers.

My name is Maia Benson, 17 year old girl, senior in high school as of now. I want to tell you a story. The story of two girls.

The first was named Hazel Bloom.

Most girls talked and dreamed of Prince Charming, clad in high-society sophisticate clothing, high atop a gleaming white horse, neatly groomed to fit the standards of any five-to-nine year old girl. A boy with a handsome face, kind eyes, and charming personality. A boy who they could fall into fairy-tale romance with.

I, Maia Benson, tomboy-extraordinaire, dreamed of Princess Charming. Almost in the same way other girls dreamed of their prince. Clad in fairy-tale outfits and ever-smiling eyes, wonderful, and beautiful, and the type of person you'd want to get married to. A knight-in-shining armor of the highest degree.

Not that I'd ever need saving, but nine-year-old me thought it would nice to dream about.

I never told any other girls my age that my prince was actually a princess. It was my own secret, a game of hiding I liked to play. I was just another girl obsessed with fairy-tales, another girl that grownups decided was waiting for her fairy-tale husband, whether or not it was an actual husband, and not a wife. IT was a secret, and I thought it was fun.

I was nine when I first met Hazel Bloom. That's when 'Princess Charming' became 'Hazel.'

She was ten years old, in the same grade as me. She had moved to my elementary school in late August, transfered into my class. Scraped knees and bandaged elbows drew me in, and I knew that it was Hazel that I wanted to marry when I grew up.

To me, though, it seemed slightly hopeless. Prince and Princess Charmings alike were always seen depicted in relationships with girls of wavy blonde hair and thin, graceful bodies, bright eyes and beautiful voices. What sort of Charming would ever dream of falling in love with frizzy red hair, chubby arms, clumsy legs and knobby knees, too curious to be as graceful as the other girls?

As time grew on, love stories became wonderings of Me and Hazel. We would've been fast friends, I am sure, if not for my strange shyness, being unlike the other kids, our minds full of curiosity and unlikely scenarios of mystical fantasy adventures, with us starring as two brave adventurers, unlike the damsels in distress others pretended to be.

Thirteen-year-old Maia was head over heels in love with fourteen-year-old Hazel.

All was well with the world, and all was good.

Until Sophomore year.

 

My pencil drags off the paper, corners of my mouth tilting up into a smile. I remember ten-year-old Hazel, memory still fresh in my mind. Frizzy brown hair, awkward tallness, cheeks smudged with dirt. That was the first version of Hazel I had ever fallen in love with, and it was definitely not the last. She was my sun, a candle outshining the one I called my own.

Speaking of which, I remember when I first asked her out. How many years of being strangers until I finally got the guts to work up the chance to do it? I am not sure. I wasn't even sure she even liked girls, honestly. You never know unless you try, huh? Ever since that day, it became my motto.

 

Sophomore year  was a hard year for me, I guess. My dad shot himself. Depressing sounding, yes, but it's the truth. He was a good, no, actually, a GREAT man, but it was no secret that my family, my mother's side, who hated him, thought it would be 'funny' to spread legal rumors of him being a rapist. He won the court case, neither my mother or I thought he did what the rumors suggested, but his family believed the lies. His friends believed the lies. Cowardice probably runs through my family, honestly.

My mom was dealing better than me. She took the strong role, and disowned her family. It was, and still is, me and her against the world.

Everyone knew what happened to me. It was because of that, actually, when Hazel first voluntarily talked to me. All it was, was an 'I'm sorry,' but it meant the world to me. It wasn't like either of us were super popular, but we'd never actually chatted. We had one mutual friend, but they were a freshman. It wasn't very far in the year. It was just starting out. I wasn't sure how I, a super regular peasant, worked myself up into asking her, a super amazing Princess Charming, out.

I stood by the door to our math class after the bell rang, waiting for her exit. When she did, I jumped right by her side, calmly asking if I could question her with something. My mind was thinking a million different things, from 'Oh god, she's completely straight, isn't she?' to 'She looks really pretty, smiling like that.'  Her eyebrows rose, and I knew that she was giving me permission.

"Would you ever consider going on a date with an awkward redheaded girl?" I asked, for some reason refraining from using my name. A smile lit up her beautiful face, hands clutching her books to her chest. I felt as if I might've jumbled up some words in my nervous stupor, but it was clear that she had heard me. I closed my eyes, bracing for impact.

"Is seven tonight okay for me to pick you up?" She jumped straight to the punchline, which I later learned was something that made her her, and that she did often. I stared up at her, shocked. Of course I was shocked. The girl of my dreams just told me that she would be okay going on a date with me that. Very. Day.

 

My eyes glance towards the hallway, momentarily placing my pencil down. Some memories, I don’t want to share, but remembering them is still needed. Like the fact that I remember all of this like it was yesterday. I remember ranting to my mother about how I needed to find something to wear and how I needed to look nice. I don't think my my mom had ever been more happy for me, if I'm being honest. My mom was my best friend, no matter how sad it sounds, and I told her everything.

She helped me get ready. I didn't have very many 'nice' clothes. My closet was full of awkward hand-me-downs and band t-shirts, and my fashion sense was not the best. Difficulties aside, I was dressed somewhat decent, pacing around the house nervously. 'Would she like me?' 'Would I embarrass myself?' 'What if it was all a joke or a setup?'

Then the doorbell rang. My mother grabbed it first, answering with a smile. I peeked my head around the staircase, and the minute Hazel saw me, she smiled.

 

It was amazing, to say the least.

We had been at school for three weeks, and I had already entered a relationship with the girl of my dreams.

 

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