Waves

It was easy to be envious of someone’s life.

To be more specific, curiosity often stemmed from boredom, and for most, it was much easier to wonder if the grass truly was greener on the other side rather than attempt to fertilize and better your own. It could be triggered by something as simple as your classmate being sent to school with money instead of a heartfelt lunch and vice versa, or being able to come to a loving home instead of one filled with screams and miserable tears, forcing yourself to find recluse in the unforgiving cold of the streets and taking shelter under a flickering light.

For Avery, it was as simple as being able to choose.

She was aware of how much better her life was compared to most, and she was grateful for it… for the most part. She loved how her mother would wake her up with the scent of freshly made pancakes, sometimes in bed, and how she could come home to a house that was peaceful enough for her to feel comfortable in, and it surely didn’t hurt that there were few times she had to think twice before adding something to the shopping cart, because her parents had given her a life where she didn’t need to worry about anything else other than to do well in school and give polite smiles to unfamiliar faces.

She just couldn’t help but wonder if her gratefulness could count as true happiness.

For in truth, Avery was meant for more than keeping her head down and scribbling perfectly intelligible answers onto a crisp piece of paper. She wasn’t meant to be bound to a certain expectation, for the girl with bright green eyes had the world trapped in her head and hands that could reach the clouds if she wasn’t chained to the ground.

She was content, but what was content compared to the eagerness to live life to the fullest?

The thought often inspired guilt to line her thoughts, and even then, she felt it slowly seeping in as her eyes darted across the bustling pier, watching as they all tended to their own vices. Avery had been taught well. She knew the hardworking won’t always be equally blessed, and that sometimes the undeserving just happened to be the ones in clean dress shoes and primly pressed clothes. She appreciated where she stood, really. There were certain advantages to what she was gifted with.

Whether it outweighed the restrictions was an entirely different question.

She observed a particular interaction between one gruffly dressed gentleman with facial hair that was long due for a trim accidentally bumped into one of the finer dressed men that unashamedly blocked the pathway, the container in his hands nearly slipping as he looked up to apologize. She tilted her head when the more well-off man grimaced and his presumed wife cupped his arm with a perfectly manicured hand, lips curling in disgust as she mumbled something that had the worker dropping his gaze before they walked away, and she unconsciously stepped away from her mother’s side as the need to defend bloomed in her chest.

She stopped in her tracks when the crisp white polo of the man walking away from the pier was stained by the remnants of what looked like a smashed tomato, and she watched with wide eyes as a flurry of messy blond hair ran past her to hide behind the stack of barrels to her left. The man whipped around in anger as he reached one hand around him to feel what had hit him, and she almost turned her head to look at the assailant when he aggressively whispered, “Don’t look!”

She stiffened then, trying not to appear suspicious by shuffling closer to her mother as she continued to converse with an old friend they’d ran into and the man angrily swept his gaze over the swarm of people, trying to locate who dared ruin what was likely an expensive polo. The mischievous giggles of the boy behind the assault drifted into her hearing range, and she felt a corner of her lips twitch into an amused smile before she dared chance a glance at the boy when the man stomped off to clean himself, finding a blue-eyed kid around the same age as her peeking around the barrels with his tanned hands clutching a makeshift slingshot.

She glanced at her mother before carefully padding over to the boy, deciding that the older woman was too preoccupied with catching up with her old friend to notice the young brunette sneaking over to the blond that stood upright with triumph. He turned to her when she was next to him, and he raised his brows curiously when she tilted her head at him.

“Why did you do that?” she asked, her gaze flickering to his slingshot that held traces of the rotten fruit.

He frowned, taking in her appearance and twisting his expression as he took a step back. “’Cause he was a Dive,” he expressed heatedly, but it only confused the little girl further.

“I don’t know what that is,” she mumbled, holding out her hand expectantly. “Can I see?”

He hid it behind his back defensively. “No,” he scoffed. “You’ll probably run off and tell your mommy.”

“Why would I?”

“Because that’s what you Dives do,” he bit out, glaring at her distrustfully before someone seemed to call out to him.

She followed his line of sight and saw another boy around their age with messy brown hair and a tattered shirt waving at them from across the pier, but before she could turn and ask who that was, the blond was already slipping past her, barely giving her another glance before taking off into a run and laughing as the brunet slapped the back of his head. Avery could only watch as they both disappeared into the crowd, and she assumed they were off to cause more trouble.

She stared after them in both want and curiosity, as none of her friends had found it appropriate to run off in glee after enacting a prank such as what she’d just experienced. She couldn’t help the smile that graced her pink lips as she remembered the small act of justice, and she turned her head to have the cool wind blow her hair back as her green eyes danced over the shining blue of the sea, as if promising her that it was merely the beginning of a summer filled with unexpected but welcomed chaos as the waves crashed against the side of the ferries and rocked them against the docks.

“Avery!” her mother called out, and it was only then that she snapped back into reality, turning around to walk back over silently as her father threw her a disapproving glare, warning her not to stray away.

She took his hand wordlessly, though her thoughts were already racing as she toyed with the end of her dress, the small, secretive smile still present on her lips.

She wondered what it was like to smile as carefree as the boy with unruly hair did.