From Odd to smitten

Eloise “Ellie” Thomas wasn’t just different; she was a delightful enigma, or so she would say. With eyes the color of stormy seas and a long mane of untamable dark curls that seemed to defy gravity, she stood out in ways that caused her father to frown with concern most times, her teachers to sigh in resignation, and her classmates—save for her friends, Lila, Ravi, and Doug—to either sneer or jeer.

As usual, she had woken up well before the first light of dawn, but at 7:05, just ten minutes before the school bus was due to pass her house, she was still sitting cross-legged on her bed, surrounded by her entire wardrobe. Today wasn’t important for any special school event or holiday, but because Eloise believed that each day deserved to begin with a splash of intentional flair. Morning sunlight streamed through the white curtains on her window, bathing her back and her teal-painted walls in warm streaks of sunlight that seemed to animate the pencil sketches on the wall, sketches of odd objects that no one could quite decipher, even though she insisted they were things seen in the world around us.

“El, you have one minute to come down before I come get you!” her dad bellowed from downstairs.

She groaned, realising she’d taken too long to pick an outfit. Her dad’s threats were no joke. He’d certainly burst through the door when he grew tired of waiting, and she was only in her undies. She ransacked the pile of clothes, tossing them aside as she frantically searched for the one.

And then she found it.

A grin stretched across her face as she reached for the flowy, sunflower-yellow skirt that swirled around her ankles when she walked. Beside it, like an inseparable companion, lay the white, loose long-sleeved shirt with a polo neck, going perfectly with the skirt to evoke an authentic style from the ’80s. She layered it with a vest embroidered with tiny, whimsical cats playing musical instruments—an amusing find from a thrift store adventure with Lila. She inspected herself in the mirror and grinned.

Her outfit wasn’t complete without socks, of course. Eloise never wore her shoes without them; socks were a staple in her ever-growing wardrobe, and no two pairs ever matched. One sock she pulled out was lime green with tiny Victorian-style teacups, while the other was electric blue, decorated with jagged yellow lightning bolts. Immaculate. She slid them on with a content smile, a sparkle lighting up her eyes as she examined her reflection in the mirror. The girl staring back was too tiny to be called a fourteen-year-old—only five-feet-two and incredibly thin, to the point that her face seemed to disappear in her unruly curls as she beamed at herself. She never bothered to style her hair beyond running her fingers through the locks, letting them fall where they like. Today, as the final accessory to her outfit, she tucked a small daisy behind her ear, completing her look as the renowned Queen of Quirk of Maplehurst High. This was her art, her daily declaration to the world: I am ME.

Take a moment to explore Eloise’s room, and you’ll immediately step into her into her world. The walls weren’t the only spaces that showcased her personality; canvases with half-finished portraits leaned against them, splattered with vibrant, erratic brushstrokes. Her desk was a clutter of dog-eared poetry books, a collection spanning from Lord Byron to lesser-known poets. Above it, hang photographs of her and her three closest friends in all manner of poses that made it blatantly obvious there were out of this world.

She wanted to apply light makeup but today was a rush, and breakfast in the Thomas household was a must.

She raced down the stairs and bounced into the kitchen, where her dad was sitting at the table with an empty cereal bowl in front of him and the newspaper over his face.

“I’m here now. What’s for breakfast?” she chanted, though she already knew the answer: cereal. In the Thomas household, as far back as she could remember, there had never been the comforting waft of pancakes, the sizzling aroma of eggs in a pan, or the savory scent of bacon crisping away—none of those things that made a cheerful morning in a suburban house.

Her dad glanced at her briefly and resumed his reading, not in the least unfazed by her outfit. Fourteen years had rendered him immune to her eccentricities.

Eloise settled into her seat across from him, just the two of them, father and daughter, as it had been for years now.

If you had paid attention to the framed portraits above the staircase, you would have noticed that, in the older frames, three people stood smiling back from the pictures. But in the newer ones, only two people remained. The reason was simple: Ellie’s mom, Tashia, no longer lived with them. Her parents divorced when she was about four, and her mum had moved to God-knows-where. She didn’t hear from her often—sometimes just a postcard from one of the glamorous cities she enjoyed vacationing at with her filthy-rich husbands, if she did at all.

She poured herself some cereal and milk with a tiny bit of orange juice for taste. She gulped down her breakfast, knowing the bus might come honking anytime. Multitasking was her superpower, so between mouthfuls, she could keep up a conversation with her dad, scan the newspaper headlines, and tap her fingers to a tune she was composing in her head from the symphony of sounds around her—the rhythmic hum of Mrs. Mayer’s lawnmower next door and the lively chirping of birds outside.

Just as she scooped up her last spoonful, the bass blare of the school bus’s horn echoed from the junction, drawing closer. She grabbed her backpack, which was bright orange, another color standing out in her carnival of clashing hues for the day. Worse, it was decorated with buttons bearing phrases like “Not All Who Wander Are Lost, Some Are Just Daydreaming.”

She planted a quick kiss on her dad’s cheek before dashing outside, yelling over her shoulder about what time he should expect her back. As a novelist, a New York Times bestseller, her dad mostly worked from home. Many times, he was the one who waited for her to come home.

Her best friend, Lila, was the only other kid who joined the bus from their lane. She lived three blocks away across the street at the very spot the bus stopped. When she saw Eloise coming, with no regard for the world around her, she howled excitedly and kicked off their signature greeting dance: two skips, a twirl of the hips, some exaggerated sideways shakes, and then a massive leap along with a loud “whoo” that startled everyone within earshot. Eloise dropped her bag in the middle of the walkway and launched into the routine herself, synchronizing with Lila’s steps to the ending whoo.

“Weirdos,” muttered a voice from the bus as it screeched to a stop beside them. They hear that all the time but they didn’t mind the tag. It was fine if the other kids didn’t get them. They were comfortable with who they were, and that was all that mattered.

Being labelled as “weirdos” unfortunately meant even their seats on the bus were ostracized, even though they were good ones, middle seats with seatbelts and luggage holders intact. But, hey, look at the bright side. It meant their seats were always open for them, marked as theirs with an indelible ink—like the VVIP section at a sports arena. Unbothered by the hostile glares that greeted them, Ellie smiled and gave each person she passed by a cheerful wave, regardless of whether they responded with a confused nod, a sneer, or an eye-roll.

They drove past neighborhoods that looked much like their own, with neatly lined houses painted in muted, predictable tones, and everything seemed set in a conventional rhythm. About five minutes later, Maplehurst High came into view at the end of a stretch of sports fields the school had—football, soccer, hockey, even the not-so-popular rugby. They were the fifth bus to arrive, so it took another two minutes before they could alight, then arm in arm, they bundled into the hallway.

“Oh look, if it isn’t Their Royal Highnesses, Princess Dumb and Princess Dumber!”

Lila burst into laughter, but Eloise simply wanted to walk away. Unfortunately, Paige Monroe stood in her way. That jab from Paige was rich. Sure, he might be the most popular girl in the school—dating the quarterback in the senior year, holding a prime spot in the cheerleading squad, and wielding influence in the student council thanks to her dad’s money and cozy connections with the mayor’s office—but everyone knew she should have repeated her freshman year.

Paige’s shadow, a tall blonde named Harper, stepped up to them, chest puffed in challenge. “Are you making fun of us?”

“Ah, my loyal subject, not at all! What can be done when the two most devoted subjects of our dumb realm are full of odes for their royals, despite surpassing us in the glory of dumbness?” Eloise replied with a theatrical flourish.

Some students passing by sniggered when they overhead, and Paige’s smirk quickly transformed into a furious scowl.

“She’s telling us we’re dumb, right?” she wailed to Harper.

She’d had enough of the two for one morning. She brushed past them, not giving them time to decide whether they’d been insulted or not, Lila close on her heels. The bell had just rung, after all, and they needed to grab their supplies from their lockers before heading to their first class.