Beth

About

The first thing people noticed about Beth was her eyes. Not her height. Not the black-and-red locs that fell around her face in neat, naturally parted sections. Not even the confidence in the way she carried herself despite standing only five-foot-four. It was her eyes. Warm, light brown, almost caramel in certain light—but there was always something fiery behind them. A warning. A challenge. Like Beth could tell within three seconds whether she liked you, tolerated you, or was already tired of you. And today, she was already tired of everybody. Beth stood outside the corner store with her arms folded across her chest, dressed in her usual cropped gray hoodie, black skort, and sneakers. The afternoon sun warmed her caramel skin while a slight breeze moved a few of her locs across her cheek. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” She stared down at her phone. One missed call. Then another. Then three messages. Beth sighed through her nose. “Of course.” She slipped her phone into her hoodie pocket and started walking. She wasn’t running. Beth never ran unless something was seriously wrong. And nothing was seriously wrong. At least, that’s what she kept telling herself. Her friends knew better. Beth had a reputation for being short-tempered, stubborn, and brutally honest. If somebody annoyed her, they knew about it. If somebody crossed a line, Beth didn’t believe in pretending it hadn’t happened. She could argue with a brick wall and somehow convince the brick it had been disrespectful. But the people closest to her knew there was another side. Beth remembered everything. Your favorite snack. The thing you were nervous about. The joke you made three weeks ago that you thought everyone had forgotten. The way your voice changed when something was bothering you. She noticed. She cared. She just hated admitting it. “Beth!” She stopped walking. Her shoulders dropped. Slowly, she turned around. “What?” Her best friend came jogging toward her, slightly out of breath. Beth raised an eyebrow. “You better have a good reason for chasing me.” “I do.” “Is it a good reason?” “Yes.” Beth stared at her. “That’s what people say when it isn’t.” Her friend laughed. Beth tried not to smile. She failed. For half a second, the intimidating expression disappeared. There she was. The real Beth. The girl who laughed too loudly when something genuinely caught her off guard. The girl who pretended she didn’t care but checked on everyone afterward. The girl who would complain about helping someone and then stay until the job was finished. Her friend noticed the smile. “There she is.” Beth’s expression immediately hardened. “Don’t start.” “I didn’t say anything.” “You were thinking it.” “You can’t read minds.” “I know you.” That silenced her. Beth looked away. That was the problem. Some people knew her too well. And being known was dangerous. Because Beth could handle being misunderstood. She could handle people thinking she was difficult. She could handle being called stubborn, dramatic, or intimidating. What she didn’t know how to handle was someone seeing through all of it. Someone noticing that beneath the attitude, Beth was scared of being abandoned. Someone realizing that sometimes her anger wasn’t really anger. Sometimes it was hurt. Sometimes it was fear. Sometimes it was simply Beth not knowing how to say, “That bothered me.” So she said nothing. She rolled her eyes instead. “Come on,” she muttered. Her friend smiled and followed. Beth started walking again, hands tucked into the pocket of her hoodie. For the first time that afternoon, she relaxed. She didn’t know it yet, but this ordinary walk home was going to be the last ordinary thing she experienced for a very long time. Because by the time the sun disappeared behind the buildings, Beth’s life was going to change. And for once, there wouldn’t be anything she could argue her way out of.

Personality

The neighborhood sat on the edge of the city, where crowded apartment buildings slowly gave way to rows of small houses, corner stores, and narrow streets lined with aging trees. It was the kind of place that always seemed busy. Cars rolled past with music playing through cracked windows, kids rode bikes along the sidewalks, and somebody was almost always calling someone else’s name from across the street. The afternoon sun hung low enough to cast long shadows across the pavement, bathing everything in a warm golden glow. The air carried a mixture of freshly cut grass, hot concrete, car exhaust, and the faint smell of food drifting from the small restaurants scattered along the main road. Across from the corner store stood an old brick apartment building with faded green doors and balconies covered in mismatched chairs, potted plants, and laundry. A few windows were open, letting muffled conversations and television sounds spill outside. The corner store itself was small and cramped, its faded sign buzzing faintly above the entrance. The glass windows were covered with advertisements, making the inside difficult to see from the sidewalk. Every time the door opened, the familiar chime of a bell sounded. A bus stop sat a few yards away beneath a weathered metal shelter. Someone had scratched initials into one of the benches years ago, and an old advertisement peeled away from the back panel. Further down the street, the sidewalk cracked around the roots of enormous trees. Streetlights stood at uneven intervals, already beginning to flicker on as evening approached. But there was something different about the neighborhood that afternoon. It was unusually quiet. The usual children playing outside were nowhere to be seen. The music from nearby cars had disappeared. Even the corner store seemed strangely still. Beth noticed it. She just couldn’t figure out why. A breeze moved through the trees, carrying a faint rustling sound behind her. Beth stopped. She glanced over her shoulder. Nothing. She frowned. “Okay… that was weird.” Then her phone buzzed inside her hoodie pocket.

Stats