The Perfect Outcast

didn’t actually see her. But those tears forever changed Alina’s perception of Jade, who went from infallible one night, to fragile, weak, and defenseless the next.
After the Day of Genesis celebration, the same day Eris snubbed her, Alina lay awake in bed. She never rested well the night after the Sleep, and knew Jade didn’t either, as she was often reading her panel or watching the monitor when Alina tiptoed out of bed.
Despite her restless eyes, Alina had stayed in bed, thinking about the people Jade knew. Several greeted her at the celebration, but she didn’t talk with them long—except for Ellyn and Sasha, who joined them at the feast.
Alina smiled as she remembered how pretty Sasha was. They were all pretty, but the kind ones more so. Sasha called Alina’s dress lovely and gave her a small chocolate from the youths’ table.
Alina swallowed in the darkness of her room. Ellyn and Jade had whispered and laughed for a long time, and Sasha meant to be kind when she mentioned how much Ellyn loved Jade and how much she missed her—how much she missed the old Jade.
Who was the old Jade?
Alina once asked Jade about her age, and the answer surprised her—one hundred and six. Jade lived ninety-eight years before Alina came along, plenty of time to have a career, go to parties, and date, like the other women. But Jade didn’t do any of those things. Did the red-haired girl speak the truth? Did Jade no longer have friends because of her? Alina had tried to make friends her whole life. It made sense Jade didn’t have any either because of her.
Alina kicked off the blankets and crept into the hallway, her bare feet padding along the polished floor. She must find out. The question would make Jade uncomfortable, and Alina feared the answer, but she had to know.
She caught a faint sound as she approached Jade’s room, and putting her ear to the door, realized Jade was crying. Her sobs were intense but muffled, as if buried in a pillow. Alina grasped the doorknob to burst in and run to her, then stopped and bit her lip.
Jade wept because of the curse an ugly child had brought her. When she requested a ward, she expected a beautiful one like everyone else but received Alina instead. Alina saw the way Father Sampson glared at them during the Day of Genesis celebration. He didn’t like Jade, so he gave her Alina, a mistake of his own creation— perhaps an intentional mistake made specially to insult her.
Alina had slipped back to her room with tears dripping off her chin. For the first time, Jade wasn’t there to wipe them away, which brought the greatest sting to her heart.
And now, huddled on the floor of her school bathroom, was the second time.
The pain felt different from when she was eight. She’d longed for words then, for the gentle assurance of Jade’s love no matter how she looked or what regret she may have caused. But that pain eased over time as Jade’s constancy never wavered, as Alina felt certain of her caretaker’s love.
Now Alina knew the truth, and any words from Jade would confirm it. Those words would be the most unbearable pain of all.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to stall the fresh tears pooling under her eyelids. She knew disappointment well; she anticipated and expected some letdown each day, the same way she expected the sun to darken each night. But she’d never known disappointment like this.
She blew her nose and stood up to confront the mirror. Her tears had washed the makeup from her face and the blemishes glared back at her. She touched them, feeling their rough texture against her fingertips. What a strange thing to have on a face. How much had Father Sampson experimented when he formed her?
The bell rang, jarring through her body, and she panicked. Her choice to skip class had been rash, and now Jade would suffer for it. She snatched her bag and fled the bathroom, ducking her head to hide her face.
Students poured into the hallway. Alina dashed around the corner and slammed into a tall, solid figure. She lost her balance and started to fall, then felt strong fingers wrap around her forearm, steadying her. She recognized the faded blue t-shirt she’d seen earlier. Zaiden.
Her skin felt warm under his touch, and she cringed as he viewed her swollen eyes and red cheeks. “Thanks,” she mumbled, avoiding his eyes.
His grip around her arm tightened. She glanced up and found him staring at her.
“I’ve been looking for you, Alina. I’m sorry about what happened—I should have said something to them. It must be hard for you to be so different from everyone else.” His hand trembled, and with a small shake of the head, he looked away. Alina’s heart picked up in her chest. What made him so nervous?
He lifted his head and held her gaze, his brown eyes intense and anxious. He didn’t look at the blemishes on her face, but deep into her eyes. Then he released her arm, swung his pack over his shoulder and turned to go.
“Zaiden,” she rushed. He looked back at her.
“Thank you.” She paused. “It must be hard for you as well.”
“For me?”
Smiling, she said, “To also be different from everyone else.”
He stared at her for a moment before returning her smile—gentle and knowing. As he walked away, she hid her crimson face.
Something in his smile inflamed her, stirring her disappointment into hope. He seemed to be searching, even longing, for meaning behind her words.

Why haven’t I noticed him before?
Alina reflected on this as she walked home, though she knew the answer. Prian boys blurred together in her mind, with their tall, muscular bodies and chiseled features. Tan, fair, or dark-skinned, it didn’t matter—they were all bullies she feared and avoided. Girls were cruel, but nothing like the boys. Girls insulted each other because of competition, which