Her pudgy fingers sting with the cold. A shiver racks through her thick set frame- in a pair of thin leggings and an unlined jacket, Cupcake's nowhere near appropriately dressed for the weather. Yet she grits her teeth and continues packing on snow to her soon to be snowman.
A part of her revels in the pain. She briefly allows herself to imagine what her mother will say when the bear of a woman catches sight of her purple tinged fingers.
She'll be angry, of course, better yet, exasperated. She'll take Cupcake's hands in hers, and rub them with an almost painful vigor, occasionally breathing on them until they flush pink with warmth. And sternly, but tenderly, she'll admonish her daughter.
'How many times do I have to remind you to wear gloves, sweetling? Do you want your fingers to fall off?'
And Cupcake will smile, embarrassed but glad for the attention, and reply,
'No mama.'
Cupcake holds the scene in her mind for just a moment longer before dismissing it with a huff.
She knows better than that. Only in her dreams does she allow herself to get sucked into such sappy fantasies. Out here, in the waking world, she's a realist. She expects the worst from others and reacts in kind.
In reality, what'll probably happen is her mother will take one look at her shivering child, thick eyebrows knitting together with the onset of anger, and say,
'Who did you ask to go outside?'
And Cupcake will meet her mother's gaze, uncharacteristically submissive and say,
'You said to go do something with myself and stay out of the way.'
Her mother will simply stare her down for a moment, nostrils visibly flaring, before reigning in her temper, and simply command,
'Don't get smart with me little girl. Now go get changed and stay in your room until you can speak in a more respectful tone.'
And it'll sting way more than it should, that comparatively small reprimand. Because contrary to what her mother may believe, she's not trying to be rude, only repeating exactly what she was told earlier. And then there's the way she calls her a little girl. The title comes off as dismissive and mocking. Cupcake knows she's not in any way small for her age. Physically, she outweighs and towers over all of the other kids in her grade. Mentally, she's ahead of her time, being a voracious reader with an insatiable curiosity for the world around her. Emotionally…well she's always had a rather explosive temper, something she's inherited from her mother, though she hasn't learned to restrain it under an icy veneer like her progenitor.
To be called a 'little girl' is an insult to everything that defines her. And coming from one of the only people she loves and admires…
Letting go of these thoughts, Cupcake focuses back on her snowman. Her fingers are nearly numb and she takes a break to fold them under her armpits. Her creation is nearly complete. All she has to do now is make the head.
She adds two dark stones for eyes, an acorn nose, and a curved stick for the mouth.
She registers the sound of other voices behind her, belonging to two of her classmates. One little miss perfect Pippa and her ever present companion, Monty. She doesn't say anything to them, doesn't even turn around to alert them to her presence.
There's no point. They aren't her friends; they don't even like her.
In the back of her mind, she hopes that one of them will walk up to her, and compliment her snowman.
In all honesty, she just wants one of them to invite her to join them.
But she ignores the longing. It's an old feeling. In her mind, she imagines how such a scene would play out. She'd walk up to them, and before she could even get out a word, they'd take off running, because 'oh no! Here comes big bad Cupcake! Don't let her catch you, or she'll pound you into the ground. Everyone knows to stay away from her.'
She considers the twiggy smile for a moment, and then removes it, only to replace it upside down.
Nodding to herself, she decides that yes, this is how it should look.
Maybe, just maybe, one of the kids behind her will catch sight of her creation, and curiosity will push them to ask her why her snowman is frowning.
At least, that's what she hopes will happen.
Instead, the complete opposite happens. There's a flurry of activity behind her. More familiar voices, raised in excited screams of joy. And just as she's joining the head to the body, a freezing something explodes on the back of her head.
She stands there, frozen, trying to process what exactly has just occurred. She can feel icy rivulets of water trickling beneath the hood of her coat, and behind her, things have gone nearly silent.
There's no apology, no 'Oh, sorry Cupcake. Didn't mean to hit you.' There's only a tense quiet, punctuated by fearful whispers.
Uh oh…!
I hit Cupcake!
She hit Cupcake!
And suddenly, she's completely had it for the day. She turns around, hands clenching around the snowman's head, lips distorted into wordless snarl, thick eyebrows furrowed with anger.
She looks around, maple brown eyes darting from one face to the other, gauging just how she should react. There's not an apologetic face in the vicinity. No grinning visage to assure her that it was just a harmless joke. Just pure terror.
So with an inward sigh, of frustration Cupcake steps into her prescribed roll as school yard bully. It's what's expected of her, and she's never been one to disappoint.
The second snowball comes at just the right moment. She had just been preparing to smash the snowman's head on top of Jamie, when the freezing projectile hits her square in the face.
The laughter comes from some rusted, unknown part of her. And there's this thought, this inkling that says, 'Lighten up. They're just having fun. Laugh. Have fun for once.' Not in so many words, but she gets the gist. The laughter is hesitant at first, just one or two explosive exhales that sound more like coughs than expressions of joy. But eventually, she can't hold it in, and just like that, she's laughing, truly laughing.
And her laughter is like a fresh breeze that carries away the stagnating tension.
The rest is a blur of joyful yells and freezing projectiles whizzing through the air.