~~ELSA~~
The Only Pure Thing

Humidity presses in against Elsa's skin, wet and heavy like unshed tears trapped beneath the dark cloud cover. It's hot upon waking, and she's sweaty before she even gets to school. It will storm tonight and she is looking forward to it. Elsa has always liked storms. Summer storms, especially. The way the pressure builds up anticipation in the very air, until it tingles at her skin, like the hush of voices in the theatre before a show starts. The pouring angry rain slapping down on her skin, the way the thunder rattles her very bones, the wind whipping her hair around into her eyes and mouth. It makes her feel like nature has found her.

Toward the end of her morning history class, she receives a text from Anna. Unlike usual, it's not a string of indecipherable emojis or one of Mr Altona's life-changing jokes (she forgets that Elsa has sat in that very classroom, with that very teacher, and heard all these terrible puns herself three years ago), but an urgent plea.

I left my science presentation at home! With the USB with the slideshow on it and everything.

the rest of the group is going to kill me!

mr altona says we cant go tomorrow. were going to fail and its going to be my fault! The text is accompanied by a picture of a kitten dangling precariously from a branch.

Elsa replies. Can't you ask mum to bring it on her way to work? She is leaving soon.

She's about to reply again when her teacher clears his throat loudly and looks down at her. 'Something more interesting than the economy of post-war Germany, Miss Arendelle?'

It's supposed to be intimidating. Or make her feel bad or something. Most students are terrified of Mr Moore. But Elsa is used to being stared at like she's the devil incarnate, and made to explain herself for far worse crimes than this, to people who matter far more.

He is an ant beneath her shoe. Like a petty child. And his trivial little accusations bounce off her like bread-crumbs.

'It's a family matter, actually.' She keeps her voice steady and unashamed, and holds her head high, ignoring the eyes of her classmates. Sometimes the rules are mostly a matter of confidence. Act like you've done nothing wrong, and everyone else will follow. She lets her voice dip into confusion with a hint of annoyance at the last moment. Not enough to be definitively rude. Just enough to indicate that she isn't sure what his problem is... 'And it's kind of sensitive, so if you don't mind...'

She looks back down at her phone where she has received more texts.

I know that seems like the obvious solution but there is a slight problem…..

My science book is in my top drawer…..

And it's right on top of….. My diary…..dun dun DUN *dramatic music*

And we both KNO in our hearts mum will read it and i just cant deal with that right now

And here come the emojis. A string of them. Lots of the screaming cat. Skull. Exploding head. Little Japanese demon thing. More of the screaming cat. She really likes that one. What does that say about her mental state, Elsa ponders.

It's true that their mum will probably read the diary. Elsa made a decoy, when she was younger, and put tiny objects on top of it as a test. She "accidentally" left it in places she knew it would be found. The objects were moved, every time.

She glances around the classroom. Mr Moore has turned his attention away, knowing he can't really do much. Because she's Elsa. She is outside of regular standards and expectations. People make exceptions for her.

She is still riding out the social boon from saving the musical last year when the lead got sick. Nobody believed a year eight could pull off such a performance. Sing that song. Wear that dress. The videos were shared and viewed hundreds of times. Additionally, the staff have been made aware that her family has been facing some recent challenges. The students don't know this, of course. They only know that she is allowed to take mysterious leaves of absence with just a nod to the teachers and a wink to her peers. There's actually a ridiculous rumour going around that she's working for ASIO. She feels her power growing on all fronts, as the cost eats away at her.

Her next class is a double period of English. She has read several chapters ahead and made a good start on her assignment, so she can afford to miss it. Fifteen minutes for recess, plus forty-five for lunch, then an hour and a half English class gives her two and a half hours before Specialised Arts Programs in the afternoon, or SAPS as they affectionately call it. That's long enough to get home, to Anna's school and back again.

She texts back (doesn't bother hiding it), Don't worry. I will bring it to you.

Her friends sit at a round wooden picnic table at recess, peeling the lids off their yoghurts and pulling strips of carrot and cucumber from tidy little tupperware containers. Like her, they all have pretty hair cascading in the right places and full faces of make-up. They all fold their skirts over at the top to make them a little shorter. And she suspects, like her, they all wear masks to some degree. Upon her arrival they squish together to make an extra space, pressing knees and shoulders into each other. But she doesn't sit. 'Hey, I won't be in English today. Can someone get an extra copy of any handouts for me?'

There's a pause before they all answer in the affirmative, with deliberately casual cadence. They don't ask for an explanation. She feels a space between them, like a crack in the ground. 'I have to go and help my sister with something.'

It's clear they don't believe her, but they smile and nod anyway. She farewells the two closest to her with a light hug, a mutual kiss on the cheek with a loud mwha sound, and a promise to be back in time for SAPS in the afternoon.

She takes brisk steps through the ivy-covered red-brick heritage buildings, interrupted every thirty seconds to respond to greetings from other friends and more acquaintances than she really needs. A teacher scurries up to her, 'Elsa! Do you have a minute? I wanted to get your input on the year seven rock eisteddfod costumes-'

'Sorry, Mr Collins, I'm actually in a bit of a rush today.'

'No worries!' He waves and smiles wide, 'Come and see me at lunch, yeah?'

She scurries under the white rose walkway with its fragrant aromas, past the fountain with its lily-pads and toward the gate. She takes one last big whiff of the flowery air and holds it in her lungs, a little disappointed to leave because she likes being at school. She likes who she is at school. She feels safe under this mask.

'Bye, Elsa!' A gaggle of year sevens who she has never spoken to in her life wave to her. She waves back and smiles politely. And just because she can, she gives them a wink, and they giggle shyly like a bunch of, well, like a bunch of schoolgirls.

Despite her best efforts, she misses the first bus and the next one isn't coming for twenty minutes, so she walks down the street to the third bus stop, well out of the perimeter of the school and all its prying eyes. The street is quiet mid-morning and she slinks into an undercover car space in the alleyway behind the milk bar and lights a cigarette. It's nice and private, apart from the occasional exhausted shopkeeper who minds his own business. She comes here on her lunch break sometimes, to cry in private. To breathe. The bus rolls up exactly on time.

Standing in her own empty house, Elsa feels like an imposter. Like a wicked, dirty little creature whose hands will turn anything they touch to dust. The weight of the past year pulls down on her, dragging at her feet like a ball and chain. She steps into Anna's room and takes a moment to observe. The unmade Minecraft bedsheets. The Billie Eilish poster. That ridiculous singing fish she begged for when they went on that holiday. No one understood why she wanted it, but it made her happy, and her happiness is like sunshine - it makes everyone else happy. So they bought it. The plush toys in her bed take up so much space. She's accumulated so many in the past year or so - where does she even sleep? The participation trophy from last year's soccer season. A few books on the bedside table. But it's the folded sheet with the child-friendly graphics titled "dealing with panic attacks" that breaks her. Elsa turns away and bites the inside of her lip, not letting anything bubble up. Keeping it inside. She is on a mission.

She has one job.

She won't fuck it up this time.

In the first draw of her desk, right where she said they would be, Elsa finds the science book and the USB. A bunch of half-human, half-animal, half-plant hybrids are drawn on the front cover because that represents science, apparently. She turns it over – oh. There's context. A drawing of a mad scientist laughing maniacally with a bunch of plants and animals and a strange machine.

Such a funny kid. Her drawing has really improved recently.

Anyway. The diary sits right there, looking up at her innocently. It says, Anna's super secret diary – DO NOT READ or else I will shave your eyebrows off while you sleep. Yes, you!

It's so obvious. So over the top. It's almost like she wants someone to read it.

Wait, does she?

Is that the real reason why she sent Elsa here? Is this a cry for help?

Of course it isn't. She's just trying to find some twisted way to justify the terrible thing she wants to do. It's a talent of hers, apparently. Still, she picks it up and the temptation courses through her, pulling at her like some kind of spirit possession. Like a magnet. The urge to read just one page. Just one line. Just to know for sure… Would it really do so much harm? After all, she knows the damage is done. Morbid curiosity wants to know how deep the damage runs. The part of her that wants to stop and stare when passing a car crash, wants to hear those dark thoughts, right from the source.

Perhaps she could help. Anticipate Anna's needs. Be the sister she deserves.

Perhaps this is how drug addicts feel. Or alcoholics. People who do things they don't want to do because they just can't stop themselves.

No. The sister she deserves would not violate her privacy and dignity. Even though Elsa has to physically clench her hands to stop herself from opening it. Even though it almost physically aches to put the diary back in the draw and close it, she does it. She does the right thing.

But no good deed goes unpunished. She checks her public transport app to find the bus to Anna's school has been cancelled. Typical. Waiting for the next one will cost her a good thirty minutes and make her late for the one that goes back to her own school. She makes a mental note to write to her local member of parliament about this ongoing issue, but for the moment, she is left with no choice but to take her bike and pray that the storm doesn't roll in until she is back at school.

No such luck. She's taking a shortcut over the hill when the rain comes pouring down and the wind starts battering at her meagre frame, furious as a primal nature deity. Elsa surrenders to its might and pedals faster into the fray.

The wheels slip and slide around on the mud and she doesn't slow down, just holds on tight, enjoying the risk. Imagining herself falling off. Imagining all her bones breaking, splintering like twigs. Her skin tearing. Imagining the bruises and the blood. Imagining atonement. She imagines waking up in a hospital bed with her parents looking down on her, all teary-eyed, telling her how worried they were. How much they love her. How relieved they are that she's okay.

She laughs a little as the hail - yes, hail, starts to pelt her head. It's messing up her hair and she doesn't even care. She feels free, just for a few brief moments when the thunder cracks like a whip above her.

She shouts at the sky and lets the noise of the rain, thunder and wind scatter the sound into nothing. Not any particular words. Just a garbled wail. A cry for help, perhaps. A cry of regret. A lament, if you want to be poetic. A plea, if you don't. She's risking damaging her singing voice for tomorrow, making these guttural, primal screams, but it just feels so damn good. It's raining so hard that no one can see or hear her. How often does someone get this kind of privacy?

By the time she reaches Anna's primary school, Elsa is a mess. Her hair is soaking wet with strands pulled out of its braid. The carefully positioned locks usually slicked back into their exact, gravity defying positions hang limp around her face. Her makeup is no doubt running down, and mud has splattered up onto her legs and white socks. She absolutely can't be seen like this by any of the kids or teachers or busybody parents hanging around.

It is an outrage for a Silverleaf girl to be seen in public in anything less than perfect presentation. They're always getting lectured about it in assembly. Their socks must be folded over twice. Hair tidy and off the face. Shirt buttoned up to the top and about another hundred specifications.

Also, Elsa refuses to give anyone another reason to gossip about her family.

Mostly, though, her perfect appearance is her shield. A wall between her and the inherent stress of social interactions. Without it she feels weak and vulnerable. So she skulks through the patch of trees at the back of the school, collecting twigs and leaves on her way and stepping in puddles that drench her entire feet in warm, soupy rainwater.

The sun comes out just as the bell rings, as though it shines just for Anna. Beneath a weak rainbow, all the kids spill out of their classrooms like ants, in their drab, maroon polo shirts and trackpants. Elsa always felt a little underdressed, when she wore that uniform. Like she was going to school in pyjamas or something.

Anna's hug is more like a rugby player's tackle but Elsa leans into it. After the catharsis of screaming into the storm, everything feels a little bit more real and intense. Like she's taken a step back from her life and is looking at everything in unusually crisp focus.

'Oh thank you! Thankyouthankyouthankyou! I can't believe you really made it! You're the best. You're like a super-hero, you know that?'

'Well, I couldn't have you being the kid who lets the group down. It would bring dishonour to the family.'

'Dishonour on our whole family!' Anna gestures wildly, 'Dishonour on our cow! But you're a mess. Are you going back to school like that?'

Elsa gives a sly smile and taps the side of her nose, 'I guess I'm going to have to take a mental health day.'

Anna winks and taps her nose back, before giving Elsa a hug and a kiss on the cheek. She is worth the trouble. She is the only pure thing in Elsa's life.


[before then]

'Elsa! Elsa!' Anna didn't seem to understand that the point of whispering was that other people weren't supposed to hear. 'That girl keeps looking at you again!'

Elsa was well aware of this. She had suspected as much the past two weeks, but had wanted to be sure, before making any moves. Elsa was one of those lucky people who knew she was gay from the time she was small. There was no closet to come out of. No agonising. She didn't need the concept explained to her. It never seemed that complicated. As a child, she had discarded the Ken doll like a piece of packaging, and made her Barbies get married to each other and drive away in the wedding car. She had set them up in the dollhouse with two kids and a dog and made them argue over money and dishes. Then, naturally, she had taken their clothes off and smashed their bodies together. Her parents didn't bat an eyelid. They were far from perfect parents, of course, but homophobia was one box they had apparently forgotten to tick.

Not all girls were so lucky. Some hadn't figured it out yet in their heads, even if they had in their bodies. Some were not ready to accept it. Some were just not thinking about that kind of thing, yet. The line between normal female friendliness and homoerotica could be blurry, even at this tender age. Flirting was a delicate art, moreso for a fourteen year old lesbian in a Silverleaf uniform.

'What's happening?' Anna tugged on Elsa's purple blazer sleeve, 'Is she challenging you to a staring competition? Why do you keep backing down? You could take her, easy!'

Oh, Elsa could certainly take her, alright. But not in the way that Anna meant.

She pressed her fingers to her lips to shush the clueless child. She had insisted they both stand up by the bag cage, rather than sit in forward facing seats, to make the nonverbal flirting process easier. Anna had of course taken this as an invitation to sit inside the bag cage with her arms wrapped around her legs, looking up periodically to whisper 'I'm a bag' at strangers. She even pretended to zip and unzip her mouth. Elsa would never have been such a dork, at eleven, but she admired her sister's unapologetic weirdness. She hoped the world would never beat it out of her.

As well as the delicate process of figuring out which girls are also into girls, Elsa hesitated to simply go up and speak to the girl because they seemed to come from two different worlds. Exchanges between Silverleaf girls and kids from Stanley Downs High, on this bus, usually went along the lines of "the fuck you lookin' at, fancy-pants?" Last year, Elsa had even been told to put her eyeballs back in her fucking head, and that had put her in her place good and proper.

Elsa turned around again to see the girl biting her lip. This time she looked Elsa up and down slowly through lidded eyes, then smiled a bright, open smile from under her snapback hat. She had warm brown skin and black hair in a braid much like Elsa's. Much like Elsa, also, she had a goofy little sibling yapping away in her ear, but she ignored him and patted the seat next to her where she sat all spread out like a man. It sent a pleasant vibration through her chest.

'Come on,' Elsa grabbed her bag and Anna's from the bag cage and moved toward the back seat. 'Let's go sit with them.'