The Outside

Welcome back to the Taylor Swift Song Wheel Generator: The Writing Challenge!

When it comes to Taylor and her songs, they always fill my imagination up the way I believe great artists oftentimes refer to as "the muse". For my writing challenge, I took a song from an album, added a genre, and let the characters and the genre lead the way.

I had just finished watching season 3 of Bridgerton before spinning the wheel. When I realized I would have to write a comic story about The Outside, which always reminds me about my first day of freshman year in high school where I didn't know anyone and felt completely alone, I snorted. Of course I got a genre that is the complete opposite of the depressive message of the song! But then I thought of Eloise Bridgerton and the way she uses her wit to get through her daily life of not fitting in to London society, and I decided to name my character in honor of her, as well as give her a bit of Eloise's fire.

Please enjoy the second Wheel Generated Story! And if you decide to write along with me, please tag me in any Social Media posts, or send me an email so I can read it. :)

Taylor Swift - The Outside - Comic

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Oh, grand.

New school, who dis?

 

Hi. I’m Eloise. My mom says I’m a mix between an elderly posh English woman who should be strolling through an old London manor with her little dog in toe, and the most annoying Gen Z girlie, like, ever. *insert eye roll here, thank you very much*

I like to read and watch British TV. I also like to make up Tiktok dances with my black cat, as if he can actually dance. Instead, it’s just funny because he sits slightly off to the side while I dance, and he’ll go back and forth between looking at me and looking at the camera like he’s Jim Halpert from The Office. So I call him Jim, even though his name is Mr. Biscuits. (My mom named him when I was five. God help us all).

Anyways. Now that you know about me, my cat, my likes, my single mom, and my entire personality, we can get back to it.

 

A new school.

Le sigh…

 

Mom and I lived in Portland, Oregon, for most of my life. She met my dad, they fell in love, they had me, and two years later he died… I don’t remember him, really. My mom misses him every day, even though it’s been 14 years (I’m 16 if math is hard for you, lol. Don't worry, I got you). This year, my second year of high school, she got a new job in Seattle, Washington. Not a super duper far move or anything, but still far enough that it still feels like a million miles away from home and from Dad. He’s buried in Lone Fir Cemetery, and I still haven’t wrapped my head around the fact that I can’t just go visit him whenever I want.

We used to visit him a lot, Mom and me. But then as the years passed it became too hard for her, with all the other stressors of being an adult hanging on her single-parent shoulders. So, we stopped going weekly and started going only a few times a year – his birthday, Father’s Day, and Christmas – but I found myself missing the outing. Even though I didn’t remember him, I remembered visiting his grave.

So, keeping it our little secret, I lied to Mom about joining an anime club at school that met after sixth period every Thursday and instead rode my bike to the cemetery and spent that hour with Dad. Rain or shine, I was there. Mom had told me multiple times that he wasn’t much of a reader like me and that he was more of a movie guy, who loved the Star Wars movies and basically anything with Harrison Ford, so I bridged the gap between us and brought Star Wars books. Surprisingly, there are a ton of these books, so we always have something new to read together. I’m not the fastest reader, especially reading out loud, but I think he enjoys it. I hope so. He doesn’t really have much choice, does he?

 

“Nice dress, idiot!” a boy on a skateboard shouts at me as I lock up my bike.

   *insert another eye roll*

Okay, fine. Let’s get to it. New school, blah blah, you know the rest…

 

I’m wearing my favorite long sleeve, pale-blue dress. It’s cute in that old British kind of way, I like the way it looks with my skin color (a sickly pale, thanks rain and constant cloud coverage!), and it keeps me warm.  I roll my eyes and ignore the skateboarder. Back home in Portland, I’d gotten this same reaction to my outfits when I was little, but as all us kids grew older together, they kind of fell out of teasing me for it. It’s not fun to make fun of someone who gives you no reaction, after all. The kids here will learn the same eventually too: That I can’t be made to feel bad for how I look or what I wear. I don’t really care to make new friends (again, I have Jim and we have Tiktok, that’s all my social battery is good for, anyways). But it’ll make Mom happy if I at least pretend to.

I walk down the hall and scan for potential targets. Everyone is bundled up from the rain outside, talking loudly, filled with first day of school excitement and jitters. No one from my cursory glance appeals to me, so as I open my locker, I let my mind wander. If I get through the entire day with no possibilities for at least an acquaintance, at least I’ll have built one in my head. One who’s allergic to most foods, which is why they won’t ever be able to come home for dinner to meet Mom.

And their pronouns will be they/them, with a gender-neutral name like Taylor or Alex so that I never have to worry about forgetting such important details when telling Mom about my day and hanging out with Jesse during lunch or whatever.

A group of girls walks by and eyes me up and down, then giggles inward to themselves, covering their mouths with their perfectly manicured hands. I scrunch my nose at them and close my locker. My homeroom and first period class is AP English, so at least I get to start my day with my favorite class. Then it can all go back downhill from there.

“Eloise Fields?” the teacher asks during roll call.

“Present,” I reply. A few kids snicker. Most everyone so far said, Here! which is so dull. Gotta mix it up a little bit, am I right? Yeah. I am.

The teacher smiles and moves on. I bounce my leg, anxious to start. I want the syllabus so I can scan the list of books and plays we’ll be reading this year. I really hope it’s stuff I haven’t already read. I have read a lot. The boy who sits to my left, with a black bowl-haircut and olive skin, leans over to me. He whispers, “I’m Jason. Jason Wong. I don’t think I’ve seen you around before?”

Internally I roll my eyes. The syllabus is being passed around and I want my hands on it!

“Hello?”

I let out a tiny sigh.

“Hi, Jason. I’m Eloise.”

He continues to stare at me, smiling slightly. I like the way he smiles, like one of the guys in BTS. I wonder if he dances like they do—

Eloise! Snap out of it!

As if knowing I was staring at him, his grin widens. The syllabus reaches us and thankfully he doesn’t pursue conversation with me, instead taking the bundle of papers and passing one to me. Our fingers touch and an electric shock races up my hand all the way to my shoulder. My mouth hangs slightly open. I’ve touched a lot of boys in my time (OMG get your mind out of the gutter, I’m talking playing tag, people!) but none of them ever felt as incredible or scary as Jason Wong.

I’ve suddenly forgotten the name of our teacher, but she’s a fiery redhead with a love of Vikings and British Classics. I think she and I are going to get along well.

But as she goes through the syllabus with us, almost none of it sticks. All I can think about is how close and yet how far Jason is from me. If I stretched my arm out, I could touch him, but that would be super weird, for so many reasons.

I wonder if he’s on Tiktok?

The bell rings, making me jump, startled. Class went by so fast!

I gather my backpack, shoving the syllabus inside, trying to muster up the courage to say something to Jason Wong. Anything! Maybe I actually will make a friend today. Maybe even more than a friend—No, Eloise! I’ve gotta stay cool. Don’t rush too far ahead. One moment at a time. Don’t think too hard. Just smile and say the first natural thing that comes into your thoughts.

I look up, smiling and sweating slightly; he’s already gone. Jason’s arm hangs protectively around another girl’s shoulders, and they’re laughing as they leave the classroom. Probably laughing at me. The new girl, the weird dresser, the idiot.

 

The rest of the day takes forever to go by. The teachers seem intelligent enough, the classes interesting, but no one at this school seems like someone I’d want to be friends with. Not the popular kids or the jocks or the theater kids or even the band geeks. So, when I get home, I lock myself in the bathroom, stare at myself in the mirror, and cry. When I’m all drained out I pinch my cheeks to put a little color back in my skin, splash water onto my face and dry it with a freshly laundered towel, and meet Mom at the kitchen table for dinner. She wants to hear all about my day, so I tell her about what an incredible first day of school it was, and how I’ve already met a friend, Riley, who’s gender neutral and allergic to everything.

Mom is happy.

Nothing else really matters.

Whether we’re on the inside or the outside.

We’re born alone, and we’ll die alone.

At least we have cats. “Isn’t that right, Jim?” I ask him later in my room, sitting at my little desk in the corner. He jumps up and stares at me. Jim is a black cat with blue eyes who has a big love for chin scratches. I itch his chin and his eyes close, content. Then he opens them back up for a moment, stares into the camera on my phone, which I’ve set up for a new Tiktok video, and closes them again.

Strange, strange boy. Just like his momma.

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