Emma Bicker Caarten is an 18 year old and a senior at Park City High School.She has a strong passion for the arts, specifically in acting, dancing and singing. In addition, Caarten enjoys crocheting, baking and, of course, writing.Caarten said her passion for writing lies in it being an outlet for her creativity. She was inspired to write her short story “The Forest” (see below) after reading “Beartown” by Fredrik Backman, which teacher Elaine Peterson assigned during an AP Literature class.Caarten, who recommends the novel to fellow readers, was inspired specifically by the book’s setting and the snowy forest referenced throughout the story.When asked what winning this month’s PCHS Writes club contest means to her, Caarten expressed her excitement in how this furthers her writing career. She went on to say, “I have been tossing and turning with the idea of becoming a writer, so winning this contest is a confidence push in my writing abilities.” PCHS Writes is designed to inspire more students to write and to write from their heart instead of strictly within the walls of their required English class.The club holds a short-story contest every month, and the winning entry is published in The Park Record.For information about PCHS Writes, email [email protected].“The Forest” by Emma Bicker CaartenIt starts as any other day starts. I walk into the bundling and my feet guide me to the group of girls talking near a set of stairs like they do every day.I join my friends in silence. Someone was talking and I didn’t want to interrupt her.Not anyone was talking, Lola was talking. Lola, a tall senior with almond eyes, and long auburn hair always perfectly kept and tamed. There may as well have been a crown resting atop those locks with the way the people at school treated her.Whenever she said anything, people hung onto her words as though she was about to tell them the cure for cancer. She continued to speak and the group didn’t notice I had arrived.No one said a thing to me. No “Hi, welcome back to school.” “We missed you this past month” or a snide comment about my outfit. My leggings still had flakes of dirt and grime from my morning run in the forest. They all hated it when I came to school in the clothes I ran in, especially Lola and she always let me know. The bell rang and people started to shuffle around. Everyone was staring. Some were trying not to, and some were staring as though they had just gained the ability of sight.Their quiet wind of whispers followed us as we walked down the haul. I blend into my group of friends as we walk. I am unsure how I became a part of their ‘group’, but here I was. An impala had snuck in and was lying with the lions. Even though everyone looked at my friends like they were made of solid gold, I was made of glass. Never seen. I was okay with that. The whispers and stares died down as students begrudgingly entered their classrooms, and I entered mine. Miles was sitting in my usual seat. The name Victoria was still faintly scribbled over my desk. I don’t have the energy to argue with the hockey captain for my seat, so I find my way to the coach at the back of the history classroom.We are allowed to sit on the couch, no one ever does. Something about their being bed bugs: I can’t admit it to anyone, but I love the bed bug bench. It’s closest to the window, which provides a prime view of the forest in the distance. My forest. A sign outside of it says “Our chance to be one with nature” but that forest is mine. My favorite place to run in the world, my favorite place in the world. I run there every morning and everyone knows that. I run through the twists and turns of the path. My vision filled with tall oaks as I sped by them. Running, flying, free. It is the place where I feel the most alive. At the center, it is just nature and me. Just us in a little bubble where I can be who I want to be and feel as free as possible. My mother jokes that they found me growing up in the forest and that is why I love it so much. Up until I was ten I thought that was true.The day bumbles by until the students are freed into the cafeteria for lunch. Social squawks and squabbles fill the air. I float through people finding friends to find my own, to the lunch meeting spot. The second-floor tables give them prime viewing to find their next friend or prey.Their judgment and comments fill the second-floor air and sink onto victims on the level below. Lola scans the area with the eyes of a hawk. Her eyes narrow, she has found who she is looking for. Without saying a word she rises from her seat and starts walking. Everyone quickly follows, not needing to know where she is going, but knowing they need to follow their queen. I realize who she chose the closer we get to her. I recognize the backpack resting on her shoulder. The name Victoria is scratched out and Elousie is written beneath it. Elousie never minded hand-me-downs. Lola plasters a somber look on her face. A look she has been mastering since the moment I went missing a month ago.  Lola stands behind Elouise and says, “Lou, can you talk for a minute?” “Elousie, my name is Elouise.”Lola gave everyone nicknames. She did it to make it seem like she was closer friends with someone than she was. Elousie was the only person I knew who stood up to Lola. I’ve always admired that about her. Elousie turns to face Lola with a hint of rage in her eyes. She has never liked Lola, and Lola has always felt threatened by Elouise. “Right,” says Lola with the tiniest eye roll, “Elousie, I wanted to come over and say how great it is to see you back at school. We’ve missed you this past month.” She spoke in a tone that a detective would think of as sweet, but the average teenage girl could see right through that tone. “Thank you, Lola, it means a lot. It has been hard with Victoria gone, but Mom said I should get back to normal life. Unfortunately, that includes school,” responds Elousie in a genuinely sweet tone. That is the difference between Lola and Elouise. One has to fake kindness and one doesn’t. “It has been hard for us too.” Lola motions to her shadows behind her. All the girls nod their heads. “You know I always told Tori that those woods were dangerous. It is no wonder that she was killed there.”My ears prick up with what Lola just said. I stare at my sister. My sister, the girl who has won every spelling bee since she was five, the smartest girl I know. I stare at her with hope that she has noticed Lola’s slip. Only my family and the police knew where my body was found. But the only thing I see when I look at my sister is her eyes becoming crowded with tears. “She knew it wasn’t safe, but she loved being in that forest,” says Elousie as the tears are sucked back in while she turns up the slight corners of her mouth. Like she is remembering all the happy moments she and I spent in that forest. The smores, giggles, and memories. I wish I could just reach out and hug her.Lola walks off without another word. Elousie turns back to the people she was talking to before Lola came by.How can they just go back on with life? How can everyone just turn away like normal? How can they when Lola just made a huge slip? I can feel the heat of anger rising to my cheeks. I want to scream and yell out what has happened to me, but no one heard me when I was alive, so why would they now that I am dead?The post ‘The Forest’ is the winner of this month’s PCHS Writes short story competition appeared first on Park Record.