She stood there out of place. Nobody wanted her there and she was pretty sure she didn’t want to be there either. Her black dress hung awkwardly over her large belly. She had a speech prepared but knew she couldn’t deliver it, not that his parents wanted her to. After all, how well did she know the boy lying in the casket at the front of the church?

The seats were so close together, she had to back up against the pew to accommodate her oversized stomach. She couldn’t wait to get those things out of there. She liked to imagine they were giant watermelons, it made things easier. She remembered watching the magic school bus as a kid. There was one video she would watch over and over where the boy with the ginger hair swallowed a watermelon seed. The gang jumped in the school bus and entered his body so they could save him. They got their just in time, because the watermelon had already started to grow.

Maybe if melons were the worst of her problems and she hadn’t been so self centred the boy wouldn't be dead. The melons inside her were almost her worst problems, but they weren’t really melons now were they? She should have asked him if he was okay instead of always whining about her problems.

Maybe he would have told her about all the times he had wanted to drag the blades across his wrists. She would have understood, because she had desperately wanted to do that too. The only difference between them was that he had done it, maybe she would too. One day, when it was no longer enough just to think about it.

A tear fell, but she quickly caught it with her hand. A little glitter remained on her hand from the birthday party her mom had forced her to go to the day before. She rubbed the back of her knee, the pew was really beginning to cut off her circulation and she was feeling pins and needles form in her feet. She wiggled her toes. It was hard to remember they were there; she just imagined herself as a giant blob.

She saw the boy’s mother glance over her shoulder at her. His mother had never liker her, but now pitied her. His mother wasn’t the one who had to walk in on him bleeding on the floor. Maybe he had stopped bleeding by then.

The girl looked onwards blankly, trying to zone out and ignore the eulogy. He wouldn’t have liked all of this, but then again what did she know? Her thoughts kept drifting back to the what ifs and she couldn’t help feeling like it was her fault.

After that, she would run a knife over her skin, but could never damage it. She had wanted to, but the melons had stopped her. She had tried once before. She thought she was taking something deadly. They were a deadly green colour. But they were only ulcer pills. So she went to school.

Now she’s a bit older. Not much, just a few years. The water melons are no longer hers and she can look back on it. She knows deep down that it wasn’t her fault, but she still can’t help thinking what if I just asked?