Archetypical
an excerpt

It all began with Santa Claus.
When Julep was eleven years old, she found out he didn’t exist. Not as a person, anyway. “But he is still around,” said her mother. “Everywhere that people carry the spirit of Christmas in their hearts.”
That wasn’t good enough for Julep. She wanted her certainty back. The knowledge that the world was absolutely right, that truth was true and that the fat man in the red suit was really the person stuffing presents into her stocking on Christmas Eve once she was in bed. She wanted that back. She had proof, after all, or so she’d thought until moments ago. Santa had visited her in the middle of the summer, seven years or so before. He left a candy cane and a note under her pillow. “Just passing through and wanted to tell you that I know you’re a very good girl. Love, Santa.” She’d carried that secret knowledge around with her for years, deriving comfort from the truth of Santa’s existence. He’d visited her in the summer. He was real. Despite what the boys at school said.
And now he wasn’t. It was that simple. Julep had asked her mother as they were wrapping presents, “Is Santa Claus real? The kids at school say he isn’t.” And her mother had said, gently, “No, Julep, he isn’t. Daddy and I are the ones who put the gifts in your stocking.”
It was a relief in some ways, to not be different from everybody else anymore. At least in that way. Julep knew she was still the odd person out in school. She wasn’t sure why she was so different from the other kids, she tried very hard to be just like them. But somehow, she didn’t fit in. And everybody knew it. But at least she didn’t have this secret to carry around any more.
And Julep had lots of secrets. That seemed to be a part of getting ready to turn twelve. It was like someone woke her up one morning and gave her an invisible bag, specifically designed for storing secrets. She was glad she had it, because suddenly there were lots and lots of things she wasn’t supposed to tell anyone about.