2 years following the covid-19 lockdown, 16 year old Isabel De La Cruz feels fumbled and overwhelmed about school re-opening again. Sure, she might be attending Hollywood Performing Arts High, which is a dream come true, but daily encounters with he...
Summer went away, yet the yearning stays. 8th grade isn't all its precariously hyped up to be. Though it had been a cruel summer all preposterous season long, I'd prefer rising temperature and persisting sweat over middle school, any day.
I thought that 13 was the golden age, but it turns out that once you're officially a teen, there's nothing luminous about it. Instead, it's a great war, that leaves you rusted and grasping for more.
2019 was already an overwhelming year, that lurched right behind and stroked madly. I didn't need more to gravel. But I guess that's the whole jist of the disbanding coming of age experience, right?
As much as I try to play it cool with the best of them, I cautiously avoid any fatal eye contact towards the beloved cliche's of Midnight Junior High.
Incoming from the beffudlehallway is my best friend Harry Goldwyn.
I wait patiently, maybe he'll notice me against his locker. Shit no, that's stalker behavior. The last thing I'd want is to risk the shot of a friends-to-lovers romance , and have it swerve into unrequited love.
I navigated towards his direction, going over quirky conversation starters in my mind. Everytime he comes my way, and I think I have something to say, I end up luciiulsy* tounge-tied. Not even a message in a bottle could help me now.
" Ah, so there's the star herself. " Harry chuckled, aware of the convenience my honorary hall monitor title is now.
" I didn't choose this town. I dream of getting out. " I metaphorically spoke of the chaotic hallway, as a flustering town. If that's so, I'm walking fast through the traffic lights, of busy streets and busy lights.
" Tell me why. I insist. "
" Well, there's just one who could make me stay all my days. "I stalled to admit my languishing reasonings.
" And who would that idiot be? "He inquired.
" You. "
October 31st, 2019 . . .
From sprinkler ashes, to fireplaces, I wildly fled across. Though only 2 hours since Ashley's Halloween party commenced, it feels like ages since Harry last texted me back.
Multiple times, I searched the party of better bodies, finding no sight of him being there. Perhaps . . . he doesn't care. That's ought to be it.
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