All The Plans We Made | Jenna Ortega

They Don't Know How much I Miss (her)

Jenna's POV:

My room went from my place of solace to the place I spend no time in at all. I'm only ever there to sleep. Being on set 24/7 was a good distraction from everything I was feeling. 

Ever since I stopped spending time with my friends my self worth has gone from little to none. I'm just some stupid kid who won the acting lottery. It's embarrassing. 

Y/N was like my safety net. She always held me close at my worst, and I would do the same for her. (Later it would break me to know that I didn't.) She was with me for the good the bad and the ugly. She cried with me when I didn't get a part, and she would jump for joy when she learned I had passed an audition. 

I remember the first time she ever saw me upset about the fact that I might never get a part. Her scooting over to me and reassuring me that no matter how famous or not famous I got, she would always be my biggest fan.

Being near Y/N was enough for her to lift my spirits. It's in sad dark moments like this that I long to be held by her again, even if just for a minute. Which sounds romantic but definitely isn't because I'm straight.

Work sucked today. My breakfast burrito broke because Taco Bell's new chef can't wrap a tortilla for his life, so I got beans all over my costume. The director hadn't enjoyed his morning so his frustrations got taken out on me and my stage siblings. Nothing seemed to go right so as I sit on the floor of my room, I look back and what I could have done better. What I could have done to make everything right.

You're doing it wrong, Jenna.

Mija, when will you learn to be grateful?

Jenna why did you let them talk to you like that?

I do everything wrong.

My breathing starts to become shaky. Worry floods my head.

You're not good enough.

No one wants to hire a girl with gorilla arms!

I shake violently, trying to shove the thoughts out but they're here to stay.

"Hey Jenna, you wanna come get takeout— holy guacamole what's wrong?" Aliyah bursts through the door.

"I—" I don't know what to say or how to say it. Aliyah crouches down next to me, not sure whether she should touch me. Her eyes reek fear, it looks like she thinks I've been possessed by the devil.

"I should get Mom...." she turns to leave. Instinctively I grab her arm, restricting her movement, "no." My mom can NOT see me like this. She either wouldn't get it or she'd take me out of acting. 

No one gets it.

"Ok jeez, I won't," she edges away, concerned.

My sister thinks I'm a monster.

I try to think back to Y/N's words. Breathe in, hold, exhale.

Y/N gets it, though.

I copy what she told me to do all of those months ago. I've used it every time since then and it eventually helps. Imagination is my friend in moments like these. I use it to pretend that Y/N's in the room with me, guiding me through this like she used to. I miss her more every day.

Once my breathing calms down, I plug in my headphones and try to relax. I've had these earbuds since Y/N gifted them to me all those years ago. Now that I have a phone, I don't have to listen to silly songs like "replay" anymore. I can listen to my own music.

My first year of "high school" goes by in a blur. It's eat sleep act repeat. Nothing more nothing less. I haven't seen Y/N since soccer(football to my non American audience) camp over the summer.

It's July when I finally get the vaguest update on her.

"Hey... Mia do you know how Y/N is?" Mia looks at my parents anxiously from across the living room. What could be wrong?

"See for yourself," she says, handing me her phone, open to Sam's instagram. The latest post is a month old. "April Photo Dump" it's captioned. The first photo is Sam and Sheila. Traitor, I thought. I continue to swipe there's photos of her boyfriend, a photo of a cake and finally a video of her spray painting a locker. I can't see what it is until she steps away revealing something that makes me gasp.

"Take that Y/N," she says over recording. I don't get it, "why would she do that?"

"There's a lot of rumors..." Mia starts, "most popular is that she liked Sheila, confessed, and Sheila platonically ditched her for Sam, told Sam and Sam told the world."

"When I asked her mother she said that Y/N's going through a lot, but that the vandalism wasn't wrong."

"Why...  why didn't she tell me?"

"I dunno," Mia said, "there's always the homophobic Christian stereotype."

"I wanna see her," I assert.

"Mija it's nine PM, I'm not driving you there. Wait until the morning."

"Fine, I'll walk."

"No way is Mom gonna let you walk alone in the dark."

"Will you go with me then, Mia?"

"That's not gonna help the case." I roll my eyes. My mom can't be that overprotective, I'm 15. Angrily, I storm up to my room, flopping onto my bed. I need to see her. I can't wait all night.

But I do.

I toss and turn all night trying to get comfortable so that I can finally fall into a peaceful sleep, but each inch of my mattress seems to be bumpy and both sides of my pillow are hot.

When I am graced with sleep it's feverish. No rest lasts longer than ten minutes. It's more exhausting to do this than it is to pull an all nighter.

****

8 AM on the dot. I rush downstairs and slip on my shoes.

"Mooooom, I'm going to see Y/N."

"That's nice, sweetie, have fun!"

I bound down the block, taking the first right turn. I need to see her.

It's been so long since I've walked this path, but I remember it like yesterday.

What have I done. I should have been there. Should have been a better friend.

When her house finally comes into my sight, I start to run even faster. I enthusiastically ring the doorbell. The door creaks open to see Y/N's mom.

"Hi Ms. L/N, is Y/N here?"

"Oh, Jenna. It's been a while," she shifts awkwardly, "no, Y/N's with her father in LA to finish up high school." My mood suddenly declines. Why didn't she tell me. I didn't even get a goodbye text.

"Why aren't you there?" I inquire. Her face falls, "he and I... we don't see eye to eye on a lot. And we certainly aren't living together." I didn't see that coming. I mean I knew they didn;t love each other the way my parents did, but still. I feel like a piece of shit for bringing it up. That was dumb of me. 

"Why isn't she there then?"

"Don't act like you haven't seen them." I look at her curiously.

"The photos," Ms. L/N says, "those girls have ruined my daughter. They've hurt her, mostly emotionally. It wasn't good for her here anymore. She'll be happier with her father. Away from this town."

"oh," I start to cry, "thank you for telling me Ms. L/N."

"She could have really used you back then," she looks a tad... angry? It's because you didn't reach out. You're so silly to not have even considered it. What kind of friend does that?

As time passed and show led onto show, Y/N became a distant memory. One I remembered every few months with a pang of guilt, but never followed up with. Yet at night when I couldn't sleep I would wonder to myself if she missed me the way I missed her. Even more importantly, though, I wondered if I'd ever see her again.