Backstreet Boy

|Chapter 30: An Offer|

Isabella

In order to get back into Mother's good books and trust me to go out of the house this week, I had succumbed to filling up my many diverse portfolios.

Mother occasionally loitered outside of my room, making the blunder which was the recurrent creaking of the floorboards. As of yet, she hadn't deemed my punishment severe enough to confiscate my phone, but I guess there was still time.

Even Felix and Abigail had gone out today because it was Monday, the beginning of the week off for spring break. Both had been out all day and still managed to virtually inhale their food and forget all about the primary part of their digestive system which is required to break down the food.

By Tuesday, having abandoned all neatness and order in my room, I had officially gone insane. My floor was covered with scrunched up pieces of paper from disposed of designs that I abhorred the concept of. I hadn't even reached the colouring stage of them yet, either. My portfolios were also organised by accessorised and different types of clothing like evening wear, casual (the casual pile was higher due to consisting of more portfolios). My bed was being utilised for the portfolio organisation.

"You have to rescue me please," I said through the phone to Lizzie. "Please. Mother won't let me flee because she thinks I'll go to Jason."

"Hold up," she said, "Jason? She knows?"

"I'll explain when I see you. Please just come and get me."

"I'll be there in ten minutes, alright? You better explain everything."

Obliging, I hung up and tidied up my room to the best of my ability. By which, "the best of my ability" should be deemed horrendously tidying up. I squashed down the papers in my bin and only managed to add a few more scrunched up pieces in there. Then I had to transport the brimful and overflowing bin downstairs to the main trash outside. Then I had to make an extra voyage for the pieces on the floor which I had to scurry around my room on my hands and knees, picking up paper and chucking them into the bin.

With the portfolio predicament, they were too large to block out carpet and walking space which would just infuriate Mother, so I kept the majority on my bed. Some others, I managed to cram under my desk out of view. Then I just had to neaten my desk up. There were the occasional pens or pencils on the floor, too which meant more crawling around.

Cheeks a raging shade of magenta, the doorbell went as soon as I stood up. I had just enough time to reach out and grab my phone (having been texting Jason profusely over the weekend) before running down the stairs. I ran to the door as Mother emerged from the garage. By this point, I was sure I was sweating abundantly, and the heat outside wouldn't help because the sun had been blaring through my window by my desk.

"Lizzie's at the door, Mother," I said, opening the front door.

Lizzie stood in the threshold, a smile on her face. "Hello, Grace. I was wondering if Isabella would like to come out with me for a bit."

Mother stood wearily against the door to the garage. "Good afternoon, Lizzie. And yes, I suppose. She's been cooped up in her room all weekend. I've been telling her that it's not good for her skin. She'll go ever so pale."

"Thank you," said Lizzie. "And tell Michael I said hello, please?"

Grace was Mother, and Michael was Father. Not many people referred to adults by their first name considering it was deemed discourteous so they frequently used the terms "Sir" or "Madam" or just by using their surname and addressing them formally. Lizzie seemed quite a breach to that regulation in The Valley.