Threads

Chapter 1

                           * Ellie *
I would like to say the moment I met her was extraordinary, but it wasn't. I thought she seemed stuck-up. But she was definitely hot, and I definitely noticed that she was hot, me being me. Her hair takes bounds and leaps every time she moves, and it's red and frizzy and wild, a crown of lion's curls framing her face. At first it seemed big and loud and in-your-face, just like her, and it still does-

'Ellie, I'm talking to you'
Frosty eyes are digging into my head. Her forehead is so furrowed I am perplexed at how it hasn't left a dent. In general, Miss Winters perplexes me. I'm thinking this while she's talking to me, so that might be why the only thing coming out of my mouth is a resounding 'Huh?'
'Would you like to entertain us with what you're writing, Ellie?
She has her arms crossed. Her stare feels like she's trying to burn through my head. Ironic for someone named Miss Winters.
'Rather not, Miss' I say with what I try to make a nonchalant smile. She gives me a funny look and returns to teaching with a sniff. Bitch. Thank god she didn't read my writing. Ivory is in this class, and I think it's pretty obvious who I'm talking about if you're not thick. Which, honestly, is something I can't say is true for most of my classmates.

The thing is, would it be so bad if she found out? She's supposed to know by now that we're "soulmates", or whatever other name you want to call it. That's what the threads are for. I've never heard of one party not seeing the thread or even, one party ignoring the thread. It's unthinkable in this world. Our whole lives have been built around the idea of these threads and the hope that we'll get a golden thread one day. Because a golden thread means true, unbreakable love, and who wouldn't want that? When we were 12, a boy and girl in our year faked having the golden thread just to seem cool. And it worked. They were seen as royalty for the three weeks they managed to keep it up.

Ivory is not the type of person I imagined myself being threaded to. Actually, I never thought I would get that lucky. I thought that I'd have to settle for somebody else who had also not gotten a golden thread. Many of these couples are happy, like my parents, but I'm sure there's a nagging feeling all the time that they are not your soulmate. That there is better out there for both of you. I did hope however, that like my parents, a golden thread would grow between me and my partner. Because souls can become so accustomed to being together that they can mold to fit each other, and when souls fit together so perfectly, it creates a golden thread. It's fascinating, really. Or maybe I'm just a nerd.

Of course, you don't see the threads when you first meet someone. They can take a month or two to appear. There's always a sliver of hope that the person you've met is "the one". I don't like the pressure. I feel much more comfortable after we've got that unrealistic hope out of the way.

The thread with Ivory appeared maybe a month after I'd met her at the start of the school year, after she'd cheerfully pushed everyone out of the way and plopped herself down on the seat next to me. She did a quick assessment and apparently deemed me not to be hostile, as she arched a thick eyebrow and asked me what I was reading. She proceeded to talk to me for the whole bus ride about the author. Well, she more talked at me. This is when I came to the conclusion that she was stuck-up. I've learned that it's not that she thinks she's better than you, though it can come off that way. She's not a great listener. But she gets so excited about sharing all the knowledge and it's rather refreshing, considering the majority of people my age spend most of their time trying to be what i can only call "aloof as to look cool but you really look like you're insecure and have no personality". Nobody gets excited about things anymore. That's one of the things I miss about childhood. The excitement the night before a school trip. Not being able to sleep on Christmas Eve and waking up at 4am on Christmas Day from excitement. Now I feel only a shadow of what I used to. Looking forward to things was half the pleasure of them.

It's the end of the school day and I'm taking the bus home. She stopped sitting next to me a while ago, after Jasmine started sitting there. She has other friends, anyways. Jasmine used to sit with her ex, Jamie, and they used to slobber all over the place. But then they broke up after she found out that he was not exclusively slobbering with her mouth. I can't say I'm surprised. However, Jasmine sitting next to me is not my favourite arrangement. I love her, but all she does right now is stalk Jamie, stalk anyone who likes his posts, she even started stalking his mum. I was ready to take her phone away at that point.

I should stop writing. I can feel Jasmine trying to read over my shoulder, even though she's trying to be more subtle now that I've given her the death stare. Her dark ringlets are bobbing all over the place while she jerks her head to try get a better look. God, is she nosy. I can't stay mad for long, though. Just looking at her makes me smile. She has a cartoonish grin, which really seems too big for her little face. Her face is covered in freckles, and I mean covered. When she laughs, (and she laughs a lot), her whole face laughs, and her laugh is so loud and bubbly it infects even the most solemn person.

I'm home now, and I can see my mum painting through the window. Or maybe she's painting the window. I wouldn't be surprised at this point, honestly. She started painting when I was born and she hasn't stopped since. My other mom, Clarissa, is probably baking in the kitchen. Or cooking. Or building something again. They're a very lively pair. I walk into the house to the smell of cinnamon and cloves and loud rock music playing on the stereo. My little brother is sitting at the kitchen table drawing. He's really taken after Elodie.

He sees me walk in and screams my name at me. I really do wonder sometimes if he thinks that if he doesn't remind me of my name that I'll forget it. Everyone says he's the spitting image of me, but personally I think he is a cuter, more proportional version of me. He has a lovely little button nose, and dark hair just like Clarissa. I ended up with light brown hair that looks like poop. Right now his forehead is furrowed in concentration. I decide not to disturb him. I walk into the kitchen to see Clarissa cooking Curry Laksa, a popular dish in Singapore. She is from Singapore and is well-versed in making delicious, mouth-watering dishes from all over Asia and the globe. Singapore, in my eyes, is the food capital of the world. The food there is so diverse and it tastes amazing. She's making cinnamon-chili rolls, which accounts for the cinnamon and cloves I smelled when I walked in. Cinnamon-chili rolls are an invention of hers and they are magnificent.
I walk the many flights of stairs it takes to get to my attic bedroom and lock myself in. I put headphones on and get started on my homework. I know it's not good to listen to music while I do homework, but honestly I can't bring myself to do the homework otherwise. I open my English book and find a flyer crumpled up inside it. Miss Winters is looking for new members for her poetry club on Tuesdays. I love poetry. I don't love Miss Winters. I'll have to think it through. I probably won't go. I never do anything anymore. My life
is preoccupied with Ivory and threads and homework.

I'm going to have to talk to Ivory. It's the only way. I'm not sure if it's just me being paranoid but I'm pretty sure she's avoiding me. I'm probably just paranoid. Right?

Jasmine is blowing up the group chat about a new girl she supposedly might have seen with Jamie at the new Italian restaurant in town. The ironic thing was that Jasmine was supposed to be on a date; she's looking for a new man to make Jamie jealous. And she got so upset she had to pretend she was sick and go home. She was sick in a way, I guess. Lovesick. I wonder how that feels.

Ivory has Instagram, but it is not of top stalking quality. She doesn't post much except for things about feminism and cats and a few pictures of her old friends in Australia. She has quite a gorgeous Australian accent. She's also quite tanned for a redhead. She does still have the traditional freckles, though.

I think I'm just going to go to bed. Not like I'll sleep much anyways. I have such weird dreams.