The Shy One

Chapter 2

Dear Diary,

It's me, Isabella. It's been 4 years, two months, and seven days since Dad left. Mom said if he cared, he'd send me a letter by now. I heard her talking about him to Aunt Jay the other day. She says he's better off dead for leaving us. I don't understand why she talks like that. I thought Mom loved Dad. If he's dead, how is he supposed to come back to us?

How is he supposed to come back to me?

We never got to finish hide and seek.

I guess I was just confused. When he left,

I was supposed to be the one hiding.

*************************

"Lydia," I call. She arrives at my door, hand on her hip. I didn't know she stayed over until I found myself in my bed, after my nap and finishing Tangled, I  had fallen asleep on the couch.

"What's up?" she asks. I toss her my empty tube of mascara.

"Did you use the rest of my mascara? You know it was my favorite," I scolded. She laughs and shakes her head.

"Nah. I guess you just ran out. I don't wear makeup, remember? By the way, You need more food. Do you want to go to the grocery store after school? I'll see if I have some time," she asks, walking to my closet. I nodded, as food shopping was my least favorite activity. You'd think, living alone as much as I did, I'd learn how to buy my own food, but here we are.

"You won't find anything in there that fits you unless you get one of my dad's old T-shirts, which are all off-limits," I strip off my PJs and shove her out of my way, grabbing my high-waisted flared jeans and a white long sleeve shirt. 

"I know. But a girl can dream," she sighs. Lydia wasn't just tall. She had a big bustline and a tiny waistline. A beauty through and through. I envied her more than she knew. She had no flaws, and boy did she know it.

I had a C-cup bustline. Small C. Just past b. And by no means would I say I'm beautiful in any way. Too many scars. Literal and metaphorical.  

"Okay, I'm grabbing a shirt from your mom's room. Where does your mom keep them again?" she asks. I toss her a green button-down I had stolen from my mother in hopes it would fit (it did not) and she slips it on, opening my small makeup drawer. Doesn't wear makeup my ass. She probably did use the rest of my mascara. That was some real pick-me behavior.

"How do you survive?" she mutters, pulling out the darkest lipstick I had. I shrugged. makeup wasn't ever really my thing. I knew the basics, and that's all I needed. Makeup was fun, but way too much work and cleanup. Not to mention having tog et up early to put it on? I saved it for weekends most of the time.

The drive to school was boring, and the day itself had no appeal. It was what happened when the school day was over that made the 'best moment of my life' list.

"Chase, Lydia, Isabella, wait!" Cole's distinct voice called over the drowning noise of students getting ready to leave. I turned in the direction of Cole's voice, and he motioned us over to his locker. I took a breath as I looked over at him. He was wearing a pair of black sweatpants with white fine-lined mushrooms lining the bottom cuffs and a plain black T-shirt, a few earrings dangling from his ears, notably one with a matching mushroom. He looked so casual yet handsome. He had the balance down for sure.

"Cole, what's up?" Chase asked, high-fiving him. Cole rummaged through his locker, looking around the now nearly-empty halls.

"This fell out of Isabella's backpack yesterday, and I grabbed it before anyone saw it," his deep voice whispered. He was so masculine, yet so caring. Mysterious, intimidating, but sweet, "I think I know why she had it, but I didn't want to draw any conclusions or make any of you uncomfortable, so I waited to give it back. I hope that's alright,"