BELLE
"I'm not sure what you were thinking going out there," Haley says to me once we're alone and inside of the black SUV that drives us everywhere. Me, Bailey, haley, and Bep, my security guard, are all piled into the backseat.
"I was thinking of doing something that meant something to me," I tell her as a short response.
"I told you that-"
"Everything has to go through the label. Yeah, I get it. This is something my heart was telling me to do," I snap at her. "You tell me all the time to choose my heart over my head. Now that I did, you want to be a hypocrite and get mad at me?"
Bailey squeezes my hand next to me. I only ever got super mad at Haley once. I was sixteen and I walked out on stage wearing the wrong outfit. It was supposed to be my Grammy outfit, and I ruined the debut of a couture line. I had never been so embarrassed in my life. Haley was yelling at me about how stupid I was. Then I got mad. She had no right to yell at me when she wasn't there to tell me otherwise. She insisted that she didn't need to be a part of the getting ready process. Ever since then, she's never missed one.
She pinches the bridge of her nose and sighs. "I will fix this, Annabella."
She only uses my full name when she's frustrated with me. I shrug. "Okay."
The driver drops off Haley first. Then we go to my house when Bep and Bailey and I get out. Bep usually stays in my downstairs guest bathroom. He's a big and burly guy, so for being called Bep, it humors me quite a bit.
"Heading to bed, Ms. Graves?" he asks me. "Or is the new Grammy winner going to break her call for bedtime?"
I shake my head. "My bed is calling for me as we speak, Bep. As should yours. You've had a long day."
"My day ends when yours does my dear," he insists and I roll my eyes as I unlock the door.
"I'm proud of you," Bailey tells me and hugs me from the side.
"You've been telling me that for the past three hours, Bails," I chuckle and she grins from ear to ear.
"Because I am. I'm so proud of you. You have no idea. You deserve everything you've gotten up until this point to get you where you are," she assures me as she's holding my face and beaming at me.
I envelop her into a huge hug, squeezing her until it sounds like she can't breathe any longer. "thank you. For everything."
Bailey heads to bed a few moments after out hug and her telling me how proud she is. I half expect a call from my mom right about now, but I know she's probably asleep by now. So is my dad. It's hard living this far away from them because we can't match on time properly. I know I will talk to her tomorrow, but I still wish the most out of this.
My boots come off immediately and I shimmy off my jeans. My shower runs in my bathroom, steaming up the room and fogging the mirrors. I wrap a towel around my body before sliding inside and hopping into the shower. Scrubbing away all of the hairspray that rests in my hair, I was it thoroughly and condition it as well. My face comes next, smearing the make up all over before rinsing it clean.
Stepping out of the shower, I wrap my towel back around me while drying my hair with another. My pajamas are put on instantly before I grab my pen, journal and snuggle into bed, deep under my covers.
dearest reader,
i guess i should write about winning my Grammy. but if I'm being honest, the award hardly means anything to me. it's a huge hunk of metal that shows off I'm better than everyone else. which i guess should make me excited. people think I'm great enough to be the best. but it doesn't. i just want to make music because i have a passion for it. not to win a popularity contest.
what I really and truly want to write about is my song. the song about the only boy I've told you that i'm in love with. i guess it's naïve of me to think he loved me back then or to think of my fascination for him as love. it's also naïve of me to think he'd be able to recognize that the song was about him. i did change my life overnight and never see anyone again.
in all honestly, i never had any intention of singing that song in public or to anyone, especially not at the Grammy's on national television. But something about performing it felt right. part of me hoped he was watching it somewhere. part of me also hoped he'd know it was about him
My phone begins ringing on my bed next to me making it vibrate. My face is drawn up in confusion on who could possible be calling me at this hour. As I check the caller ID, my face lights up from the screen. My mother. I would assume she's be asleep already. I click accept and out the phone to my ear.
"Mom?"
"Ellie Belly!" she cheers with lots of joy and excitement. My mom is the only person who calls me Ellie Belly. Well, maybe not the only one. There's one other person.
"I thought you'd be asleep. That's why I didn't call," I explain to her, hoping she doesn't feel a twinge of sadness for me not calling her.
"Oh sweetheart don't worry about it. Congratulations on the award! I wish I could be there to celebrate with you darlin'," she sympathizes and that's where the real sadness lies.
I sigh and lean back in my bed. "Mom why don't you and dad move here?"
She chuckles in the other end. "Honey, your father and I were not built for city life. We'd be happy that we're near you but not happy that we're not living our lives."
"I know I know. A girl can dream," I mutter.
"Mrs. Ringenston says congratulations and hello," she tells me and it makes my heart skip a beat. Or maybe a couple.
I swallow the lump in my throat and force a smile. Not that I need to, but I feel like my mom knows when I'm not smiling. "That's nice of her."
"Annabelle..." she trails off but stops. She doesn't say anything further. She knows not to push it. So she doesn't. "Well, anyway. It's late here. You know how your father likes his sleep."
"I'll talk to you soon, mama."
"Bye, my Ellie Belly."
And for some reason, I cant go back to writing after she hangs up.
THEO
I think I've been staring at my ceiling for 45 minutes. I would sit here and tell you I don't know why and I just can't sleep if that was the actual reason. Only it's not, and I know that.
I know who Belle wrote that song about. And I know it was me.
NINE YEARS AGO
"Hi, Theodore," I heard her voice before I could see her. I knew it was her. Her voice sounded smooth, like butter and honey and soft feathers found in the pillows my mom kept on her bed.
I peeked open my eyes and I saw her face, upside down, her head hanging over mine. She was grinning ear to ear with her hair in a messy long ponytail. Her face had a smudge of paint on it. I didn't tell her though. I thought it suited her.
I sat up on the swinging bench. She loved the bench. She told me that's what she loved the most about my house. That and the fact that I lived here. "Hello, Annabella."
She plopped down next to me with a big sigh, causing the bench to move. She was tiny, so it didn't move a ton. "Why do you call me Annabella?"
"I told you. You have a pretty name."
This made her unhappy for some reason. She groaned and leaned her body back. "Everybody calls me Annabella, Theodore."
I thought for a second. I wasn't really sure what to call her. "Anna" seemed too old. "Belle" didn't fit her. "Bella" wouldn't work either because there were four of them in our grade.
"What about Ellie?" I asked, hopeful.
Her eyes perked up and she smiles at me. The same ear to ear grin she gave me moments before. "I like Ellie. My mom calls me Ellie Belly."
"Ellie Belly..." I ponder. "I like Ellie Belly."
She's quiet for a little bit. Her thumbs twiddle in her lap and she bites her lip while she listens to the humming of cicadas. "You can call me Ellie Belly."
"Really?"
"Yes, but you have to pinky promise something," she said in all seriousness.
I nodded. Anything for her.
She stuck out her pinky and that's when I first noticed how stubby her fingers were. Not in a weird way and certainly not in a bad way. Her fingers were just short. The tops were calloused over from how much she played the guitar. I liked when she brought it over. I told her it sounded like honey. She laughed.
I hooked my pinky with hers and looked her in the eyes.
"Do you, Theodore, extra pinky promise to never ever hurt me? So much that I cry? So much that it hurts to breathe?" She asked me. "Only people who pinky promise, extra pinky promise, get to call me Ellie Belly." I thought I would be surprised or concerned by her words. But I wasn't.
I don't know why it was so easy, but I squeezed my pinky around hers and smiled. "I extra pinky promise, Ellie Belly."
She beamed back at me, her bright blue eyes shinning as she did. "You can call me Annabella too."
She sat back in the bench and began to swing it. Her journal was in her lap and the purple pen she always carried. She was quiet for a few seconds and so was I.
"But only sometimes."
I wish I made her make a pinky promise to me that day. Maybe things would've been different.
- - -
Some part of me wants to be angry with her. So angry with her. The most angry I've ever been. I want to call her up and scream and yell and tell her how she never should have been allowed to do that to me.
But another part of me wonders why it's so bad to just move on. Only, I don't think it's bad. I just don't know how. I don't think I want to. At fifteen, she practically ruined me. I guess it effects long term.
I shake my head and try to fall asleep. Preferably not thinking about Annabella Graveston.
Or Ellie Belly, since I never really did break her pinky promise.
But she would've broken mine.