Heyo!
So FINALLY wrote this. I was actually having a hard time writing this, so sorry if it sucks /: I know it's quite...fillerish, in Wattpadian terms, but it still has some seriously important parts in it!
Dedicated to DyingToShoutOut because she's a black-tea drinking lazer-eyed dancing robotic ninja who not only ranted with me about sassy zebras, but also made that BREATHTAKING banner to the side. Her story, "Remember December" is a HIGH recommendation. Go read it and fan her. Now. I'm not even kidding.
N O W.
-Levi (: xx
She shut the mirrored door of her medicine cabinet and sighed, staring back at her reflection. She had dressed in a simple emerald-colored blouse with a black cardigan, equally-dark slacks and flats. Her long, sleek crimson-tinted locks were curled and cascading down her shoulders and back, the diamond studs in her ears glinting. She brought her hand to her chest were the locket lay on pale, smooth skin and gently traced a forefinger along the designs once more. The necklace was as old as the Parkers’ idle interaction with her and her family, and all she could do was sigh again. She didn’t know how well this would go—in fact, she didn’t know if it even would. The night was as unpredictable as her mother was a few days before, when she first made the call inviting them over. Iridesca raised her gaze in the mirror from her chest to her eyes, where the blue moons glowed bright with uncertainty and apprehension. Nonetheless, her reflected irises told her, it must happen.
She exited the bathroom with a pounding heart, every beat reverberating within her ribcage and through her body, ringing in her ears. Her stomach churned with the mixture of nerves and the aroma of baked chicken and cheesy pasta wafting from the kitchen and all the way to the upstairs hallway where she walked. The dim, orangey light from the entrance hall to the lower floor grew wider and wider as she approached the winding mahogany steps to which she descended slowly, not going down further until both feet had hit the carpeted stair simultaneously. With a total of twenty-three steps, she counted down in her head: Twenty three, twenty-two, twenty-one, twenty…
Taking it stair by stair, her anxiety grew stronger the lower she got, and by the time she reached the bottom, swallowing was hard. A low clattering sound signaled that her mother had just closed the oven door, and an even stronger smell of casserole breezed to her. Hunger pains gnawed at her stomach as she realized that she hadn’t eaten at all that day.
Before she had even realized it, she was standing in the doorway of the kitchen/dining room. She peered around the corner to see her mother draped in a purple wrap dress and apron, her hair twisted back into a bun, and her diamond earrings dangling as she leaned over the stovetop, observing the glass pan holding the casserole. After a moment of inspecting the side dish, she straightened her posture with a look of satisfaction, removing her apron and hanging it on the knob of a cabinet. “Oh hi, sweetie. I didn’t hear you come in,” June said with a chipper tone than usual.
Iridesca forced a small smile. “It smells good,” she quietly caroled with her graceful voice. June beamed.
“Thank you, I made some chicken breasts, some fettuccini Alfredo and green bean casserole. I also bought a chocolate cake; I wanted dessert but I knew I wouldn’t have time to make one,” she motioned to the bar separating the kitchen with the dining room where the glazed pastry sat on a cake holder proudly. Iridesca nodded and observed everything, taking in the meal she was sure that was about to change her life.
A sudden ring chimed through the house, and two different expressions dawned on the small family’s faces: June’s eyes lit up and a grin spread her cheeks, while Iridesca’s already-pale face lost whatever color remaining.
“Coming!” June’s voice caroled. She shot a beam to her daughter before bustling to the door. She took a quick breath and brushed her hands along the skirt of her dress and reached for the knob. “Hi!” she warmly greeted the older woman.
“June,” Elaine caroled, embracing her old friend kindly. “You look fabulous,” she noted, gesturing to her purple dress.
“Thank you, as do you,” June replied, mirroring her movements. They did a quick exchange of ‘I missed you’s while Iridesca shook behind the wall of the kitchen. Ten years, she repeated in her mind. After ten years I see her again. “Iridesca, come see Miss Elaine!” Her heart plummeted into her stomach, and she swallowed thickly. After inhaling a breath, she stepped out from the comfort and safety of the wall and into her past life.
The first thing she noticed was how much older Elaine looked. Of course she would have appeared aged; after all, it had been a decade since she’d last seen her. But she had grown crow’s feet around her caring brown eyes that could only have been made from stress or exhaustion. Her toothy smile was still vibrant but seemed forced instead of its usual blissful and natural undertone. Her hair was slightly graying—no surprise there either—but the mahogany color had dulled to a sleepy brown.
The second point she made based on Elaine’s appearance was the expression she held: at first, when Iridesca had just rounded the corner, she wore a sharp grin, but as soon as she saw her, her smile faded to a disappointed look. Her fuchsia-stained lips were pursed into a thin, slightly wrinkled line as she analyzed her up and down. Iridesca was automatically confused and slightly chagrinned, but she kept her small smile and approached the older woman. Eventually, Elaine’s smile returned, sadder and much more forced—if even possible—but she still greeted the teenager warmly. June, however, was completely oblivious to both of the ladies’ feelings; assuming they were both happy to see each other, she kept her excited grin on her cheeks as the two embraced each other. The dark corner in her mind knew that there was something more—there always was—but she went with the phrase that kept the beautiful mask on her life: ignorance is bliss.
♥♫♥
Frustrated, she whipped her eyelids open and huffed.
She sat straight up in her bed and tangled her arms across her chest, pouting grumpily. She was exhausted but restless; it was one in the morning, and it had been a lethargically-going, flustering day, yet she still couldn’t sleep. Grace knew why, though: the dinner with the Belleviews. It had been two days since her mother called informing her of it, but she, feeling highly uneasy about the whole situation, declined the offer. Not like it was much of a declination, nor was it an “offer”; she had excused herself saying work didn’t allow. It was a white lie, yes, and Grace resented lying to her mother, but it was for the best.
She ran a hand through her blonde locks, wiry from constant use of mousse, and sighed with enervation. The hotel room was silent except for the low whisper of the air conditioner. She reeled scenarios through her mind consuming what was going on at the dinner; they could be having a jolly time, catching up, eating a hearty meal, or it could be extremely awkward, like she had predicted.
Suddenly, a flashback roamed her thoughts:
“Gracie!” a familiar high-pitched voice and blue eyes called as she bolted out the front door to greet Grace. With a dazzling smile, her best friend tossed her arms around her neck. It was midsummer after sixth grade, and the two had just seen each other after a month of no connection.
“Beary!” she returned the call as they giggled and hugged each other like she had risen from the dead.
“Hi, Grace,” a small, young voice said to her left, and she looked down to see Beary’s little ginger-headed sister.
“’Sup, Cheeto,” the twelve-year-old blonde teased, ruffling her red hair. Her pale cheeks flushed red as she looked down with embarrassment, and Beary nudged her sister.
“You know she’s just kidding,” she assured the six-year-old, and returned her gaze back to Grace. “Let’s go!”
Beary leading, like the confident girl she was, Grace following, and Cheeto lagging behind, the three girls cut through lawns and backyards, their flip flops flapping and towels flying. Finally they reached a friend of theirs house where screeches of fellow twelve and thirteen-year-olds came from. “Hi, Mrs. Crowley, bye Mrs. Crowley!” Beary called as they passed through the house and to the backyard where schoolmates were cannonballing into the water. It was their friend’s, Candace Crowley’s, thirteenth birthday, and they were having a huge pool party.
Beary stopped and kicked off her sandals, Cheeto and Grace doing the same, and pulled her cover-up off her torso. “Whoa, what’s with the new bikini?” Grace smirked, eyeing her best friend’s navy blue two-piece. Beary, slightly blushing, looked down at her own body and shrugged with a smile before diving into the chlorine-contaminated water.
After a good amount of time spent swimming, they all got out to sing Candace the happy birthday song. While Mrs. Crowley lit the candles on the double-tiered cake, Henry, Grace’s brother two years her senior, shook the water out of his damp brown hair. Beary, not taking her eyes off him, leaned into Grace and whispered in her ear, “God, Gracie, Henry is gorgeous,” she gushed, and Grace, disgusted, scrunched her nose and looked at Beary disbelievingly.
“Ew!” she snarled, and Cheeto, standing sheepishly behind them snickered. The noise distracted Mrs. Crowley, and she accidentally missed the candle with the lighter and caught her finger. Alarmed, she flinched and cowered back, knocking a tray of cups with punch into Mr. Crowley. Everyone—except for Candace who, embarrassed, shook her head and hid her face—burst into laughter, and Henry and Beary held an awkward gaze as they smiled at each other. Grace just grinned approvingly of the two and started caroling the lines of “Happy Birthday.”
♥♫♥
Louis’s cackle ran through the hotel room as it harmonized with the audience on the television. “Alan Carr is at it again,” he beamed, shaking his head. “Haz, come see this! Alan and Olly: hilarious!” he called, pressing the rewind button. A moment after he paused the show at a funny point and noticed his best mate not being there, he looked back to the view of the kitchenette. “Haz?”
In the dining room of the hotel room, Harry sat staring intently at the screen of his laptop, headphones in his ears. He watched The Cover Girl’s facile fingers soar flawlessly over her keyboard keys, her voice filling his ears. “I, I’ll survive,” she sang Avril Lavigne’s song beautifully. “When the world’s crashing down and I fall and hit the ground; I will turn myself around, don’t you try to stop me—” a sudden hand on his shoulder made Harry jump.
He pulled out his headphones and looked up to see Louis smirking down at him. He sighed. “Jeez, Lou,” he grumbled, pausing the video.
“You seem pretty engrossed in that MacBook. Liam’s gotcha obsessed with that YouTube girl, eh?” Louis asked with a cocked eyebrow and knowing smirk.
Looking up into his band-mate’s blue eyes, he knew he couldn’t try to lie. Harry sighed and ran a hand over his face. “She’s fantastic,” he admitted.
Exhaling, Louis took a seat next to Harry. “So is Ed Sheeran, but I don’t see you ogling over him. Unless, yeknow, you do it when I’m not around.” He perked up worriedly. “You don’t do that, Harry, right?”
Chuckling, he closed the computer. “No, I don’t ‘ogle’ over Ed.”
“So what’s it about this girl that’s got you crazy?” Louis asked, folding his arms and leaning back. “I’d suggest the fact she’s hot, but you don’t see much of her. Although if I do say so myself, she is nicely-chested,” he said, wriggling his eyebrows.
“Watch it, mate; you’re quite taken, remember?” Harry corrected with a small smile. He looked back at Louis who gazed expectantly. After a moment, Louis impatiently raised his brow. “I dunno,” Harry shrugged, looking down at his wringing fingers. “I guess it’s the secret that’s got me hooked.”
“Viable,” Louis agreed. Harry was both inquisitive and obstinate—a bad mix at most times—but in the end he always found out the truth. “Well,” Louis started again, “I’m quite knackered, so I think I’m hitting the bedroom.” He stood up and went to exit the room, pivoting right at the doorway. “And Harry,” he called, the curly-haired-boy looking back, “don’t kill yourself over The Cover Girl.” With a wink, he shuffled out of the room and into his own, where he flopped on the comfy mattress and closed his eyes.
There was a minute or two where the boys, although in different places, simultaneously just thought: Louis pondered over whether or not Harry would be able to decode this one. The Cover Girl was well-hidden; the only factor making her vulnerable to disclosure would be her voice, and it’s nearly impossible identifying someone palpably unknown to the public, no matter how belletristic they are. But again, Harry did have that determined reporter personality, as Louis had named it, and connections, so really there was no telling. With a sigh, Louis clicked off the lamp and pulled the duvet over his shoulder, drifting into sleep.
In the dining room, Harry was still mulling over The Cover Girl. He had made some mental notes: One, her room—it was quite bare, and the sun always shone through it, meaning she lived in a sunny place; two, her voice—it was hard to pinpoint a certain genre, so she had to have grown up in a musically diverse atmosphere; and three, her necklace—it was a locket, and she always had it in camera view. That last factor baffled Harry senseless. He was flustered by the fact that she was practically exposing herself with her necklace by how identifiable it was, yet no one seemed to have either noticed, or cared to pry. That’s changing, Harry decided. I have to find this girl. I absolutely have to.