I wanna dedicate this chapter to LydiaWolf_YT for voting on my chapters. I wanna say I saw you girl, and my phone was blowing up in notifications during school. I appreciate it all, by the way, thank you so much for your support!
The day lazily passed by and in and went came the next, to the next.
I was still withheld inside my home, refused and restricted from exiting the house until the end of my due date. My father didn't specifically tell me how many days I would be required to stay home — and though, I'm happy for the fact that I wouldn't have to face Julian — and god forbid, face my problems — there are a few cons to the whole ordeal.
1. I can't leave the house.
2. There's a fuck ton of homework I need to do by the time I'm back.
3. My father keeps restricting my diet on what I should eat (main problem)
Iris and Graham given me some small updates here and there, with everything going on with school. I didn't tell Graham this, because of his newfound disliking towards Julian, but I asked Iris to give me some info on Julian. Of course, she continues to squeal in glee and jumps up and down declaring that I was in love with him, but after that, she promise she would look for him in the halls and keep me posted.
I was sitting on the floor, currently debating on which clothing piece I should throw out and which one I should donate to the charities that constantly contacts my father; he likes to give clothes to the homeless shelters, charities and children's hospitals. It helps, having something to do then being bored to death staring at a computer screen for 12+ hours.
I shrug the fabric, throwing both pieces into the box. I stood up, about to go into the next section of my closet when my phone dinged and I jumped over to the desk, where my phone sat. While I expected it to be an update from Iris telling me about Julian, I found Jaycee's name popped up in the text. She hasn't replied to any of my texts this morning.
JAYCEE 🥰
3:42PM
Jaycee:
Yeah I still have it, do you want it back?
Francena:
yes, as soon as possible please !! thanks!
Read at 3:45PM
Jaycee borrowed one of my old sweaters I originally planned on giving away, and since I knew she wouldn't want to keep it stored away, collecting dust in her closet (it was small, designed in a children's style and overall, childish), I wanted to ask for her to give it back so I could give it away — maybe find someone who has a love for ugly sweaters.
Slapping the phone back onto the table, I head back over to my spot on the floor just as the music switched over to an ad playing in the background. The next section of my closet was all my outwear, kept at the top of the shelf because I knew those items were primarily what I was going to donate to the foundations if the time sparks again.
Tiptoeing, I reach to the top of the pile and pull down on a jacket, but due to the large pile it carried, it brought down the rest of the nicely folded clothing alongside with it.
I jump back, hearing a thump on the floor as I notice a box alongside the pile. My brows furrowed and I lower myself to see the box. It was a small shoe box for one of my many Adidas pairs, and a clear piece of tape wrapped around the whole black box itself.
I rush over to my desk, grabbing a pair of scissors to cut off at the opening. I open the cardboard, revealing a bunch of notecards.
Miss Incomplete's notecards.
My brows crease together as I grab a handful of the notes and flipping through the cards as I read through the pack to see some of the cards written; suddenly, the memories of when and why I wrote it comes back to me.
During the summer of eighth grade, I wrote all of these letters of which I knew I was going to give to Julian. It counted itself like a story, the first card being when I met him, the second was when I realise I was going to like him, and so forth. Each card for each day of summer. It was like a sad love story, written by chapter to chapter, in smaller format.
I took a seat on the cool floor, taking the box into my lap as I sat crossed legs. I begin to search for the full story, because despite being the author to my own sad pathetic love story, I lost the memory of the play-by-play due it being four years since I've touched the box. I know bits and pieces, and somewhat remember the pattern, I just can't recall the entirely what I wrote on the white paper.
I search for one, two and three, lining them up to read it as a book.
In turn, one minute I was reading the notecards in my hands, gapping at my childish behaviour and to the next minute, my hand was on my phone, dialling in sync of Iris and Graham.
—
"What the freak, Francena? You keep a box of your love letters to Julian?" Iris said, running her fingers through the notecards as she digs herself inside, searching within the box as she reads the letters. I shook my head, putting my hand on my forehead as I lean back against the couch.
"I don't know, maybe this was fourteen-year-old Francena thinking that life is a such a struggle and since the guy she likes doesn't like her back, she must write what seems to be attempt poetry?" I sigh, closing my eyes as I stare inside my eyelids — darkness.
"Hey, you were young and going-through-a-phase," Iris reminds.
"I think the phrase was 'young and dumb.'"
"Nope, you're still dumb," Iris declares, making me straighten myself up to hit her lightly on the shoulders. Graham sat back against the chair, staring at the cardboard box filled with teen-hormone and in-the-moment notecards. He didn't make any attempt to read them, but instead held a blank expression.
I lean over, waving a hand under his face to snap him out of whatever he was thinking. He shakes his head, turning his head towards my direction, "you were a stalker, Francena Nakamura," he confess, causing me to roll my eyes.
"Thanks, Graham. The sudden urge to just burn them came to my mind but I decided 'hey, maybe I should tell my friends because they're my best friends, and they wouldn't judge me because that's what friends are for!'"
He chuckles, turning his direction back towards the cards. His eyes linger on the box once more before hesitantly taking out one of the cards. His green eyes scan the words, his brows form a slight crease between the middle before he puts down the note. "Really?"
"Which one was that?" I tried to lean forward to take a glance of the number, but Graham thought ahead and flip over the card to reveal the number itself. #34.
"Okay, to be fair, I was a sad and heartbroken wannabe-teen at the time," I held out a finger, and Graham shuts his lips together as if he was trying to hide the laughter he wanted to let out. I rolled my eyes again, snatching the card out of his hand and shoving it back into the box. "Next time, I'll burn your hair in your sleep."
He holds both his hands up in surrender, while Iris continues to situate herself between the notecards, trying to find some extra notes that I might've left off. I didn't. There was about sixty days of summer, there was about sixty-six notes—more than enough.
"Narnia is in the closet," I remind, seeing Iris continuing to dig, "and my gloves are in there, by the way, it's nothing special."
"The gloves that you used to write the notes with?" Graham queries.
"Yup," I nod, "I wash my hands with soap each time I put them on — and yeah, I know, I thought this shit through."
"I thought you could've been a spy because of this shit. You were so careful," Graham said, causing me to chuckle. I pick at the note, before dropping it back down.
"Not careful enough. Now Julian knows I'm Miss Incomplete—or was, I honestly cannot believe he figured it out that well."
"Hey, at least he knows you're not the one sending the notes to him now," she poses happily, trying to remain positive.
"I guess. But he knows that for the usage of our middle school years, Miss Incomplete was this creepy girl and that girl was me. This copycat, whatever, they are creepy somewhat like me, but it wasn't as bad as me. The only thing that's creepy is that they know the personal info about me."
"To be fair, you're an open book."
"Yeah, but info that only people close to me would know," my eyes went to Iris for a brief moment, and turned to Graham for a moment before dropping before the box itself.
"He told me he liked me, y'know? Before he found out that I was Miss Incomplete. Now, despite how much he did say he liked me, I think it died. Who would want to date someone classified as a stalker," I sigh heavily, frowning as my eyes scan the cardboard box. "I never have good luck, do I?"
"Francena, don't say that—" Graham comes closer, trying to comfort me when I hold him off, a wave of my hand in his direction to signify him to stop.
"I like him. A lot. Now, I fucked it all up because my pre-teen self couldn't keep a pencil and paper down and couldn't just told him upfront instead." I frown, chuckling sadly, "whatever. I don't want to worry about it now. It's not like the whole school knows, only Julian does. And hopefully, if I know Julian correctly, he's one to keep secrets."