Maraschino 🍒 (gxg)

13

it's been a long time. a lot has changed, and that's okay. we shed our old lives to make room for the new ones.

./.

Chelsea stared at the ceiling, contemplating. She contemplated telling Carlie about the tattoo shop, about seeing mystery girl's picture and her being the cousin Lake watches over. She knew Carlie would want to know -- being the gossip queen that she is -- but didn't want to hear any bad talk, despite her promising to be nicer.

After the tattoo shop, they'd left the city to go back to Carlie's friend's house where Cheslea's things still were. As soon as they got there, Chelsea changed back into her own clothes and gave Stephanie's back; handing over the clothes felt relieving, removing the memories of the night before. They stayed there for the rest of the night, drinking and partying and doing other illicit activities. Chelsea didn't feel inclined to anything more than the weed. They all woke up the next morning, on Sunday, to head back to the academy, hangovers glaring under the harsh noon sun.

Now Carlie was typing on her computer -- probably messaging Bryan -- while Chelsea lay on her bed, earbuds plugged in her ears. She'd been pretty quiet, even more than usual, on the way back, thinking the whole time about the tattoo shop and if she should tell anyone. She wanted to talk about it; she didn't know anyone besides Stephanie, but she didn't have her number, and the only person nearby was Carlie, who was definitely less trustworthy. Was it worth the possibility of Carlie being mean and flippant, and pressuring for questions?

She was probably going to find out, regardless. Carlie had a knack for wringing information out of people.

"So did you notice anything weird about that tattoo artist's desk?" Chelsea tried to ask casually, but of course it just came out awkwardly.

Carlie stopped typing and turned around, suspicion already on her face. "Not really, like what?"

"There was a picture of his little cousin and him when he was younger."

"Is that who you guys were talking about? What about it?"

This was it, the moment of truth. "It was mystery girl as a kid. They're cousins."

Carlie shot out of her chair, nearly knocking Chelsea over on the bed. She bounced on the corner of the mattress like she could barely contain her excitement. "What? And you didn't tell me sooner? What's wrong with you?"

"That's why I didn't tell you sooner." Chelsea reached over and retrieved her phone that fell to the floor. "Because you always freak out when I tell you things."

"Well, yeah, but this is extra important. When were you going to tell me?"

Chelsea rolled her eyes. "Stop with the protagonist syndrome. I didn't want to tell anyone because of how people talk about her, and I didn't want you or Manny going around making rumors or spreading misinformation."

"It wouldn't be misinformation if it came from you."

We already know you'd add extra details to the story. But Chelsea kept that to herself. "Either way, please don't tell anyone, especially Manny. Knowing my luck, I'll actually tell someone something and all hell breaks loose."

"I think you're overreacting, but I won't tell anyone. I promise." She grinned.

"That includes Bryan, especially since he knows Lake personally. I'm not trying to make anyone uncomfortable or get bullied for no reason."

Carlie waved her hand dismissively, like she wasn't nearly wrestling Chelsea to the ground a couple minutes before. "Yeah, yeah, I'll keep my lips sealed. Got it."

Chelsea took that promise with a grain of salt, but didn't say anything more. The cat was out of the bag now, and any rumors or gossip will be solely her responsibility.

The next day, during first period U.S. History, the teacher was out, leaving them with an inept substitute that just showed a video about World War II for the whole hour. No one paid attention, not even the substitute.

Chelsea sat in her usual spot, watching the movie and doodling on her notebook, questions still buzzing in her head. Should she confront mystery girl? What would she say? Why am I so interested in this girl?

She wanted to take the chance and talk to her. Maybe she could get a couple answers and the questions could stop bothering her.

The seat in front of mystery girl was empty; Chelsea grabbed her things silently, trying not to catch the attention of the substitute who had their head buried in a magazine, and sat in front of her. Mystery girl looked unsurprised, nonchalant, almost like she expected her to come over. Chelsea ignored the irritation rising in her chest.

"You're blocking my view of the movie," she said quietly, eyes bored like a cat's.

"You're that interested in World War II bullshit?" Chelsea quipped.

"Not really, but it was better than watching the wall." Her tone was unenthusiastic. "Can I help you with something?"

Chelsea took a minute to reply. Did she really want to go through with this? Why was she so nervous to talk to her?

"Where are you from?" she asked. She wanted to come out and just ask the question, but couldn't think of a way to phrase it that wouldn't have an awkward outcome. She figured she'd try for a real conversation before jumping to conclusions.

Mystery girl was silent, the reflection of the TV playing in her dark brown eyes. Now that Chelsea was closer, she noticed the freckles brimming under her eyes and dancing on her cheekbones.

"I'm originally from New Mexico. My family is from Puerto Rico."

"Oh." Chelsea didn't know what she expected, but it wasn't an actual answer -- maybe some sarcasm with an outrageous response, like Mars. "That's cool, I had no idea."

"Yeah."

Silence. Chelsea didn't know what to say next; anything she thought of sounded like anxious small talk, and Chelsea wasn't a small talk kind of person, but she couldn't form the right words with her lips and teeth to make an ample conversation.

"Do you have a cousin in the city?" she finally blurted. She held onto her backpack with sweaty hands.

She looked at Chelsea, confused. Uh oh. Maybe that was someone else in the photo, and they just looked alike. How would she recover from that embarrassment?

"No, I don't," said mystery girl blankly. Chelsea had a feeling she was lying; there was a shift in her eyes, thinking for a second before responding. She was challenging her. Chelsea challenged back.

"Are you sure?" she asked with a lilt in her voice, trying to draw the answer out of mystery girl -- which she was. Her skills in fallacies were pretty good, but her racing mind and intimidating person in front of her clouded her mind and judgment.

"Yes, I'm sure."

Chelsea now had the courage to ask more questions, to push farther, when the bell for the second period rang. Mystery girl quickly abandoned her seat and dashed out of the class.

Chelsea scrambled for her own things, throwing her books and papers in her backpack, probably crumpling them all in the process but she would check on that later. She gently probed her way through the crowd clogging the halls, trying to imagine where she went, if she remembered what weird girl's next class was, but with no success. The most interesting girl in school had vanished.