love it if we made it ✔

Not Dreaming.

Izzy.
 
        "Is that — oh shit, it's her — no don't look!"

          I peaked sideways, through a curtain of hair and caught Georgie McElroy and Bodhi Del Mar deep in conversation, about me.

          Sitting opposite me on the train seats, they surreptitiously glanced at me, covering their lips with their hands. I looked across, and caught Georgie's eyes.

          A faint blush spread over Georgie's cheeks. "Hey Izzy."

          "Hey," I said, smiling. The girls grabbed their shopping bags and shuffled down the aisle, into the seats in front of me. I half stood, and gave them awkward, one armed hugs over the back of the seats. "You guys have a good summer?"

           Bodhi rolled her eyes, and sighed, "Same as every year, I guess. The Fontaine's tried to build a home made water park and ended up in hospital."

           A pang went through my stomach. I hadn't expected to be kept in the loop about everything, but at least, maybe that would justify a Snapchat?

          An uneasy silence came over us. Georgie plucked her new lip gloss from her bag and flashed it to me.

          She passed me a mirror and I undid the lip gloss, avoiding the black bags under my eyes in the reflection.

          "You missed the memorial," Bodhi said abruptly, and I fumbled with the lid of the lip gloss.

          I focused my attention on winding the lip gloss up, struggling to keep my voice steady. "Yeah, I know, I'm planning to go and see her —"

           Georgie interrupted, "Not her memorial. Didn't Corey and Sam tell you? We made one at the bridge."

          My body went hot and cold. "No, no one told me."

          The overhead PA system announced we would soon be pulling into Eastwood Station. 

           I absent-mindedly picked at the skin on my bottom lip, until I tasted blood.

          The train shuddered to a stop, and Georgie and Bodhi gathered their bags and stood. "See you at school!" Georgie threw over her shoulder, and I waved.

            "Fuck," I murmured to myself, struggling with my suitcase and backpack.

          I ducked my head, walking through the station, firmly placing my sunglasses on my face. I spotted several kids from school coming back from day trips to the city, and quickened my pace.

           Stepping outside, a blast of hot air struck me, and the smell of salty, ocean spray. Home, I thought, and navigated my way between the cars in the waiting bays.

           The wheel of my suitcase caught in a crack in the asphalt, and I stumbled.

            "Dickhead!" Someone yelled, and I threw my hair out of my face, eyes narrowed as I glanced.

          "Nice to know the sticks hasn't cured you of your lack of coordination," Corey chided.

           "Marlup is not the sticks," I snorted, and finally yanked my suitcase free, and spun around to face her.

          The breath left my lungs. Corey and Sam stood in front of the Prado, waving frantically, their phones videoing my reaction.

          They held ballons, and Joel and Corey both held up an edge each of a sign that read, WELCOME HOME IZZY!!