Megan Unspoken

The Sleepover

All day on Saturday, I was waiting. I painted very sloppy paintings because of my impatience. I could not think of enough words to describe my impatience. I wanted Bella to get here.
Eventually, the waiting erased my impatience and brought the feelings and words of panic. What if Bella did not like me after this? Or what if Bella herself had gross habits, like tooting in bed?
I could not bear the suspense. I was soon reduced to watching the clock. To me, clocks don't say "tick tock, tick tock." No, those are the wrong words to describe a clock. Clocks say more of a "click click, click click."
Finally, after I'd been staring at the clock for about twenty minutes, the doorbell rang. I quickly went to Mom, tugging on her arm until she opened the front door.
The first words Bella said were,
"Hello Mrs. Beauty. Where do I put my things?"
Those words were very polite. They had a dark maroon color and the smell of oatmeal cookies in the oven.
I poked Bella in the arm and pulled her to my room. After pointing to a corner, Bella dropped her things and said, "What do you want to do first?"
I thought for a moment before scribbling on my whiteboard,
"You choose."
Bella smiled.
"Do you have any bored games?" She asked.
"We have 'Sorry'," I wrote.
Bella nodded.
"Let's play that, then," she said.
After the game of Sorry (I won) we played tic-tac-toe, had a scrumptious dinner of macaroni and cheese, and got in our pajamas, we went to bed.
"Megan," Bella said.
I looked at her.
"I know you can speak," she said shyly. "I just know it. Why don't you talk?"
Her words had a deep blue setting and the smell of salt.
"Words," I wrote simply.
Bella looked confused.
"Nice words. Not for me," I put in.
Bella looked thoughtful.
"But you write wonderful things," she said. "So why would you not speak them?"
I shrugged.
"Not worthy," I scribbled.
Bella looked almost angry.
"Megan Beauty, don't you dare play that game with me!" she screeched. "You have more of a right to speak than most anybody and you know it!"
I shrank into the covers.
"Doesn't feel like it," I wrote, sighing.
Bella's nostrils flared.
"Oh Megan," she sighed. "I await the day you speak to me."
I felt bad after that. Her words had created the darkest black you can imagine with the smell of rotten eggs and roadkill mixed together.
"I'm sorry," Bella whispered after a while.
That made the black a little lighter, the smell a little less awful.
"It's okay," I printed quickly.
I did not want to lose my first ever friend.