𝚂𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚊𝚜𝚖 𝚒𝚜 𝙼𝚢 𝙱𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝙵𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍 (Complete)

𝙰 𝙷𝚘𝚋𝚋𝚒𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙷𝚎𝚛 𝙵𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚜

"That wasn't so bad, was it guys?" Lucas questions as we leave the science room. His hands rest on the back of his head, and he walks in his usual nonchalant state.

"I wasn't sure which explosion was worse, the paper mâché volcano or Mrs. Engroff's head," I deadpan. "Her head was the only one everyone seemed to notice, that's for sure."

"Plus, she was too big of a fan of yours to yell at you—like at all," Lillian adds softly. She puffs out her right cheek. "It's so unfair."

"Life's unfair," I return.

Ｌｉｆｅ

T𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐡𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐥 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐮𝐩 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐱𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐧 𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐮𝐚𝐥

Ｌｉｆｅ

T𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐝𝐞𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐮𝐧𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐫

"Tell me about it, sister," Lillian agrees.

I laugh at her statement, and she joins me. At first, I had thought Lillian was only a shy, delicate girl with with a complete lack of self-confidence, but she actually has a teasing, girly side, and she frequently makes jokes as we head to the cafeteria.

I guess it just takes time for someone like her to adjust to strangers.

"Continue the rest of the way without me," she says suddenly. "I'll meet you guys there. I just need to pick up my camera in the club room."

"I didn't know you did photography," I say in surprise.

"I do!" she answers cheerfully. "I also like poetry, and I'm in the nature, star gazing, and garden clubs. I'm what I like to call a hobbier."

Come to think of it, I once knew a girl in kindergarten who had a lot of hobbies. She used to call herself a hobbier too in her high, squeaky, and honestly kind of annoying voice—it was probably why most of the kids ignored her. She mainly stuck around two boys in the back, one with red hair and one with dark blond—at least that's what I vaguely remember. They had seemed super close, even closer now that I remember their friendship in my matured teenage mind. If I hadn't read their last names on their name tags (our teachers made us wear them so we could make friends easier, although it never really worked), I probably would have thought they were siblings. They always looked out for each other like they were.

Since I wasn't really interested in making friends back then—or even now—I can't remember her name or what she looked like for the life of me. She could be in my class or even in the seat in front of me and I wouldn't even know.

I wonder if she's still friends with those boys?

———————

We all sit at the same lunch table—me, Lucas, Justin, and Lillian—and discuss tomorrow's concert in hushed voices. If someone heard our conversation, the reminder would send the teenagers into a flying torpedo aimed at Lucas. I remember when he first became famous and there was a constant thick bubble of people around him as he innocently walked between classes. I admit that, at the time, I had no idea who in the French fried world he was, but then he just had to bump into me at the 'show' at a park near a beach—I still hate the beach by the way—and now we're supposedly friends.

I guess it's my parents' fault for making me go to the event while I was supposed to be 'grounded'.

"Paris, you're going to be working the lights," Lucas says. "Matthias is willing to show you the ropes of things later today since he's available for a few hours. He's one of the guys that can't make it tomorrow."

"The lights?" I question. "Why?"

"Because Justin has worked the cameras plenty of times before," Lucas replies, "and Lillian is needed in the backstage room to help my backup dancers with hair and makeup."

"But can't she do the lights after she helps them?" I ask.

"She needs to have her hands clear for any makeup or wardrobe malfunctions."

"Are we putting on a concert or a play?"

He doesn't appear to hear my final comment as he turns to Justin and continues going through some extra details that I don't pay attention to.

Does he really think I can pull something like this off? I've never done anything like this before. I've never even been to a concert. Other than the Bach one my grandma took me to when I was five to 'help her mind grow the right way' and 'help bloom the inner music in my chikita's soul'. Sorry grandma, but I don't think I'm becoming a concert pianist anytime soon.

If I really want to look on the bright side...at least I don't have to go as Collin's 'date'. Maybe he can take Mrs. Eleanor instead.

I stare half-blind at Lucas, Justin, and Lillian planning and chatting like the old friends they are. My thoughts immediately go back to the hobbier girl and her world that seemed so lonely, but truly wasn't the least bit so. It probably only took one friend to see past solo. Imagine having two.

Maybe Lillian was the hobbier girl, maybe she wasn't. It wasn't like it mattered. It kind of felt like being a wet blanket, that one awkward friend in a group of friends that are closer than close. It makes you want to set yourself apart, far enough to not be a part of their conversation, but still able to see their smiles.

"Paris. Paris," a voice calls me from my thoughts.

"Yeah, yeah, what is it?"

"Are you okay with the whole arrangement?" Lucas continues.

"Sure, it's fine," I reply. Then I rise in my seat and say, "I should get going. I have to go somewhere before class."

"We'll go with you," Lillian says, rising beside me with her tray. "I'm not really hungry for this stuff schools try to pass off as food." She gives me a warm smile that I don't return.

"It's fine," I return hastily, "I'll see you guys in the class after this one. We have that one together, right?"

"Just you, Justin, and me. Lucas has language arts," Lillian answers, her smile fading as she attempts to read through my expression.

Girls can be so annoying sometimes, thinking they've got you all figured out just because you're the same gender.

I know she's just trying to look out for me, but I still feel a flutter of anger in my stomach.

"Anyways, see you guys later," I say before turning and leaving the group behind. I hear Lucas and Justin leap into a conversation about the horror of lactose-free milk, but I don't hear Lillian jump in.

Just stop worrying about me.

Please.

Look away.

Join their conversation.

Be happy so I can watch your smiles from a distance.

I manage to ignore what feels like her stare burning through the back of my head until I reach the cafeteria door. Then I slip out and away from the hustle and bustle of the chatter city.