Bianca was looking at the endless earrings, bracelets, pendants, hair ties, moving from one stand to another with a sad expression on her face. Two cheerleader friends followed her, constantly exchanging glances and whispering to each other, barely holding back their laughter.
Doesn't Bianca realize what awful friends she has? And then it hits me like a ton of bricks: that girl, whose name I don't know, slips something into Bianca's big bag. Did I imagine it? No...
The girls burst into laughter, already loud enough for me to hear from outside. Bianca turned and looked at them with surprise. They said something to her with fake expressions on their cunning faces and headed towards the restroom.
Bianca, check your bag! How did you not notice anything!?
I was at a crossroads, not knowing what to do. I desperately watched as Bianca slowly headed for the exit too.
I need to warn her! But what if I imagined it? No, that's not right.
Without thinking, I went up to Bianca and blocked her way.
"You're blocking me," the cheerleader said indifferently.
"Don't leave the store," I whispered to Bianca.
"Why on earth not?"
"Please, just trust me," I pleaded. "They put something in your bag."
Bianca skeptically studied me with her beautiful blue eyes. We were standing so close for the first time. I felt like I was even slightly out of breath — it's a strange feeling, considering I've always been very athletic and used to run track in my old school. I was pretty good at it, even competed a couple of times, but I quit when I realized my mom and sister didn't care what I did; they never came to my races and couldn't care less about my trophies. The reason I quit swimming was not just their indifference, it's that swimming, which I loved, was so unpopular in our town that it barely got any attention or funding. Guess what the center of sports attention was? Right! In both the city and the schools, only masculinity was favored: football players, their cheerleader hangers-on, and the dumb baseball jocks. No softball, so popular among women, no figure skating, no girls' hockey or soccer teams... Adults loved to talk about equality on screens and social media, but in reality, girls got nothing.
"Please," I repeated.
Maybe I can't change anything in this crappy world, but right now I can help one girl.
Bianca looked into her bag and froze. Her expression turned stone cold. She took out the trinket, which would cost her her reputation and a heap of other problems, and headed to the checkout.
I stayed in place, feeling mixed emotions. Since she didn't say anything to me or give me any instructions, I didn't know what to do. Maybe I hoped I'd be a hero-savior for her and earn some warmth in her starlight, but in reality, I remained in the same place, both literally and figuratively.
I should leave as quickly as possible before I got involved in a story I didn't want to be a heroine of. A star girl or a fun and comfy Ishani's friendship? The choice was pretty obvious.
I went back like a good girl. Through the glass, I saw that Ishani and her mom were already at the checkout. It meant we were coming home soon.
"Hey," someone quietly called out to me. I turned and saw Bianca.
"Hi," I said meekly, nervously putting my hands in my pockets to hide my trembling fingers.
"Thanks..." Bianca bit her lip. She was nervous too, I realized from how she's fidgeting with her sunglasses and a little envelope; she was almost juggling those two thingies.
"You are welcome, but really, anyone would've done the same in my place. Be more careful next time." I also bit my lip, unintentionally, but I doubt it looked as graceful as Bianca's: just a girl chewing her lip.
She nodded and handed me the envelope.
"What's this?" I asked, unfolding what Bianca gave me.
"A small thank-you gift — I bought what they tried to sneak into my bag."
"I don't need it. I already have the same one." I couldn't help but smile. "See?" I showed her the exact same bracelet with red stones that I bought today.
"What a coincidence. Well, if you don't want it..." Bianca replied slightly disappointed.
"I have another idea. Give me your hand! Don't worry."
She hesitantly offered me her hand; I took off my bracelet and put it on her wrist.
"It looks great! Better than on me," I exclaimed, admiring her hand, reluctantly breaking our fleeting physical and metaphorical closeness.
Bianca unexpectedly took my hand. I felt awkward; with all the moving, I hadn't moisturized my hands in a week.
They're so dry, it's awful! She'll think I came from farm.
She put on me a bracelet with the same kind of vigor and self-confidence as police officers in movies put handcuffs on naughty criminals.
"Beautiful!" the cheerleader said contentedly, looking at my wrist.
"Yeah, beautiful," I nodded, looking at her face. "Now we have matching bracelets. Just like the friendship bracelets from middle school," I chuckled.
"My name is Bianca."
"Mel." I extended my hand for a handshake.
Dang, I feel like such a dude doing this. But hey, she reciprocated, so I guess it's all good.
More chapters on my personal Patreon page
New updates:
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
