In my room, lying on my bed, I replay everything that happened today at school, wondering once again why Tom said those words and, above all, why one minute he seems like a sensitive guy and the next he's irritating and moody. Maybe the idea of being good-looking has inflated his ego, and no one has managed to put him in his place yet.
That's definitely not my job—I have a thousand thoughts racing through my head and plenty to work on for myself.
Starting with finding the strength to get out of bed, eat dinner, and get ready for tonight.
**"Hey, Ella! Are you ready for tonight? Let me know what you decide to wear, XX."**
A message from Ivy, reminding me that I'm obviously late. Earlier today, while walking home, I tried explaining that going to a pub isn't really my thing, but she was so excited, saying she couldn't wait to see Zack and Tom embarrass themselves. Although, every time she mentioned Zack, her face changed color... I'm absolutely sure she likes him.
At school, when I saw them leaving the gym together, I noticed how he looked at her. I wonder if she's the one he wrote that song about on the rooftop.
**"Hey, I'm hopping in the shower soon and then getting ready. Could you help me pick something to wear? I've never been to that pub and have no idea what to put on, XX Ella."**
No reply from Ivy yet, and I'm clueless about what to wear.
I start pulling out all my clothes from the closet and tossing them onto the bed, hoping for some inspiration. That's when my mom walks into my room, sees the mess, and asks if a bomb went off in here.
"No, Mom, I just don't know what to wear. Help me, please."
"Let's see... black, black, and more black. I see there's nothing colorful here. Perfect..." she says, rummaging through the scattered clothes.
"Here, got it!" she exclaims enthusiastically. In her hands is a red V-neck top covered in sequins.
"It'll go great with these jeans, obviously black, and your usual leather jacket," she says.
I glance at the outfit laid out on the bed, tilting my head to the right and then to the left to decide if I like it.
It's perfect!
I throw my arms around her, thrilled, and thank her with a big hug.
Ivy's car horn blares in the driveway.
I peek out the window to let her know I'm coming down and notice there's a guy in the car with her. Who's this now?
I race downstairs, slip on my favorite boots, and grab my bag.
Opening the front door, I hear Ivy shout, "You look amazing! Now hurry up; they're about to start playing."
What's all this urgency to rush out for two people she claims she can't stand?
Ivy speeds off and asks the guy beside her to put on some music.
"Alright, we've got Queen, Elton John, Nirvana. What should I play?" he asks.
Tapping her leg, she responds, "Queen, obviously."
Every day, this girl surprises me more—our music taste is so similar.
"Oh, silly me. Ella, this is Harold, my brother. Harold, this is Ella, the gorgeous one, obviously."
"Nice to meet you!" I say.
"Nice to meet you, too!" Harold exclaims, turning to brush back his long, wavy hair that falls perfectly across his soft-featured face. His striking green eyes catch my attention—they're nothing like Ivy's.
YOU ARE READING
1 9 9 1 Beyond the scars
RomanceElla is a young woman who carries invisible scars within herself, left by abuse and violence. Her life, marked by suffering, has intertwined with the notes of Oasis, whose songs have become her refuge, her therapy, and her strength. Every day, the s...
