THE NOTEBOOK feels heavy in my hands. It's not that large nor is it thick — it's your average little thing. Though this one's been used so much that it's probably much thicker than it was when it was first bought. I trace my fingers down it's spine, feeling its cracked and worn texture on my fingertips. The obnoxiously bright pink of the cover is full on scuff marks and absent-minded pen doodles. PROPERTY OF ALONA it says inside the cover. I find myself thinking, who even keeps a diary anymore? I shouldn't be doing this now, not here. I should be —
"Never did I think you'd be the kind of person to keep notebooks in that color —"
I snap the notebook shut and tuck it into my black messenger bag. With no response, I shoot Bryson a scathing glare. Full of venom, as always. I can never figure if Bryson doesn't notice the malice directed at him or if he just ignores it.
"Aw, is that private?" he coos.
"Dude."
"Is that your diary?"
"Bryson, drop it."
"Is it top secret?"
"Can we drop this."
"It is a diary, isn't it!"
"What if it is?" I say, the glare still dialed up to fuck off levels.
"Oh, well then you just have to say so. I mean, I won't bother you about then if it's really that personal to you," he says, his expression suddenly genuine.
"Okay," I say, after a slightly awkward pause. A frown finds its way onto my face as I say, "that's nice of you to leave it alone. Because it is — a diary, I mean."
It's not lie. He shrugs and pulls out the chair next to me, it makes a loud scraping sound against the floor that turns some heads in the library and I wince under the momentary attention. He settles in the chair loudly, dropping his backpack on the floor with a thud and propping his feet up on the table.
"Could you be any louder?" I say, looking at him over his shoes.
"It's a school library, nobody cares," he grins, sliding his phone out of his pocket. "People don't actually study here."
"Can you at least get your stupid shoes out of my face?"
"Stupid?" he gasps, mock-offended. He leans forward, clutching his shoes like they're the only things that matter. "They cost over four grand, don't insult my darlings."
"Like that hardly made a dent in your wallet." I shoot him a deadpan look. Nevertheless, he brings his legs down, planting his feet back onto the carpet floor.
"Come on, I saved up for these. It was a month's allowance," he gives me a wounded look.
I roll my eyes and scoff. "What hardship you must have gone through."
"Thank you, I appreciate the acknowledgement," he smiles briefly, looking down at his phone. I can't tell if he knew I was being sarcastic. "Anyway, you're probably wondering why I'm here —"
"— A question I ask myself daily."
"Glad you think about me daily," he winks, I scowl — an unfortunate routine we've developed. It's an over-affectionate grandmother's worst nightmare. (Don't do that to your pretty face sweetie, or else you'll get stuck like that!)
"Take a look at this," he flashes his phone in my face, I make out the name Mrs. Levitsky and suddenly feel wary. I shouldn't be feeling this way, nobody knows about what I found.
We're finally going to the police about this. We're glad you're just as concerned about her as we are.
I leaned away from the phone and slumped back into my chair. "She didn't even come home after the party last night?"
Bryson shakes his head. "No, last night was the first her parents heard about her in days. They're going to the police later today."
"Seems like they're finally showing some concern."
"Yeah, I'm glad her parents are finally gonna have this investigated," he says, letting out a low whistle as he puts his phone away. Someone from sitting not too far from us lets out a harsh shut up man people here are trying to study!
"You know you're going to be one of the first they go to, right?" I say, hoping he gets nervous over it. If he were to have something troubling him for a few days, I'd probably have peace. Solitude, how I miss thee. "You're her ex, the cops might think you did something to her."
"What the hell are you suggesting?" he asked, voice lowering. I pushed a button, damn. If I say something wrong next, h's gonna go off. Then again, we are in school, he may be concerned about his image. God, I don't know.
Despite what the public school kids think, Bryson is not the shining golden boy of Irisburgh Academy, that was Nick Lennox. Bryson is rich, apparently lovable to some, but his anger can go off the charts every now and then. I heard someone once say he was bipolar, but I wouldn't know for sure, and neither would he since his parents don't seem like the kind to take him to a psychiatrist. His friends seem to know about his emotional instability, but he told me once that I'm the only one who "knows it's not the real him."
"I'm not suggesting anything," I say slowly, moving to put the rest of my things back into my messenger bag. Free period wouldn't be over for another 15 minutes, a quick glance at the time tells me. I shut my laptop and tuck it into it's pocket in the bag. "I'm just telling you that you'll most likely be questioned, in case you didn't already realize. With this kind of whodunnit shit the boyfriend is always a suspect."
"Ex-boyfriend," he emphasizes, waiting until I'm out of my chair before getting up as well. "We broke up months ago! And you're making it sound like she's dead," he adds with a pout.
"Frankly, I don't care. I just wanted to warn you or something so you don't go ballistic when people show up at your door asking you things," I tense. I shouldn't have. Did I push it? My track record has been safe so far, I didn't want to tarnish it now.
"At this rate, I wouldn't be that surprised," he says sullenly, not rising to the bait. It's good, everyday feels less like I need to walk on eggshells around him. It's nice to be comfortable, but at the same time I always find myself wishing that I didn't have someone to learn to be comfortable around in the first place. I don't want to get to know him.
"Why not?"
"Ever since Sasha's party last night, people have been bugging me about her. They kept asking me shit, I'm probably gonna have them knocking on my door later."
"Pavel?"
"Yeah."
"Well, the guy's a jackass."
"You're right," he nods, tucking his chair in.
"I know. Well, I'm heading over to the caf. Need a snack before next period," the distaste for the rest of the school day obvious in my voice.
"I'll come with," he says, trailing behind me.
"There's no need."
"Aw, come on Olive —"
"Olivia. Don't say you can't help it. I know you call me that to piss me off." I say, scowling up at him.
He just snorts in response, but doesn't follow. "Alright, alright. I can tell you're getting crabby. I'll just hang back and try to text Alona to go home. My silver tongue can coax people into anything."
I snort, turning around to leave. "You're just wasting your time."
--
Here it is, republished!
Feedback/comments/votes are all appreciated! (I will love you)
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The Vituperator (NaNoWriMo 2015)
Mystery / Thriller(prev. titled Flowers On Her Neck) We all do things we don't want to do. What we have to decide is if we move past our actions, or if we let our actions eat us whole. -- #FreeYourBody #youngadultreads #weneeddiversebooks #supercharge #justwriteit