Mystery Girl

Chapter One: That's because I didn't throw it.

Isabella

I stepped out of the car. I steered my eyes around the place, the beautiful houses were neatly placed beside each other, the lawns perfectly moved. I could hear the birds chirping and singing, the sound of the flap of their wings above me. The sun shone brightly, and I immediately regretted wearing a sweatshirt with jeans. I always have bad timing. 

I was literally drowning with sweat in these stuffy, strangling clothes.

I shut the car door moodily, and walked over to the car boot. Opening the boot, I grabbed my suitcase and two other bags, as my mother - beside me - did the same.

I didn't say anything, and mom was understanding enough to know I didn't want to speak or be spoken to either. Mom closed the boot and walked over to our new house as I slowly inspected the exterior. It looked amazing. The door was a glossy black, the windows bordered with a clean, white arch-like frame. The grass was a bright green, and I walked along the footpath in our garden.

It sounded weird calling this house mine now.

From the corner of my eye, I noticed a tall figure and I curiously turned my head to the left. A boy, who seemed to be the same age as me - around seventeen - stood there, his hands in the pockets of his shorts, looking at me with raised eyebrows, as if he was trying to see who I was.

I gave him a plain look, and turned away from him, completely ignoring him. I walked into the house and my eyes took in the room.

A couch was placed to the left of the room, a TV stood right in front of it. The room was big, mostly because it was a combined room, containing the kitchen and dining table too. I didn't mind it, but who said I liked it?

"Honey, why don't you go upstairs and start unpacking?" Mom broke the silence, sending me a soft glance. "Your room is the first on the left." She informed. "I'll call you down for dinner."

"Yeah." Was all I said, climbing the stairs and into my new room.

The furniture was already there. Mom had told the movers to go earlier, and it seemed like they had gone a long while ago. It looked exactly like my old bedroom, to my dismay. So much for not wanting any reminders of back home. I shook my head of the thought, and started opening my bag and stuffing my clothes into the walk-in closet.

After an hour or so, I had finished, and was scrolling through my Facebook feed on my phone. I had changed into a pair of white shirts and a plain vest after taking a shower to clean myself.

"Bella! Dinner's ready!" I heard mom call from downstairs. I groaned, walking barefoot out of my room and down the stairs. Mom was sitting on the table, the food was already on it. I sat down on the chair opposite of her, as I poured some lemonade into my glass. I placed some of the lasagne onto my plate, and started eating it.

Neither of us said anything.

"How are you, dear?" Mom tried making conversation. I tried to keep my anger in, tried to control it.

"What do you think mom?" I retorted with an annoyed look, earning a frown from my mom.

"You don't need to be rude! I won't accept this."

I stuffed some more lasagne in my mouth, counting to ten in my head in order to calm myself down.

"I don't care." I rudely muttered.

"Look. What happened does not make it okay for you talk to me like this. I understand it's hard, it's hard for me too you know. It didn't only happen to you. It hurt me too." Mom sternly warned. God, I did not need to be reminded of this again.