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three : hidden thoughts and misplaced rage

SHE HAD NEVER FELT LIKE more of a hypocrite. Like most people her age, she preached privacy and felt that if teenagers should have any innate rights, that was one of the most vital. But there she was, snooping around Eleanor's room, a traitor to the entire youth of her species. It wasn't anything weird–every clothing drawer stayed closed and every pillowcase undisturbed. No, just the impressively large bookshelf that towered over Leigh, a monster of literary masterpieces  that left her in awe.

"She does," Leigh muttered, a tiny smile lighting up her face. She wanted to scour each title, delve into a common interest that was rare amongst the rest of her peers.

Then she heard the rousing of her younger, less literarily apt five year old brother.

"Hello?" he asked from his bedroom, surveying the air for a response and probably plotting toddler-sized rebellions if there wasn't one.

"Hi, yeah, I'm here," Leigh answered quickly, trying to leave Eleanor's bedroom in the least suspicious way possible. The boy looked at her in confusion, but he didn't ask about her odd whereabouts. She prayed that he wouldn't bring it up to his family later.

♛♛♛

She was perplexed by her disappointment when she saw Jacob's mother's car drive down the driveway instead of Eleanor's. For one, because she had spoken to the girl for no more than thirty seconds, and two, because she wouldn't have said anything to her anyway.

She said a quick goodbye to the mother, taking her payment and being a bit nicer than usual just in case Jacob were to say something about her lurking in Eleanor's bedroom.

Back inside her car, her mind was no longer on Eleanor, but on Aphrodite. Leigh hated that her brain would fill her thoughts with her heartbreak when there was nothing else to think about. Scratch that, even when there was something else to think about, her mind would race with the thought of her. She figured her friends must hate her–she had a hard time enjoying herself fully with them. Every interaction strained against weights chained to her ankles, the frustration of a close, but not quite happiness.

She got home, an odd emotion pricking at her skin. She'd never been frustrated with Aphrodite, not the way she was right then. She'd been angry with her, of course, but never the irritated annoyance that had she had suddenly realized. She was frustrated that Aphrodite wouldn't let her have a good time. She was frustrated that her life revolved around a name that was of no use to her.

But who could she really blame that on?