The Aristocrat

They call it missing you

Wednesday 25th

The beginning of the week at school had been like torture for each of us in our group. Running back and forth between Ivy and Victoria had finally gotten tiring for us. So tiring that when Ivy forced me into sitting the opposite side of the lunch room to the group I realised how desperately the situation needed to be sorted. It was obvious that neither of the girls were going to put their pride aside and talk it out which left the only option of stepping in myself to figure it out. With the assistance of Fleur, I planned the cliché trick of having both turn up at the same place, same time. On Wednesday night Fleur brought Vic and I grabbed Ivy and we took them to one of our favourite restaurants which they both now sat in, silent and stubborn.

Ivy sat, stone faced, opposite Victoria who shared a very similar expression. Her hands would occasionally reach up to her short hair and whisk it side to side, lips pursed in tenacious quietness whilst Victoria just leaned back in her chair, eyes dead set on the untouched food in front of all of us. We were too apprehensive to eat, our appetites filled up already with the consuming anxiety atmosphere. Fleur and I stared carefully as we waited for the first move from either girl, whether that be a camouflaged apology or daggered insult. Most likely the latter considering the two we were dealing with.

"This is ridiculous," I puffed out finally after another good ten minutes, sick of the silence and my patience growing thin, "You both need to talk this out."

My eyes run from Victoria to Ivy, fixed there on my best friend. Her strong jaw clenched, the muscles tightening as she leant back on her chair and threw her arm sideways, her hand fanning out vainly, "I don't feel I have anything to say," she shrugged beneath her oversized fall-coloured blazer, refusing to stare anywhere else but at me.

"Yes you do Ivy," I said sternly though I were her mother, "You need to apologise and Victoria you need to hear her out."

Flickering between the two girls, my expression turned serious, strict. I thought if they saw how done the rest of us were with their pathetic little fall out then they might feel obliged to reconcile. Victoria anyway, Ivy would always be harder to reach.

"Why should I hear her out?" Victoria questioned, speaking to me but her words aimed right at Ivy, "She doesn't even look sorry for what she said."

"She is sorry," I interrupted quickly, throwing my glare in Ivy's direction and arching my brows instinctively, "Aren't you Ivy?"

Ivy hesitated in the elegant sort of way she always did, like she was considering her response and trying to find the one that would have the most effect on us. She was good at that, leaving an effect. Like a perfume filled bomb, waiting to erupt and leave her sickly-sweet incense over us all.

She chewed on her answer for a moment, testing it then eventually spitting it out, "I'm sorry for certain things," she hummed, sucking in her cheeks and pinching her shoulders again.

Victoria, not as composed as the girl opposite her, scoffed abruptly, "You mean shouting at me and involving yourself in my relationship," she fumed, her voice loud and capturing up the attention of surrounding tables in the restaurant.

"You involved us yourself," Ivy snaps, cracks in her cool composure showing themselves, "You shouldn't have brought it to the group if you didn't want us to say anything."

I wouldn't deny Ivy of this point. In some sense I understood what she meant but we all knew that ultimately Ivy was her own worst enemy. Because as much as she was right, Victoria should have kept the argument between herself and her boyfriend, Ivy never needed to jump in and speak up. That was her own doing, no one else could be blamed for that.