Bella & Layla

Chapter One

"Eveything will be perfect," I mutter as I stare at my pale face through the mirror. My attempt at a messy bun seems hilarious and the bags under my eyes are darker than ever before. Why is that? Oh, of course. I've only drowned myself in books all summer long because I've got nothing better to do than study for the SATs. Now don't get too judgy with me here because I've properly convinced myself that it's for the best, and I'd rather be productive instead of wasting my tears over a tub of ice cream and Julia Roberts' My Bestfriend's Wedding on repeat.

Plus, it's the healthiest way for me to distract myself of the real problem here. My boyfriend dumped me over the summer, morbidly saying that common phrase of "it's not you, it's me", and to make things worse, I saw him with my supposedly best friend, Brooklyn, getting hot and heavy in the middle of the town square like it's no big deal that the whole town is watching them and judging them and what not. Not suprisingly, the betrayal of my alleged best friend hurt even more than my first break up. What Brooklyn did almost killed me because unknowingly, I'd somehow walked my way across the street without so much as looking left and right like how they teach you at kindergarten, with a murderous look in my eyes.

And today is the day that I'd get to see them again after their awful display of tongue to tongue. It's the first day of senior year and I'm bound to look fresh and pretty today but instead, I look horrible, which is not at all a surprise considering I've been holed up in my room and studying away for the future. I am not a smart person, I am not the best in class, but I can be studious, which is a lot more than I can say for my ex best friend, Brooklyn, who's dumb enough to throw away a lifetime of my frienship for some guy who barely gets through school.

Yes, Derek, my stupid ex is a dumbass. He's only good at football, and he's not the captain or the quarterback at all. And he's always flunking his grades, and if it wasn't for me, he'd be a repeat junior this year. He thanked me for that by dumping me and getting it together with Brooklyn. Hands down to the grandest way of gratitude ever recorded in my life.

I huff a breath in defeat as I walk back to my room; it's a mess. How was I not able to clean the whole place up over the summer?

Groaning, I pick up all the things I need for today and shove them all in my bag.

"Bella, you're running late!" My mom calls from downstairs.

"I'm coming," I silently reply. I've barely got the energy to speak, so why shout back?

I lazily skip my way down the stairs, dragging my bag along when I hear the honk of the school bus now on our driveway. That seems to fire up my nerves as I'm hastily grabbing a mouthful of bacon and eggs from the dining table and gulping down orange juice.

"Oh honey, you look terrible."

I roll my eyes at my mother's comment and grab the fifty bucks she holds out for me to take and bolt my way out of the house. The driver gives me a once over and shakes his head from side to side in disappointment. I must really look terrible. "You new?" I ask as I pass by him. I've never seen him before.

Now he makes a "tsk" sound while shaking his head again. "Been the school bus driver for a year now, kid."

"Ahh, well, it's my first time to ride the bus again, anyway."

Because Derek drives me to school and brings me home everyday. Now that we're broken up, I'm riding public again.

The driver nods and doesn't say anything further as he starts driving. I contemplate on taking the seat near the door but I end up choosing to sit at the very back. The driver isn't much of a chatty person as I've observed and it would really be awkward to start a conversation with him by telling him the reason why I'm riding the bus again. The last driver, who actually became my friend then must've retired or he quit because he can't take any more of the hormonal teenagers riding with him. Anyway, I make a mental note to ask the new driver about what may have happened to the old one.