The Badass Diaries ✔️

(#2)

Dear Diary,

    Another day at Sophia's house, which is probably my other safe place that has some sort of barrier around it that prevents me from going insane. Okay, let me rephrase that.

A safehouse that is within walking distance. Because the nearest frozen yogurt shop is a 7 minute drive.

But, on top of the usual roasting of Anthony, and the giggling about our wondrous inside jokes, we were having a really good day. That is, until a special someone decided to come and ruin our day.

"You're serious right now? You're telling me that Anthony can't even say 'good morning' in Italian?" I shrieked, like someone just told me I won the lottery.

Sophia nods, with her infectious laughs leaking in between breaths so that she didn't suffocate to death.

"Yes, I'm serious! It's so sad. My poor nonna looked like she wanted to cry when Anthony couldn't even say it. Gee, now I feel bad for her. Well, at least he didn't butcher counting from one to ten," Sophia chortled, as I wiped my eyes from the tears forming.

"Man, even I could count from one to ten in Russian, and I learned it before I was potty trained! Geez!" I lamented, and Sophia shrugged.

"I don't know, he's a complicated dude. He can't count from one to ten in Italian, yet he can tell me most of the Asian capitals in one shot. Logic? I don't know. And considering French and Italian are so close, it should be like doing arithmetic," I told her, which caused us to burst into another fit of giggles.

Soon afterwards, we realized that there was a foreign set of giggles. This set wasn't anything like ours. This one had a sprinkling of something artificially sweet. Like it had a packet of Splenda dumped into it randomly.

One of my eyebrows raised at this foreign laughter, and my head craned to where I heard it. Standing there was someone whom I should've known was standing there all along.

Victoria Bell. Standing there, with her bush of blonde curls resting on her head, framing her face in an overly perfect setting. Her ocean blue eyes are layered with fakeness that only a skilled professional would be able to pierce through to see the raw, truthful core.

Her thin pink lips were curled up into a sweet, saccharine smile that to me was nothing short of pure evil waiting in a cute little 12 year old girl. I felt like I should've had a bucket of water just in case the Wicked Witch of the West got too close with her broom and flying monkeys.

"Oh, Victoria. Hey," Sophia said. The usually humorous and optimistic look on her face had been replaced with a civil, more neutral look. Victoria's artificiality didn't dissolve, and she inched towards us a little more.

"Hey. What's going on?" she asked, which caused me to speak up.

"We were having our little personal conversations. Convenient that you were here to hear about the little joke we were having, huh?" I asked, with my head cocking to the side a little bit, and my slender eyebrow raising like someone had pushed it up suddenly.

Victoria reciprocated that, only with both eyebrows and her thin lips uncurled and pressed together in an annoyed look. "Cool it, Tatarova. I was just curious," Victoria said, with her tone lowering to a rather dangerous one.

I scoffed a little bit. "There's a fine line between curious and nosy. And, Bell, YOU ARE STEPPING OVER THAT LINE BY A HUGE GODDAMN STEP. Don't you have anyone else to bother? Because at the moment, go tell the trash can what's on your mind. I'm sure it's waiting for the garbage that's about to spew out," I ordered, which caused Sophia to step up.