Camden

Dear Diary,

I fail to comprehend what makes you special. I am not going start with a cliche-induced sentence that says "Hey! It's been a while since I last wrote in you" and all that preteen, My Little Pony fever dream bullshit. What do you know? You are just a stupid pink book, decorated with equally stupid lines on it, and it's not like I have a friggin choice. Urghh. Fine! Maybe I do. The option to rant to Ariel about this still lies open. But being an annoying cockroach isn't on my agenda.

Let's cut to the chase, shall we?

Let's talk about Love.

L-O-V-E. Luv. Call it what you want. Love. A stupid four-letter word I wish had never existed. It's a word that has been made to be cherished by the human population. But it's unfortunate, not many know how to embrace it. Duh! Because they can't! It's only used as if it's some kind of commodity. When you're in love, you are bound to feel things. Stupid things. Like ... really stupid things. And it happens in the most unexpected of situations. Love is unpredictable. It's like a thunderstorm waiting to get the clouds clapping in the skies above. You can't predict when it might happen... because it just happens.

Summer's about to start, and I think I'm going to do it. I'm finally going to tell him how I feel. But I can't seem to construe the raw image of me standing in front of him and telling him how I feel. Desperation is eating me alive like a termite, and I want to be able to get this off my chest before dying of regret. YOLO.

Whether he does or doesn't like me back is not an issue. If he does, then, YAY! I just won a million dollars *insert Chandler Bing meme template but sans social skills and enthusiasm*. And if he doesn't? Time to shimmy in the walk of shame. What's the worst that could happen? DING-DING-DING. Having the whole of Claremont making me a viral internet sensation by spreading my heartfelt rejection all over the media.

You might be wondering: Who is this 'he' that I'm speaking so highly of?

Xander Devereux.

Claremont's star swimmer, A.K.A., the boy I've been crushing on massively, -since middle-freaking-school. With a smile that makes a gazillion hearts break, espresso eyes that stare right through you, and golden-brown hair that begs for my fingers to run through them. I'm sure you get the picture. I want to be brave, and I want to stop being fearful. If I'm able to get Xander off my chest, I probably wouldn't have to live with the burden of not telling him what I thought of him for the rest of my life. The fact I've been able to write in you without tearing and tossing you across the room, is definitely an achievement. But there's only so much you can do and that is being patient enough to listen to me, and me believing you were someone real.

Seriously, do not push it.

Besides, I'm not sure If I'd consider writing in you EVER again ... but I feel a bit satisfied. Gosh, I sounded like a lovesick five-year-old, all over again!

Yours not so sincerely,

–Brooklyn. E. Finely

I'd like to think of twist of fate as a kinky, undercover agent oozing sensuality, grabbing me by the balls and twisting them like a thick, elongated arcade balloon. A few minutes ago, I had plans that involved breaking faces. Plans associated with the word revenge, floating above me like a deadly damsel I wanted to fuck and demolish. There are a few things I realize as I shut the tattered, pink journal and shove it underneath my jacket to save myself from torture:

a) Brooklyn Finely is no longer Ms. Plain and Boring everyone at Claremont, perceives her to be.

b) She has quite the mouth. Does the phrase 'Never judge a book by its cover' ring a bell? For someone pretending to be someone, she's not, with the right people-the right person being me. I'll be happy to contribute and teach her how to put that attitude and that mouth of hers to proper use.

c)As much as I detest being an emotional Nazi, feeling is when you want to take a break from your mind and simply yell at the entire world. It is a noun that can not only mean different things but also make you express the way you fucking choose to express yourself.

Suddenly, I'm not feeling so hurt and angry anymore now that my expression is being squeezed and replaced by a maniacal grin I can't shrug off. The last time I smiled this hard, was the time my name was being moaned so loud, the whole neighborhood of Santa Monica could hear it. There's only one person who can help me accomplish the mission of twisting the icepick through the silicon of my ex's chest.

Brooklyn-now promoted to baby-girl Finely- doesn't have a choice. You, see? She's nothing, but a precious, delicate doll that I'm going to entertain, and she's going to be mine till the end of summer.

I do have to thank her in some way, right? And that can only be done by making an offer former little Ms. Plain and Boring can't refuse.

***

Brooklyn

There are three things that make me want to pack up my bags and settle in the middle of freaking nowhere. A place where I'm surrounded by nothing, except harmony and Mother Nature herself. Submitting this pain in the ass English book-report that Mr. Smith gave, social gatherings that involve mingling with people, and the constant complaining of my best-friend, Ariel.

"For the last time, no, I'm not coming to that stupid party," I say exasperatedly as I finish typing the remaining page of my report, before shutting my laptop and carefully tucking it in my bag.

"Come on!" Ariel whines, as she thumps her fists repeatedly on my bed. Even though she's my ride or die, I would be lying if I said I didn't want to chop that beautiful, silky-black hair of hers, just to spite her. "Summer starts within three days, and everybody is going. It's not like you have anything better to do, and rewatching Gossip Girl or the millionth time, does not count." She finishes for me before rebutting that I do have plans. Sighing, I turn around and fix her with a pointed glare.

"How is attending a nonsensical, Gucci gang party going to benefit me?" I ask, crossing my arms in front of my chest. I was, and still am, not the type who'd go through extreme lengths to fit in. My life has been meh since I was little. To say I've become used to it would be an understatement It's not that I have insecurity issues. I never saw the point in forcing myself to fit in boxes, let alone adhere to societal norms, which I failed and still can't seem to comprehend. Whether I'm being viewed as an outcast, a misfit, or even a goddamn loner, the less time you spend in socializing with people who don't matter, the less space there is for drama to kick in.

But with Ariel? It's different.

She was the first person to interact with me, and never once did she judge me. In fact, when we first started talking, she spoke to me like I was a friend whom she'd known for a hell of a long time. There's just something magnetic about Ariel's vibrant personality. All she has to do, is simply walk into the room, and before you know it, you will fall in love with her. Despite us being opposites as far as personalities are concerned, we know we can always count on each other and often go out of our way, to ensure we are on the same boat.

It's crazy how we've been friends for this long.

"When was the last time you actually made an effort to waltz out of your comfort zone?"

"Shoot!" I snap my fingers and pause for a second, pretending to give myself some time to think before adding, "I forgot we are still expressing concerns on this subject. I'd like to proudly confirm and say that I sexually identify as a house turtle who's crippled by fear and self-loathing, thank you very much." Ariel's dark-brown eyes turn icy, as she grabs a plushie and flings it toward my direction. I grab it just in time and fling it back, hitting her on her head.

"Try however much you want, but there's nothing you can do to convince me to go. I'm not coming."

"Even if Xander Devereaux is going to be there?" My cheeks flush when I hear his name. Ariel smiles mischievously, climbs off my bed and walks toward me, giving my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "Look, this is your chance to tell him that you like him. How much longer do you plan in waiting? This party is literally your one-way ticket. Besides, we can be each other's designated drivers in case one of us gets shitfaced tonight."

I roll my eyes and smile, nodding my head. "Fine. I'll come." I give in and laugh at the sight of Ariel squealing, excitedly clapping her hands. Dork.

"You aren't serious about showing up in those ...are you?" Ariel points at my cupcake pajama shorts, giving them a scrutinizing glance.

"I did say yes to coming to the party with no purpose, if I count out Xander. Dressing up wasn't a part of the equation."

"It's a part-ay, B. Not a slumber junkie get-together. You got to wear something that exclaims 'I know my money like I know my taste in men'."

***

My stomach sinks in apprehension, when we pull into the driveway of a huge marble-glass mansion which overlooks the entire community of Pacific Falls. Pacific Falls is a gorgeous gated community, and every house within it gifted with a backyard that gives its residents a scenic view of the ocean. It's vaguely similar to Ashbourne Heights, which is where I live and only a twenty-minute drive away. The only difference is, we don't have the scenic view of the ocean. I have no reason to be here, let alone stepping foot into that house.

Have you ever experienced a sense of self-doubt where you can't exactly tell what's about to go down, but you know well enough that whatever happens, it isn't going to be positive ?

I opted to wear a pair of ripped skinny denim shorts and a simple, but cute pink strapless crop top, that Ariel forced me to wear. My wavy, chocolate-brown hair is straightened and left loose, parted neatly and cascading over both sides of my chest, finishing with some light makeup. The mascara makes my hazel eyes look a little green, my cheekbones looking more prominent. I could hardly recognize myself.

I hear the music loudly reverberating against the aqua colored glass door, accompanied by the lively yet maddening screams of the people inside it.

"Remember, be confident, smile, laugh and soon he's going to be on his knees," Ariel winks. "I mean, look at you!"

I'm nowhere near Ariel in looks; she's ready to slay the Grammys. Wearing a shiny, LBD with a plunging neckline, the heels making her legs go on for days together, it's no surprise she has amassed a massive fan following from both:- boys and girls. With a hot body from heaven, a charismatic, angelic face, and a straightforward attitude, who wouldn't have a massive lifetime crush on Ariel Kwon?

Struggling to make our way through the crowd of sweaty bodies of drunk teenagers who are either grinding against one another, or sticking their tongues down each other's throat while sloppily humming the lyrics of Jason Derulo's "Talk Dirty to Me,", an unsettling feeling courses through my veins, making me feel claustrophobic AF. I've lost sight of Ariel, and I think I'm about to freak TF out.

A tiny yelp gets tangled in my throat when a hand covers my mouth and another encircles my waist, pulling me towards a corner of the room I can't make out. Maybe I'm imagining things because the voice breeds cautionary familiarity when it temptingly seeps into my ears. A voice so deep and rough, it is the voice belonging to the only human, capable of sending chills down my spine.

"How brave of you to step into the wolf's den, Little Ms. Boring."