10:05 a.m. 28th September, 2019.

OMG! With all the stuff going on in my life, I never thought I could feel so happy. Mom wants to make up for lost time by taking me shopping (we haven't gone shopping in AGES!). And I think I'm finally getting my first B cup! How crazy is that? Hurrah for my boobs!

The reasons why this would probably turn out to be the worst Saturday of Bella's life were numerous.

One, the previous day ended up being a total mess; Viola didn't return until way later. Two, Fleur announced, out of nowhere, that her friends and "guests" always ate with her family. Three, Amparo had to stand in for a wall between her and Beau at the table. Four, Jessica Lupinacci kept throwing suspicious glances between her and Beau as she talked. Five, Viola refused to even look at her. Six, her fans were complaining about her, not to mention the fact that she found her phone on the floor the previous night.

The day was going terribly already, so how could it not get worse?

Her phone vibrated in her lap as she spread peanut butter on her toast and barely listened to Jessica narrate how she knew she wanted to be a fashion journalist when she was older. Bella looked down at the phone and couldn't help widening her eyes.

You look beautiful in that dress ;)

She nervously cleared her throat, earning a weird look from Amparo beside her, then straightened in her seat and looked away from the phone.

"I would hog the remote just so I wouldn't miss the fashion reviews, and boom—I started imagining myself doing that..."

Her phone vibrated again, and she disobeyed herself and looked at it.

Stop pretending to listen. AND try spreading the jam over the pb next time. It's called pb and j for a reason

How did he type this so fast? she wondered, then decided to ignore him again. He was just a seat away, and she tried to forget that. It was wrong to use technology at the table. How was he even comfortable being the only boy at the table?

As if hearing her thoughts, he abruptly stood. "You girls have fun, okay?"

His mom, who was sitting across from him, lifted a perfectly arched eyebrow. "Are you full?"

"Yeah," he replied, but Bella knew he was lying—somehow. "And I'm not really a fan of conversations I can't make contributions to."

Jessica pouted and the other girls, except Viola, giggled.

"See, Jess? You bored my brother to the peak of boredom," Fleur said.

Her mom playfully slapped her arm. "Stop that. She was talking about her future. All you ever talk about is fashion."

Seeing that the topic had been steered from his apparent boredom, Beau left, and Bella tried hard not to look at him when he walked past her.

"Give your dad a call for me, honey. Tell him about what we discussed yesterday," his mom shouted behind him.

"Will do!"

"I don't know if Steph told you guys," Amparo started, "but Nicky's in USC."

Bella could tell Amparo mentioned Stephanie on purpose, so she zoned out again, only to be brought back seconds later by her vibrating phone. She was expecting the text to be from Beau and couldn't help the disappointment she felt when she saw that it was from Cody, telling her he was waiting outside.

"Um," she said, interrupting Amparo, who looked like she was in the middle of saying something important, "my brother's waiting. We have to go." She stood, looking at Viola.

"We?" Viola asked, her face lacking emotion.

"Y...eah?"

"I don't want to leave now, and I don't have to just 'cause your brother's here."

Bella found her eyes going around the table. Couldn't Viola just pretend everything was fine so they'd sort things out later? "But I thought it's our thing."

"It was our thing. You go, I'll leave a bit later."

The number of eyes on them could've triggered the apocalypse, and Bella turned to Mrs. Algernon, wanting to send away some of the tension. "Thank you so much for the breakfast, Mrs. Algernon."

She smiled. "Oh, you're welcome, sweetheart. You can come over anytime, I'd be glad to have you."

Bella forced up her smile. "I will." She glanced at Viola again, before saying, "Bye girls."

"Bye," Jun, Fleur and Frankie chorused, and she walked out of the kitchen.

"Thanks for coming!" Fleur shouted behind her, but she didn't reply.

She didn't know if she should've been sad or mad. Viola's anger was justified, but why would she talk like that in front of them? They could've talked about it in private. Right?

She jogged up the stairs, immediately spotting Beau leaning against the wall next to his sister's room, as if waiting for someone. Her stomach bubbled, but her feet kept moving. He watched her approach, but didn't say anything.

When she got to him, she only gave him a glance, then opened the door to Fleur's room and walked in. Her bag was waiting on the bed, already packed, and she wasted no time in grabbing it.

"Did you guys argue again?" Beau's voice was soft, like he was telling her a secret, but it still made her turn to him.

He was leaning against the doorframe this time, not moving any closer.

"Not really," she said. "It's complicated." She turned back to the room, assuming the conversation would end there, but still felt his presence behind her.

She looked around, checking to see if she was forgetting something, and when she saw that she wasn't, she turned back to the door.

His eyes were focused on something in his hand, and she walked to him. Beau turned to her when she stopped.

"Sorry, I'm not too talkative at the moment," she apologized, hating the awkwardness between them.

"It's okay. I understand." Somehow, the way he said the last part made it sound like he really understood—and not just logically.

"Thanks for asking, though. It means a lot." It means a lot that you care, she added in her head.

"No problem," he replied softly, looking down at what he was holding—which she now realized was a folded piece of paper.

"Is that for me?"

He looked up at her. "Yeah. Saturday's edition."

She giggled at how funny it sounded, and he gave it to her. "I'll reply through text."

"All right."

She found herself fixing the collar of his shirt—though it was perfect—and the gesture took him aback. Her hand lingered, and he looked into her eyes.

"Thanks for last night," she said, smoothing the collar down. "I really needed to get some of the weight off my shoulders."

"Anytime, Bella."

She finally dropped her hand, then gave him a smile, before heading back downstairs. A blush slowly crept up her face when she realized what she had just done, and it took all she had not to look back at him.

When she got downstairs, she shouted a final goodbye to the girls before walking out of the house.

Cody was smiling when she saw him.

"There she is," he said as she got into the passenger side.

"Hi."

"How was the sleepover?"

She put her bag on the backseat. "You know you're a jerk for not telling me it was Beau's house, right?"

He laughed. "Yeah, I know." He took a pause, then asked, "But you behaved, right?"

She stared at him, remembering the previous evening and her and Beau's joined hands. "I overbehaved."

"I choose to believe that." His eyes went to the house. "Where's Viola?"

"She's... not coming."

His brows furrowed. "She's not?"

"Nope."

"Oh." He was silent for a few seconds. "Did you talk to her for me? I didn't see her text."

"I didn't. Things came up and it didn't feel right to talk about it."

He nodded, then turned the key in the ignition. Bella watched her brother—Cody seemed disturbed.

"What really happened?" she asked.

"It has to do with Kyra, but I'm not sure. She just stopped talking to me."

"Just like that?"

"Yep!"

The car started to move, and Bella was drawn into her thoughts. Viola wasn't talking to Cody, either. But what did Kyra have to do with anything? That thought aside, she had to figure out how to explain things to her best friend without it going haywire.

That afternoon, Viola sat by the breakfast bar in her house, working on some designs that were way overdue. Her journal sat beside her sketchbook as she waited for her mom to return so they could go shopping together.

When she got home from the sleepover, her mom had suggested it, and she had hugged her without thinking. Several minutes and one journal entry later, Mrs. DelMane went upstairs and, after a few seconds, returned with her old leather purse—the one she loved going out with—and promised her she'd be back in an hour.

It was an hour and thirty-five minutes now, and she still wasn't back.

That was another bad habit of her mom: she made a hundred promises, but only managed to fulfill one.

Her heart almost leaped out of her chest when she heard the doorbell ring, and it was only when she was almost on her feet that she realized her mom wouldn't ring the doorbell—unless she was drunk again and couldn't think straight.

Viola let out a disappointed sigh, then went to get the door. Her face brightened immediately she opened it.

"I brought homework." Jake was smiling, showing off his cute dimples as if he knew how much Viola loved dimples.

She smiled, a little too tenderly. "Who's tutoring who?" she asked, her eyes settling on his backpack, and he shrugged. "I'm just as dumb, so if it's not fashion, please tell me to slam the door in your face."

He let out a really happy laugh that had her eyes twinkling, and for the first time ever, she was glad Max's pushy attitude existed.

He saw her on her way to school one day that week, called her by her last name twice, then started yelling about his cousin, who was new at Wyland. Of course he called out the cousin—who happened to have saved her from Amparo once—and forced them to walk together, teasing that it was like one of those "cheesy rom-coms girls loved watching."

Her and Jake didn't click immediately, and the first few minutes of the walk had been awkwardly quiet. Then he asked if it was weird to want to disown a cousin, and she giggled, and things kicked off from there.

"What I should be telling you," Jake said, "is that I'm just looking for an escape from that cousin I still want to disown."

She giggled, then stepped aside so he could walk in. "You must really miss Quebec."

"Tell me about it," he mumbled, walking past her and into the house. "Wow! It's quiet in here."

"Yeah. I'll turn the TV on. My mom's not home and I was kinda busy." She looked around the living room for the remote, but couldn't spot it.

"Busy doing what?"

"Stuff," she replied, not wanting to go into details.

He slumped into the sofa with a huff. "Max is tiring. He's great over Skype, but in reality he's like a big two-year-old."

"Welcome to my world." She gave up on looking for the remote and slumped down beside him. "I can't find the remote, we're both too not-college-ready to tutor each other, so would you like a drink?"

"What kind do you have?"

"Orange juice, and the juice of the orange fruit."

He smiled. "I'll have," he stroked his hairless chin and pretended to think about it, "the latter—sounds fancy."

"Coming right up." Viola stood and went to the kitchen.

While she was gone, Jake looked around, noticing the family photo on a chest of drawers by one of the walls.

When he felt the spot beside him sink, he asked without looking at her, "You don't have any siblings?"

"No. My mom had some issues after having me, so." She gave him his glass of juice. "How about you?"

"I have twin younger sisters. They scream a lot, by the way."

She giggled, then tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "How old are they?"

"Eleven."

"Oh! Tweens."

"Yep!"

She leaned back in the sofa, then let out a sigh as something occurred to her. "I don't know if this is going to sound weird, but can I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

She hesitated for a while, then asked, "How does a person know they don't want friends anymore?"

Jake genuinely thought about it for a while. "You have to have friends, Viola. They can help you when you're in trouble."

"But," she started, then sat up and faced him, "what if it doesn't feel right—what if she doesn't feel like the kind of person I need in my life?"

"I don't know what happened, but maybe you should talk to her."

Viola sighed, then shook her head. "Talking isn't working, Jake. Trust me. I know she isn't right for me."

"Then you should probably find the right friend for you."

Honestly, she had found that person. Maybe an Internet friend wasn't the real deal, but who cared? Marigold Lau was her kind of person. What else mattered?