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Oh biscuits!

Why on earth did she not have a black hoodie? Pink, yes. Other bright colors, yes. But black?

Why wasn't the universe supporting her in her plan to sneak out? It was a Friday night for God's sake, how could she stay at home?

She let out a frustrated sigh, then turned away from her closet to her messy bed. Various colored hoodies were piled on each other. Fine! She'd just stick with the ones she had.

She grabbed the bubblegum pink one with a fake batch on the top left side of the chest, saying, Fashion Police, and threw it over her white top. Her phone went into the back pocket of her denim pants, then she pulled the hood over her head.

Looking at her bed, she scrunched her nose. The mess was annoying.

"Oh, I'll just deal with you later," she said, then locked her door, before walking to the window.

She pushed the lower part up, then squeezed through the small space. It hurt, and she let out a low "Ow" when her head hit the glass. When she managed to get out, she balanced on the windowsill so she could shut the window.

Her heartbeat picked up pace when she saw the distance between her white low tops and the grass. Trying hard not to fall off the not-so-narrow windowsill, she gripped the walls on either side of her, then whispered, "It's for the adventure, Bella."

Shutting her eyes tightly, she braced herself, then jumped, silently praying that wouldn't be her last moment on earth.

Honestly, even if you asked her, she couldn't say why she was being so bad all of a sudden. But, hey, who cared? Actually, she did, because she almost—emphasis on almost—died here. Caring was her job.

She hit the grass with a thud and let out a more painful "Ow." Laying there, not sure when she'd suck the pain in and get up—or if she had shattered more bones than she could count—she felt the erratic beating of her heart against the grass. The thrill finally came, and that was when it hit her.

She had snuck out! But... parmesan! She didn't take a hashtag 'good being bad' selfie.

A gasp suddenly escaped her, and she pushed herself up, then stayed on her knees. "Oh my God, my phone!" She stayed in that position for a few seconds, before getting the courage to check on her phone.

If it broke, she'd find a way to sneak back into her room, then jump down that window again and again until she literally broke a leg.

She took the phone out of her pocket, then inspected it, sighing in relief when she saw that there wasn't a scratch.

She stood, wincing at the pain in her sides; her ribs could tell you how much they went through. Then, taking a deep breath, she started the walk to the Bikers' Club.

Bella was a hundred percent sure she would get lost, but when she saw the club's sign, that was unsurprisingly shaped like a motorcycle, she gave herself a mental pat on the back and imagined a fluffy text bubble with the words 'good girl' in it.

From outside, she could hear electric guitars blaring and couldn't imagine how the inside would be. People, notably teenagers, hung out outside.

She walked to the entrance, which was blocked by a fancy-looking stanchion, and it was only when she was close that she noticed the big, beefy guy with folded arms leaning against the wall.

"Hi," she said, looking all the way up, because he was seriously tall.

He grunted a response, a deep, throaty sound, then stood upright. "Ticket," he said.

"What?"

"Show me your ticket," he explained.

Beau didn't tell her anything about tickets. Well, maybe it was partially her fault for not telling him she was coming, but she wanted to surprise him. Though she wasn't sure why.

"Um, I—I don't have a ticket."

"Then leave. No ticket, no entry."

Leave? She almost saw the Pearly Gates because of this, and he was telling her to leave? Well, no way!

"Okay, so here's the deal—"

"I don't take bribes, little girl. Leave."

She folded her arms, a glare forming on her face, and rested her entire weight on her right hip. If she'd held a grandma purse and added tapping her right foot to her stance, she would've looked like a sassy old lady. "Excuse me. I'm not little." Petite, maybe, but not little.

"Whatever. Leave now, or I'll make you."

"The guy performing tonight invited me," she said instead of doing as he said.

"There are a lot of guys performing tonight."

"Well, one of them invited me, and I don't think he'll be happy when he finds out about this."

"Stop BSing me and leave. For God's sake, leave. Next time I say it, I'll literally carry you and drop you on the sidewalk."

She opened her mouth to speak, but that was when she saw him. Beau walked out through the front doors of the club, letting music and cheering fly out for a brief moment. An electric guitar was strapped to him, and his attention was on the phone in his hand.

Bella smiled. "Beau!" He looked up at her, and she waved, really glad to see him.

A smile slowly went up his face as he took her in, and she mentally admired how exceptionally handsome he looked tonight. "Bella?"

"Yeah. Hey."

He stepped over the stanchion rope, coming to stand in front of her. "Hey. What a surprise, I wasn't expecting you."

"Surprise!"

"You know her?" the beefy guy asked, looking at him.

"Yeah," Beau answered, his amused eyes going to land back on Bella. "She's with me."

Bella stared at him for a moment, before her attention was drawn back by Beefy.

"You should've said so. Beau's my bud."

"I tried," she replied.

Beefy unhooked one end of the stanchion rope, then gestured for her to go in. "Enjoy the show."

"Thanks, Lars," Beau said, then took Bella's hand, making her pause, but just for a few seconds. "Come on, let's go."

She followed him past Lars—who acknowledged them one last time—towards the entrance. Her hand was still in his when they walked in, and she expected it to be where the music was coming from, but was surprised to see the lobby-like room with soft looking sofas against the walls, leaving space like a runway in the middle.

A neon blue TBC was on either of the walls, casting a soft glow on people's faces. He took her to a quieter corner, then she said, "It's really cool here," leaning against the wall behind her.

"Way too noisy, too."

She let out a giggle. "Yeah. That, too."

"So, thanks for the surprise. It's the best I've gotten this month."

"You're welcome."

Two girls exited the door on the left of them, and when they got to them, Beau had to move closer to Bella because of the limited space. The place was packed, and there was hardly any free space. It was a miracle bodies weren't bumping into each other.

"Would you like anything to drink?" he asked, still close to her, voice lowered.

She went speechless. Not even water, she remembered promising her mom, but realized she wasn't even supposed to be there. Even if she had a reply, she wouldn't've been able to tell him anything. His proximity was turning her brain to pulp. She averted her gaze for a moment, then he chuckled.

"Is that a no?"

She nodded too soon.

"Not even water?"

"No, I'm good. Thanks for asking."

He wanted to laugh at how awkward she was being, but held it in and asked, "First time being somewhere like here?"

"Um... yeah, actually."

"Explains a lot."

She looked at him when she heard that, and his smile widened. "What do you mean?"

He only stared at her, smile beautiful, then took a step back, relieving her. "Nothing. Just wanted you to look at me. I was missing those eyes."

Her chest felt like it wanted to explode, and she let out a low, "Oh."

That amused glint she was getting used to filled his eyes again, and for a moment, he looked like he wanted to say something, but the look disappeared, and he glanced towards the other door. "Come on. Let's go find you the best spot. I'm up in a few minutes."

She smiled.

* * *

Viola put her hand in the bowl of chips beside her laptop, grabbed a handful, then put them in her mouth, making a disturbing crunching sound as she chewed.

Her sketchbook was open beside her on the bed, a pencil on top of it, and her eyes were fixed on the screen as she waited for a reply to her text.

A knock sounded on her door, and she turned to it before saying, "Come in, Mom."

The door opened, and her mom walked in, brown hair—the same shade as hers—tied in a high ponytail. Her eyes were rimmed red, and tiredness was stitched onto every part of her face.

Viola hated seeing her mom so weak, like she no longer had a purpose for living. "Hey, Mom," she offered with a small smile, and her mom's eyes flitted to the sketchbook. She looked at it, realizing she forgot to put it away. "Sorry," she said, grabbing the book and standing. "I forgot."

Her mom just shut her tired eyes for a second, then, opening them, she asked with a sigh, "Have you seen the whisk?"

Viola paused as she squatted to put the sketchbook in the last drawer of her dresser, disappointment momentarily going across her features. Of all the things her mom could ask her. "I think you gave it to Mrs. Hart last week." She pulled the drawer out, then put the book in it.

"Oh, yeah. I completely forgot about that."

Forgetting things was becoming a hobby for her mom, so she wasn't surprised. She pushed the drawer back in place, stood, then walked back to her bed.

"Can you go get it for me tomorrow? I want to make some cookies."

"You hardly cook anything these days. What changed?" She sat cross-legged in front of her laptop.

"Nothing. I just feel like taking something homemade."

"Oh," was her reply before she looked away, focusing on her laptop's screen.

She didn't want to speak to her mom, knowing it wouldn't end well, as she had a lot of things to say. Besides, she was mad at her for her negligence and sudden affinity for wine bottles. Her mom tried to hide it, but she had caught her drinking in the kitchen several times. The bottles in the bin every morning didn't assist her in keeping her secret, either.

Seeing that her mom still stood there, she said, "Sure. I'll go get it back. Don't worry about it."

"Won't you ask about any improvements?"

Her heart skipped a beat, and she turned to her mom. "I have my reasons for not asking. Let it remain that way." The reason was quite simple: she didn't want to get hurt.

Mrs. DelMane studied her daughter for a while, before walking out of her room. Immediately, Viola's chest felt heavy, and she looked away from the door.

A lump formed in her throat, and she just sat there, wondering why her life was the way it was, and why her mom brought that up. She badly wanted nothing more than to pretend none of that was real—that it was all a crazy dream she'd wake up from eventually.

The silence was broken by the text alert from her phone. She was expecting it to be Bella, but the text was from someone whose phone number she obviously didn't have saved on her phone.

She tapped on it to view the full text, and saw that it had an attached photo.

I don't think it's fair for her to do this when you're obviously not fine — A Well Wisher

In the photo was Bella... and Beau. They were standing so close to each other, and on the wall they were standing by, she saw a neon blue TBC.