"Everyone's a star,
And deserves to twinkle"
- Marilyn Monroe

To those who've already read this:
There are some changes here and there.
You can re-read this chapter if you want.

C H A P T E R 0 3| Through New Attraction

They say that even the most massive characters are seared with scars. I didn't know how true it was, but it felt good to know a scar could make you stronger, or so I hoped.

But even for a scar to make you feel strong took time. I was sure mine would take even longer, since it had gotten imprinted deep in my heart, not skin.

The next day when I woke up early. And the first thing I felt was a sharp pang in the heart, as I remembered the events of yesterday. Andrew had left. Maybe I'd never see him again.

The realization filled me with bitterness.

I wondered if all the coming mornings were going to be this way -waking up early, then remembering everything at once, and the slam in the chest, crushing over and over again.

Had he moved on? Did he not care anymore?

These thoughts spiralling on my mind, I got up and turned the alarm off, because I'd woken up fifteen minutes prior to it setting off. Then still carrying my slumber with me, I headed downstairs. No one ever came to wake me up even if I was late.

My mother joined some new activity each week, and she would always remain engrossed in those. And my father, oh well, we never got along. With half-closed eyes, I turned to the right and entered the kitchen.

Dad was already there, checking out the newspaper quickly before mom served him the toasts which he would grab at once, gulp down at four or five bites, and leave for the office, before I could even get down.

My father and I were always having some kind of fights or arguments, even for the most subtle reasons. Or I should rather say, he was always upset with me about something or the other.

He looked up at me, our eyes making a brief contact before he dived back into the Sports section of the paper again.

When I was in Sophomore year, he didn't talk to me for a week because I had taken French as my foreign language subject, which he was unaware of, and wanted me to change my subject to Spanish mid-semester.

French seemed reasonable to me because everyone I knew were taking up French, including Peter, Stacey and Andrew.

Plus, my biological mother was French; and so was my name. Eloine was a different form of the proper noun, 'Elaine', which was French. And this slightly explained my French fetish.

Eloine meant worthy, I'd been reminded several times, and just the opposite I was, worth at nothing.

After dad had left that day, mom had made me French toasts, which was rare, because we always had either cereals or pancakes for breakfast. And before I could take the hint, she had smiled and said, "If you like French, I suggest you to take up that subject. I'll talk to your dad."

Mom was a fan of practical jokes; she would make 'French' toasts if she wanted me to know it was okay to take up French.

S

he had made herself busy with her never ending activities- cookery club, golf club, social awareness club, etc.; and was almost never home. But when she was, she tried to make it worth.

After having breakfast, I bid her goodbye, and set out for school. When I was nearing the school gate, however, through the window of my car, my eyes caught a familiar face.

A flash of dark chestnut hair, a glimpse of that face, and a dark green shirt. But before I could see more of him to get assured he was who I thought he was, he got lost in the sea of other students.

Parking my car hastily behind a fancy, hot red one, I shut the car door with a slam, and walked past the other cars and figures leaning on them.

Then I saw him again. His skinny figure didn't look as skinny in a full sleeve shirt. He advanced effortlessly through the groups of boys and girls, who were cavorting here and there to catch up on new conversations.

With subtle swing of arms, and soles landing on the ground ever so lightly, he moved as if unaware of the world around.

Because when I got close enough for him to notice me, he was still walking the same way. I was about to call him 'Picasso', because I didn't know his real name, nor did he know mine, but then I realized something.

I must look like a hypocrite; walking by a boy this close and looking at his face, and him not realizing so. Everyone around were looking at us, most of them smirking, thinking what an idiot I was.

I was certain he was the 'new boy', and moreover, a handsome one, because some girls were already staring at him.

I must have looked desperate among them, to grab the attention of the new boy.

Pathetic.

These situations got me a lot embarrassed, where people were looking at me, and certainly thinking how pathetic I was. So I slowed down my speed, and looked down at the floor, my cheeks feeling warm already.

I was just near my locker and about to open it, when bam!

My body collided with someone else with a loud thud, literally making the other person fall. I balanced myself weirdly somehow and manage not to fall.

"Ow, bitch." That was the first thing she said, which was rude but reasonable, because it must've hurt pretty bad, and all her stuffs were lying on the floor.

"I'm so so sorry."

She tried to get up, annoyance evident in her face. I extended my hand to help her get up, but she rejected.

Brushing off dust from her small, white skirt, she got up; flipped her curly, jet black hair with purple highlights, and faced me.

She must be my height, but appeared few inches taller than me, thanks to her stilettos.

"Pick up my stuffs," she ordered, looking me straight in the eyes, through her long, dark mascaras. Her eye shadow was equally dark.

When someone asked me to do something, I generally couldn't turn them down. Though this girl was exceptionally rude, there was this dominance in her tone that made me a little scared. Plus, it was my fault anyway.

I bent down without saying a word, and picked up her stuffs.

There her id lied flat on the floor, flashing her name on my face: Amelia Johnson. Senior Year.

Oh God, she was another newbie. This was going to be a hard year if I had to deal with her more in future.

"Hey, I don't have all the time in the world. Hurry!" She shouted.

I hurried. I could hear the pounding of my chest, and I the feeling of humiliation ran down my spine. More people must be watching than earlier.

I handed her over everything, my head bent down. Grabbing them from my hand, she turned around and walked away from me. Her posture being everything opposite to mine.

Her shoulders not sagging once, chin held up, she walked briskly, reflecting all the confidence she had inside.

I sighed, looking at how she was everything I was not. She was confident, she had power, and dominance. She even looked so stylish.

Just in time, Stacey and Peter hopped in.

"What was that about?" Peter looked at me.

"What?"

"You know what," he deadpanned, as we all head out for our respective classes, Calculus for me and Stacey, Chemistry for Peter.

"Oh, that girl?" I tried to laugh off the issue. "We bumped into each other."

"You know Eloine, if people bully you, you have to stand up for yourself." He seemed serious.

"She didn't bully me," my voice was smaller this time. "It was my fault."

"Yeah, keep saying that. Come on, even she was typing at her phone. You both were at fault. She acted like you pushed her or something." He was shouting by this point. "Stop making a joke of yourself all the time!"

This time I felt more hurt. Peter was always this way. Asking me to fight for my rights and all. It was easy to say so when you were in the school football team.

He always told me to fight my own fights and win; so even if he saw me in such a situation, he didn't come for my rescue. Rather he stood at a distance and waited for me to fight, which I never did.

"He's right." Stacey added, but said nothing more.

I bent my head lower, my shoulders stooping even more. Probably noticing this, he put a hand on my arm and said, "Look, I just feel bad that you don't stand up for yourself when you should. I hate how you always accept you are at fault. You're not. Trust me, you are better than this."

With that, he parted ways. I knew he just said empty words to make me feel better. He knew it too I was not better. I was worse.

Class was half empty, so we sit down at the fourth bench in Calculus. Stacey said, sitting in the middle was always safe, neither a first bencher nor a back bencher.

My next two classes were Environmental Biology and AP English. I'd two AP classes this year, another being AP American Government.

Calculus had held us up for long, so I was already late for Bio when I got in. Only a few benches were empty, and I was about to adjust myself in one of them, when I saw him again.

The boy from Park yesterday.

Now that I saw his face clear daylight, he actually looked handsome, and may I add, sexy in that green shirt, if I ignored the fact that he was skinny. I could not help staring at him for a moment, before I realized the teacher was already there.

I didn't know many people in Environmental Biology, so I decided to take a seat next to him. A smile was already erupting from my face remembering our conversation from yesterday.

Just then someone rushed past me, pushing me away in the process. And before I could even gain back my balance, that someone had already sat beside him.

Amelia Johnson, if I remembered correctly.

I could not help rolling my eyes, and took a seat one bench after them. This girl was gonna be a disaster in my life, I was sure.

****

Pretty non eventful, if I say so. But I hope it didn't bore you to death.

Do let me know if there's anything I can do to improve. Also, thanks for the support (:

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P.s.- awesome cover above by Queen-jasmin
sorry it took me this long to publish the book :p