But she’s back.
She’s back. She’s back. She’s back.
God, she’s finally back.
I saw Bella last week. Just the back of her head, but I knew without a doubt that it was her. I’d recognize those terrible braids anywhere. She clutched her mom's Mickey Mouse toy in her hand as she climbed up some steps. Walking behind her was little Jeremy and a guy my age. And man, if it didn’t get my heart pumping. I’m assuming he’s her foster brother, but it doesn’t matter who he is to her; I don’t trust him.
Her new place is just down the street from me, but I haven’t been able to go up to her. Not yet. I need to be ready.
Instead, I followed her as she walked to Steve’s place and asked where I was. I watched her lip tremble as she shuffled back to her house, defeated. It hurt to see, but it’ll all be worth it.
It’s the first day back to school after summer break, and I am betting everything I own that Bella will go to the same school. It’s the closest school to our houses, and if she isn’t there, I’ll need to find a way to transfer.
I toy with the broken bracelet in my pocket, my bag heavier than usual. I watch her from a distance, holding Jeremy’s hand as she walks toward his elementary school. I’m glad he ended up with Bella so she has someone other than me. Though, I’d prefer it if it was just me.
No, I’m not jealous, I swear.
The little guy’s backpack is practically the size of him, coming down to the backs of his knees as he wobbles along, lugging the thing around. Admittedly, it looks empty, while hers is filled to the brim. No one would mistake them as siblings, not with Jeremy’s umber complexion and Bella’s golden skin.
But out of everything, what has warmth unfurling in the space I haven’t felt beat in almost a year, is the wonky, Wednesday Addams braid she’s sporting. It’s aggravating to look at how uneven it is, with a couple of wrong twists.
But to me, it’s perfect.
Everything she does is perfect.
I didn’t know it was possible, but somehow, she looks even cuter. I could stare at her all day with her baggy jeans held up by a string and the—what I’m guessing is DIY’d—tie-dyed shirt with some boy band on it.
She’s taller than I remember, and I don’t know if I like that. I think she might actually be taller than the boys in her class. She better not be taller than me. I don’t think my ego can take that kind of damage.
I want to pull my hair out with how slow the walk is, and I know it has nothing to do with Jeremy’s little legs. Seeing how hard she’s clutching his hand, my guess is that Bella is anxious.
Does she miss me? Is she hoping she’ll see me at school? What will she do when she sees me? Smile? Cry happy tears? Freak out about my black eye?
When she gets to the front of Jeremy’s school, she turns him around, takes stuff out of her backpack, puts it in his, and then waves him off like a doting mother as he all but skips to class without a backward glance. I guess his nerves are gone because he had the first-day jitters last week when his school started.
Once he’s out of sight, her shoulders sag and she curls in on herself, grasping the straps of her bag like she’s trying to stay afloat and the bag is her only lifeline.
My blood sounds louder in my ears. What the fuck happened to her when she was gone? I haven’t seen her act like that since we were kids.
Bella was never the type to draw attention to herself, but at some point, she stopped acting like she had to ensure she didn’t breathe too loudly. Her head would be held up, not too high that she’s looking down her nose, but not too low that she’s looking up from her lashes.
I pick up my pace, closing the distance between us and easing some of the tension caused by the thing now thumping in my chest. She’s too caught up in her own world, threading between the throng of people, focused on getting where she needs to go.
As soon as she passes through the school gate, my patience disappears. Too much time has passed, and I’m not waiting another second.
I creep up behind her and whisper over her shoulder. “There you are, Princess.”
Bella whirls around and stumbles back. My blood roars louder when her eyes round with fear, and she throws her arms up like she’s trying to block a punch—just like I taught her.
Every cell in my body goes hot and cold at the same time. She doesn’t need to say it. Somebody hurt her. Somebody laid a fucking hand on her. I don’t care who he is; he’s a dead man.
Bella will flinch or yelp and put a hand over her heart, but she never pales like her life flashed behind her eyes. The Bella I know doesn’t cower, and she sure as hell doesn’t look like she’s bracing for an assault.