Chapter 7: 5 ☆ No Big Deal

@pinkangelcake Honestly what's up with Fashionella? And what's wrong with Belinda? No selfies, posts or videos. I'm worried. VERY!

@maevedi This has been your only post for weeks. Are you alright?

"I look horrible!" Bella exclaimed, checking the selfies she just took. "How do I post this abomination?"

"You better send horrible packing. I need that face," her sister, Adele, said, taking makeup products out of her Chanel purse and placing them on the dresser.

Bella began deleting the photos—not that they were that bad; they just weren't good enough. "Can't we do the makeup some other day? I'm not really feeling up to it."

Her sister turned to her, disbelief drawn all over her face. "Are you serious?"

"I'm dead serious."

Adele lifted a brow at her photo-deleting sister. That was new. Bella lived for her makeup. She loved being the face of her freelancing. Ever since that time she did makeup on her and posted it on her Instagram, Bella had been her model. The photo went viral on Twitter after finding its way there, earning Adele the job of a makeup artist at the wedding of a billionaire's daughter—which she was paid heavily for.

"What's wrong?" Adele asked, going to meet her by the bed.

Bella sighed. "Viola," she plainly stated, then carelessly threw her phone to the bed, before falling backwards to it.

"What's wrong with Viola?"

"I wish I knew. I've asked, but she's not telling me anything. You should have seen her today. Her eyes were puffy and red like tomatoes."

Adele sat beside her. "Do you have a guess on what happened?"

"No. I'm really worried right now, and I can't do anything productive. I haven't posted anything on social media for a week."

"Well, that's not a problem."

Bella's head snapped to the side. "Are you kidding me?" She shot up to a sitting position. "It's a big, humongous problem! My best friend looks like a walking dead, Stephanie Baldesco is in Quebec, my social life is in a coma, Michelle Henshaw hasn't responded to my email—aren't those big enough?"

Adele flinched at every point she made, and when she was done, she placed a hand over her chest. "Geez! I'm sorry, okay? If you're so frustrated, why don't you just go out for a while to clear your head?"

"Go out? Where to, exactly?"

"The beach, an ice cream parlor—"

"Adele," she interrupted, frustration finally seeping into her voice. "I am beginning to lose my mind. Viola has never acted this way. Ever. She's keeping something from me. Come to think of it, she tells Cody more stuff than she tells me. Me."

"Look, I'm not saying this to upset you more, but have you studied yourself?"

Bella stared at her like a French fry. "What does that mean?"

"If Viola tells Cody more about herself, then doesn't that mean she trusts him?"

"How can she trust him more than me?"

"Maybe you just haven't gained her trust yet."

"What the hell, Adele? We've known each other for ten years."

"The length of time doesn't matter. Okay, do you know who she likes, or if she even likes anyone?"

Bella stared again, not having an answer to her sister's question.

"See? You don't know her as well as you think you do."

She wanted to be angry—wanted to remain frustrated—but Adele's words hit the spot.

You don't know her as well as you think you do.

Was that true? Viola had been a part of her life before Fashionella even came to life—before she won Are You a Math Whiz?. How could she not know her well? And most importantly, how could Viola not trust her?

The next day, immediately the car stopped in the school's parking lot, Bella turned to Viola beside her and said, "Viola, my locker. We need to talk," then got out.

All night, she thought about her best friend, not having the audacity to sleep. Though Viola looked better today, sadness was still drawn in very legible letters on her forehead. They really needed to talk.

Bella walked away, wanting Viola to know she was serious, and silently prayed she would follow.

"You should hear her out," Cody said, glancing in the rearview mirror at her.

Viola stared at the back of his head for a while, then mumbled, "I'm not sure I want to."

Cody turned to her, but before he could say anything, she got out of the car.

Bella arrived at her locker, and when she didn't see any sign of Viola, she became nervous. Her worry over Michelle Henshaw not responding to her email was replaced. She opened her locker, then began organizing it—even though there was no need for it. It was more of a stress habit.

She lifted a notebook, then saw a folded pink piece of paper beneath it. She unfolded it, then smoothened it out, and on seeing what was written in it, she released a small smile. Viola had slipped it into one of the bags she took to the beach the previous summer.

How's this?—we both dress as gauchos for Halloween this year? We're about the same height and have the same hair color. We could put on the same thing and swap places at the party. So cool! You know I've always wanted a twin, and this would be like a dream come true! We'd be the Ghosts of the South American pampas.

They eventually didn't dress up like South American cowboys—or girls. Bella found it weird, and slightly ridiculous, so she settled for Cupid, while Viola went for a swan.

"I'm here."

She looked to her right and saw her best friend looking poker-faced. It caused another kind of emotion to flow through her.

She folded the paper back up, then put it back in her locker. "I need you to tell me something."

Viola adjusted the strap of her backpack over her shoulder. "I—"

"Do you trust me?"

The question took her unaware, making her brows furrow, and she stared at Bella.

"Viola, do you trust me?" Bella repeated.

"Why would you ask me such a question?"

Bella looked her in the eye. "Why're you not telling me what's going on?"

"I'm... I'm not telling you because I don't want to, not because I don't trust you."

"What's the difference?"

Viola was quiet for a second too long. "Look, I don't know what's making you think I don't trust you, but I do—we've been friends since kindergarten."

"You've just been acting so weird lately, and you look terrible. It's making me feel like I did something to you—something really wrong."

Viola hesitated, but eventually said, "You're not at fault."

"Then tell me. I promise I won't tell anyone," she lifted the little finger on her right hand, "pinky swear."

Viola looked away, not wanting to say anything. She knew she shouldn't have come. She didn't want to be forced to explain anything. "I... I can't, Bella. I just can't."

Disappointment coursed through Bella. She thought she had done it. Or was the location the problem? "Do you want to go somewhere else? Somewhere private—the girl's bathroom, maybe?"

Viola shook her head. "No."

The air became awkward, and Viola looked anywhere but her friend's face. Bella stared at her, thinking of what to say, but before she could come up with anything sensible, Viola spoke.

"Look, I have to go. I need to see my art teacher." She turned to leave.

"Wait."

But she didn't wait.

Bella's stomach churned. Her best friend had never been so unconvincing. It was like she didn't believe it herself and was following the 'say it until you believe it' theory.

She faced her locker and took the pink-colored paper out of it again. She didn't want to, but she found herself reading it again.

The Ghosts of the South American pampas. Somehow, it made her want to laugh. It sounded mysterious and a little funny to her. But laughing wasn't an option; she couldn't laugh.

"Bella?"

She wanted to believe Viola changed her mind and came back, but she knew that voice didn't belong to her. Viola's voice didn't make her stomach do flips like that.

She looked at Beau, and immediately he saw her face, the same look she saw on his face the previous day took over the casual one he had.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Y-yeah. I am."

"You don't look fine to me."

She put the piece of paper down, then closed her locker. "Really? How can you tell?"

"Your face says it all. And I haven't seen eyes this sad in a while."

She cracked a tiny smile. "I'll be fine."

"Is this about your friend? I saw you guys yesterday. Is she okay?"

The mention of Viola made her chest constrict, but she didn't show it. "She'll be fine, too."

He studied her, surprisingly concerned, and she wanted to look away really bad, but there was something about the way he looked at her that made her want to continue staring into those hazel eyes. It made her chest feel warm—made her feel important, but not in the same way her fans did.

"You're lying," he finally said.

She stared at him for a while longer, then shook her head. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, really? I know a lie when I see one."

"I'm not lying, Beau—it's not a lie. I'm just predicting."

He smiled. "Well, is it something I can help with?"

She didn't speak immediately, but when she did, she said, "Girl problems, sorry," then walked past him.

He turned around to face her retreating figure. "You know, I have a sister."

She stopped, then turned back to face him. "Yeah. She's your sister—I'm not. And the last time you gave me advice..." She bobbed her head from side to side, pretending to recall their last encounter. "Let's just say it isn't the greatest I've gotten."

His lips formed a round shape, as if he was silently saying 'ooh', then he placed a hand over his chest. "Ouch!"

"Blunt?"

An amused smile played on his lips. "I think you just bulldozed my ego."

"Mm, fair. It could've been worse."

"Is this the girl problem thing talking or is it just you?"

"Just me, Beau."

His eyes lit up. "Did you just call me Beau?"

"Yeah..." She trailed off, realizing what he meant. "You're crazy. You know that's your name."

He laughed. "Didn't know you speak French, but I accept the compliment—crushed ego and all."

She found herself joining him, because he had somehow managed to lift her mood—again. Who was this boy? "Honestly, you're out of your mind."

"It's not the first time you're telling me."

She stared at him again, still smiling, and had to admit how beautiful she found his smile.

"Pretty eyes you've got there."

His comment threw her off her mental balance, and she opened her mouth several times, but nothing came out.

His smile widened as she fumbled for words. "Don't worry about it. You've said enough."

She went red in the cheeks and looked down to hide her slight mortification. That wasn't the first time she was being complimented—it just felt different with Beau. She mentally swore to never let that happen again. Ever!

"See you later, Belle," he said, smile still intact, then walked away in the opposite direction.

Her mental self did a facepalm when he was out of sight, and she said, "Shut up!"

Not seeming to be able to stop smiling, she turned around to begin her journey to the stairs that didn't lead anywhere, in the main hallway of the school.

But when she turned around, she saw someone in the corner ahead quickly retreat. And if she wasn't mistaken, they were watching her.