~Bailey's POV~
"Bailey, just pick a station already," Jordan groans from the row of back seats, and I snicker.
"I knew I shouldn't have allowed you to ride shotgun," Dallas smirks.
"Hey, Dal?" Sara pokes her head between my seat and Dallas'.
"Yeah?"
"Can Preston join us at the mall?" Dallas hesitates. "Please?"
"Fine," she sighs, turning into the mall.
"Good," Sara returns to her seat, leaving me to wonder yet again who Preston is. "Because he's already here."
"Of course he is," Dallas grumbles, claiming a parking spot. "Are you three ready? Sara, don't you dare even think about ditching us for your boyfriend."
Preston's her boyfriend?
Of course she's fucking straight.
Of course the one girl that I actually admit to myself as having a crush on is straight and is in a happy relationship.
I am an idiot.
Reminding myself that I'd never have a chance with her even if she was into girls and refusing to let my thoughts turn even more sour, I sulk out of the car, probably slamming the door a tad too forcefully. Oh well, it's not like Dallas can't buy herself another damn car. As for me, I can't buy myself a new, unshattered heart.
Too dramatic?
Thought so. There's a reason why Vrushti Trivedi is the world's youngest published poet and not me.
"You're quiet," Jordan pokes my arm as I watch Sara greet some buff, tan guy three rows over. "It's unusual, and I don't like it."
"Sorry," I mutter, shoving my hands into my jean pockets and starting for the mall entrance.
"Woah, wait," she grips my arm. "Did you just apologize? Are you feeling okay? You're not sick, right? You're not-"
"Holy shit, you worry just as much as Demi does," Her cheeks flush as she glares at me.
"What's your problem exactly?"
"I don't have a problem."
"Um, yeah, you do. One minute, you're all joking and sarcastic, then the next you're all sullen and introverted."
"Maybe I'm bipolar."
"That's not funny."
I shrug, kicking a soda can and praying that it doesn't break a car window.
"You know who you remind me of?" I don't speak, yet she continues anyways. "Nick."
"How do I remind you of Nick?" I snort, frowning when the can skids underneath a car and noting that Dallas is already at the mall entrance.
"When he's around my dad and mom at the same time," she pauses. "Wait, are you-are you jealous?"
"What would I have to be jealous over?"
"I don't know," she glances far behind us, at Sara and Preston, at their interlocked hands.
I only just met the girl not too long ago! I refuse to succumb to the status of a love-sick puppy. I need to get a grip.
"You'd tell me anything, right?"
"Did I tell you about my self-harming?" I retort under my breath, but she still hears it, for she flinches.
"Okay, let's try this a different way. Blonde, blue eyes, really thin, really tall."
"Reese Witherspoon. Oh, wait, no, she's shorter than Demi. Laura Dern?"
"Fine, don't tell me. Just know that I would never judge you and nobody in our family would either," she speeds up her pace to catch up with Dallas.
I don't believe her, not even close.
~
"That is probably the creepiest store that I have ever seen," Jordan comments as we stand outside the doors of the store.
"It's just Hot Topic," I deadpan. "You're not going to die if you go inside."
"You sure about that?" I roll my eyes. "Why don't we go there?" she points to the store across from Hot Topic, a boutique filled with dresses and glitter and other girly shit that I don't care about.
"I'll go in there, if you go in Hot Topic."
"Let's pray that we make it out alive," Jordan mutters, and Sara snickers.
"I've only been in here once," the older girl admits, one arm wrapped around her silent boyfriend.
"I think I went in with Demi a couple of times," Dallas chimes.
"There's no way that I'm related to you two," I look at Dallas and Jordan.
"You just take after mom," Jordan shrugs.
"Then who do you take after?" she points to Dallas.
"How about for every one item that I buy in here, you buy something from over there?" she gestures again to the girly boutique.
"You just want to see me in a dress, don't you?"
"A little glitter wouldn't hurt either," she smirks.
"I'm going to regret this," I pause. "Fine," I sigh as she squeals. "Calm down, would you?"
"Don't go buying the whole store just so Bailey will wear a couple of dresses," Dallas warns.
"No promises," Jordan takes my hand and drags me into the store, seeming to forget about her apparent death by association.
"I thought you were going to die if you entered the store," I tease, and she gently smacks my arm.
"Okay, fingers crossed that I can actually find something," I chuckle as she leaves me.
"Is Jordan determined to find something?" Sara joins me.
"Oh, yeah," I laugh. "Where's Preston?"
"Talking to the clerk. They're friends or something," she explains, searching through the racks. "I think this is the most straight-forward shirt that I've ever seen," she holds up a black tee-shirt that reads 'I'm not antisocial, I just don't like you'.
"That is the most accurate shirt that I've ever seen."
"Are you talking about me?" she arches an eyebrow.
"You're the one that said it," I shrug.
She feins an offended scoff.
"We've been over this before: you would not be able to survive without my presence."
"Keep telling yourself that," I chuckle, finding a black tee-shirt that reads 'don't try to define me' with a couple of birds flying where a period should be.
"I like that one," she reads over my shoulder.
"Me, too," I smile.
"Now I want one," she giggles, searching through the racks for one in her size.
"We're going to have matching shirts now?" I joke.
"Why not?" one side of her mouth quirks upwards, soon morphing into a triumphant grin when she finds the exact same shirt in her size.
"I found something!" Jordan announces, and Dallas follows her.
My sister holds up a blue pullover top that has Stitch from Lilio & Stitch sticking his tongue out.
"Leave it to you to find the girliest thing in here," I say.
"You just said that I had to find something; you didn't specify what it had to be."
"I think what Bailey had in mind was something more..." Dallas trails off.
"Dark," I finish. "Like, uh," I quickly skim through the rack of shirts. "This," I hold up a tank top that features a splattered blood design and Freddy Krueger's glove.
"You're kidding, right?" she scrunches her nose up. "Why would I ever wear that?"
"This is going to be a long day," I mutter, returning the tank top to it's place.
"Why don't you all get what you want, then meet up at the doors and see how many pieces Jordan bought?"
"Question: does that girly place only sell dresses?" I inquire.
"No, of course not," Jordan replies. "But you have to buy at least one dress."
"Why?" I whine.
"It's just a dress," she laughs. "You act as if I'm asking you to saw off your own arm."
"You might as well be. I think I'd rather stab myself in the eye with a fork than go wear a dress covered in glitter."
"Just for that comment, I'm determined to find at least five things here," she smirks before leaving me again, and I groan.
"I feel your pain, I really do," Sara pats my shoulder in mock sympathy. "But this is all really amusing for me," I roll my eyes as she chuckles.
~
"Okay, I think Bailey just bought out the entire store," Dallas says when we've left Hot Topic.
"I left them with their dresses," I grin.
"Alright, Bailey," Jordan fishes through her shopping bags, mumbling numbers under her breath as she counts her items. "You have to buy nine things."
"Does anybody have a fork?"
"Maybe you'll actually find something that you love," Jordan chimes, and I shoot her a blank expression. "Or not."
The first thing that I notice when we step inside the boutique - well, aside from the clothing - is the music. Boppy teen pop that contrasts heavily to what plays inside Hot Topic. And I know the song currently playing.
"Does anybody else know this song?" Sara wonders. "Or is it just me?"
"Sticks and stones break your bones, I know what you're feeling," I sing, not even caring if the other people in the store hear me. "Words like those won't steal your glow, you're one in a million."
"This, this is for all the girls, boys all over the world, whatever you've been told, you're worth more than gold, so hold your head up high. It's your time to shine. From the inside out it shows, you're worth more than gold," Sara and I sing, trying not to laugh.
"Are you recording us?" I question Dallas, noticing her phone.
"I'm sending this to your mom."
Shrugging, I continue to sing the song with Sara, neither of us able to contain our laughter as we alternate between singing the song well and purposefully awful.
"You can really hit those high rifts," she compliments.
"You know music?"
"Just a couple of terms."
"Dallas, did you send it to Demi?"
"Yeah but she hasn't responded yet."
"I'm going to go talk to some people," Preston tells Sara.
"Okay," she nods, then kisses his cheek. "I love you."
My jaw almost drops when he doesn't say the words back, doesn't even turn around to acknowledge her. When he's gone, her awkward gaze meets mine.
"He just didn't hear me," she sounds as if she's trying to reassure herself more so than me that her words ring true.
I nod, even though I don't necessarily agree with her.
"Try this on," Jordan hands me a white dress with lace and a gold belt.
"No," I shake my head. "When did you even get this?"
"When you two were having your sing-off. Yes, you are trying it on," she pushes me towards the dressing rooms. "I'm not saying that you have to buy it, but humor me here, would you?"
"Wait, hold up the dress," Sara commands, and I turn around, flashing her the dress.
"Okay, now, go try it on, and I'll be right back," Furrowing my eyebrows at her retreating figure, I do as she says and lock myself in one of the empty stalls.
Sighing, I strip out of my clothes and slide into the dress, releasing a relieved breath when I realize that Demi's makeup is still covering my cuts and scars.
"Here," I hear Sara's voice on the other side of the door.
I dodge a flash of pink and a pair of shoes.
"Are you trying to kill me?" I shriek, picking up the pink jacket and nude colored pumps. "There is no way that I'm putting these shoes on, and this shade of pink makes me want to puke."
"Just do it," I can practically hear her eyes rolling. "We're all waiting."
Grumbling under my breath, I slip the jacket over my arms and buckle the shoes onto my feet.
"If I fall," I take a step, gripping tightly onto the doorknob. "It's your fault."
She giggles as I slowly open the door and cautiously step out of the stall, wobbling in the short heels.
Dallas, Jordan, and Sara are all silent, jaws slack. I nervously shuffle.
"I know I don't wear this stuff ever," I mumble, trailing my eyes over my outfit. "But do I really look that ugly?"
"What?" I swear they all three say that one word one in unison.
"Did you just call yourself ugly?" Sara gapes at me.
"Well, you all are staring at me like I'm some freak of nature-,"
"Oh my gosh," Sara rolls her eyes, takes my hand, and leads me to one of the full body mirrors. "You seriously don't see how pretty you look?"
"I mean, I guess," I shrug, trying to push back the blush that threatens to invade my cheeks.
"I'm facetiming your mom," Dallas announces, tapping away at her phone.
"Why?" I arch an eyebrow.
"So I can actually hear her reaction," I roll my eyes.
"Dallas, why are you facetiming me?" I hear Demi ask. "What did Bailey do?"
"That was so rude," I scoff.
"Just look at your daughter," Dallas flips her phone around, so Demi can see me.
"Who are you, and what have you done with my daughter?" I sarcastically laugh at her shocked tone.
"It's just a dress," I groan.
"Yeah but I don't even think you own a dress," she points out. "And you're wearing pink. Nick, come see your daughter!"
"I give up," I throw my hands up in the air.
"What am I looking at?" He peers over her shoulder. "Oh, you're wearing a dress," I roll my eyes. "No, hang it back up."
"Gladly," I snort.
"Wait, why?" Demi wonders.
"It's too short."
"I like the way he thinks," I agree. "I look like a slut wearing this."
"You don't look like a slut, Bailey," Demi reassures. "Nick, shut up."
"You're the one that called me in here."
"What shoes are you wearing?" Dallas tilts the phone towards my feet, and Demi squeals. "You're wearing heels!" she coos.
"Am I the only one who doesn't agree with this?" Nick inquires.
"No," I answer. "I hate this."
"Dallas, get her that outfit," Demi instructs.
"Already on it," Dallas chuckles.
"Don't I get a say?" I whine.
"No."
"I'm never going to wear this!"
"Yes, you will," Demi waves off my concern.
"When?"
"What about on a date?" Jordan suggests.
"No!" Nick shouts.
"Nobody asked for your opinion, Nick," Demi retorts. "I was around her age when I started dating."
"That's my point exactly."
She rolls her eyes at him.
"Next thing you know, Bailey, they'll be wanting to get you a purity ring," Jordan snickers.
"That's a brilliant idea," Nick chimes, and I gape at the phone, then glare at Jordan.
"I was only joking," she defends.
"Just let him have his moment," Demi advises.
"But you can just take the ring off..." I trail off as Nick looks at me, then Demi.
"What?"
"That's the exact same thing that you said to your dad."
"I remember that," Dallas pipes up. "I thought dad was going to lock you away like Rapunzel."
"Can I go change now or...?"
"Dallas, remember to buy her that outfit!" Demi adds.
"You're really not my most favorable person right now," I comment.
"I really don't care, baby-girl," she ends the call.
"Are we done in this store?" I hopefully ask.
"Oh no," Sara chuckles. "Especially not after that," she gestures to my outfit. "Trust me, I'm sure I can throw something together that you'll like."
And she does. Two outfits, in fact, with Jordan's help. My favorite part? Both included combat boots and leather jackets.
"Where should we go eat at?" Dallas inquires as we leave the store.
"Isn't there a food court here?" Jordan wonders.
"There is," Dallas slowly responds. "Sara, how about you go find Preston, and then we can all decide where to eat?"
Sara nods, turning on her heel and heading in the opposite direction.
"So, are you two okay with eating here?" Dallas asks.
"I don't have a problem with it," Jordan shrugs.
"What about you, Bailey?"
"It's food," I laugh. "I'm not picky about food."
Not as long as I'm able to throw up after I'm finished.
After Sara and Preston join us at the food court, we all scatter in search of what we want to eat, the money that Dallas gave me clenched tightly in my fist. Noticing that Preston ditched Sara yet again, I join her, and she leads us to Earthbar.
"So, what is this place exactly?" I scan the menu.
"Just an organic juice place," she looks over at me. "I could order for you, if you want."
"Thanks," I smile, handing her the money that Dallas gave me, and she nods, telling me to go back to Dallas and the others and shooting down my protests to help her carry our orders.
I, a stubborn over-thinker, decide to wait outside the doors for her so that I can carry my own order and not have to worry about her getting bumped and spilling our drinks on herself or something. That'd be a disaster waiting to happen.
"I thought I told you to go back to the others," she teases.
"And I thought you would have realized by now how stubborn I am," I take my drink and a bowl from her.
"I got us both acai bowls and Miami Beach smoothies," I open my mouth to question her on what exactly that means, but she cuts me off. "The acai bowls are just blended acai and banana with granola and fruit, and a Miami Beach smoothie is just pineapple, papaya, banana, and coconut water. I can go back and order you something else-,"
"It's fine," I laugh. "I'm seriously not a picky person when it comes to food," I pause, a thought occurring to me, and I contemplate on whether or not I should ask. "Do you, like, only eat organic or something?" She nods, taking a sip of her smoothie as we walk.
"It's healthier," she explains.
"But, like, what if you can't?"
She falls silent, seemingly ignoring my question, and I feel slight regret. I shouldn't be so nosy. I know what it's like feeling as if you're under a microscope, vulnerable for everyone to scrutinize and pass judgement upon. Dallas waves us over to the table, and Sara sits beside Preston, and Jordan is beside Dallas while I'm in between the two pairs at the end of the square-shaped table.
"What is that?" Jordan looks at my food.
"Food," she shoots me an unimpressed expression. "Healthy food."
"And yet you still swear that you're nothing like mom," she mutters, taking a bite out of her pizza slice.
"Sweetheart, even I can tell that you are not only the spitting image of Demi, but your personality is spot on to her's as well," Dallas interjects, twirling lo mein noodles between a pair of chopsticks.
"I still don't see it."
"Maybe she's not like that anymore," Dallas begins. "But go back to, like, fourteen years ago, before all of this shit happened, and I swear it'll be like a completely different person, and you'll see yourself in that person."
As Dallas and everyone else busies themselves with their phones and food, Jordan looks at me and mouths 'that's my fault, too'. I shake my head, hating how she's blaming herself for every little change, every little mistake, every little thing that has went wrong. It's not healthy for her to be doing that.
Plus, if it's anybody's fault it's mine.
"Well," Preston speaks, rising to his feet as he stares at his phone. "I should really be leaving. It was nice meeting you all."
I remain silent as Jordan and Dallas tell him goodbye, and he whispers something into Sara's ear.
"I'll be right back," she smiles and follows him to the outskirts of the food court where there aren't many people and shadows disfigure facial features.
Despite the voice in my head calling me a stalker, I watch them, mainly because I don't like Preston. Sure, he's dating the girl that I like, but I'd like to hope that I'm not that petty; he gives me a bad vibe.
Although the shadows make it difficult to see, I think that his facial expression hardens, and, by her flared arm movements and quick, jerking motions, I can infer that their conversation has escalated. Maybe they're arguing. She turns around and begins to walk back to the table when he grips her wrist and forces her to turn back around. She tries to take steps backwards, tries to yank her arm from his grasp, but he doesn't let her go until he's finished talking to her, then they go in opposite directions. I return my attention to my food as she approaches the table. Neither Dallas nor Jordan notice a thing, too engrossed with their phones to even look up. My eyes slide to Sara's wrists, where one hand is cupped around the wrist with red fingerprint marks. She ducks her hands underneath the table.
"Are we all finished?" Dallas inquires about twenty minutes later, and I swear confusion washes over her features as she notices my empty bowl.
But why would she be confused?
"Are we ready to leave now?" She adds.
"Actually, I need to use the restroom real quick," I pipe up.
"But, uh," Dallas directs her attention to her phone, then looks back at me. "Demi just texted me saying that she needs you both home right away."
"It'll only take, like, two minutes," I force a laugh, wondering why she's suddenly acting so weird.
"If you're worried about her getting abducted, I'll go with her," Sara volunteers.
"Fine," Dallas agrees, rather reluctantly.
Sara and I walk to the restrooms in silence. I contemplate how to get her out long enough for me to throw up what I ate.
Luckily, the stalls are all empty, and I lock myself in one. I can hear the paper towel dispenser, soon followed by water running in the sink. Whatever she's doing, it's the least of my worries. I hear her phone chime, probably from an incoming text message, and that's when I know how to get her out of here.
"I think I left my phone out on the table," I lie. "Can you go get it for me?"
"Sure," I can hear her crumpling up the paper towel. "Wouldn't want it getting stolen now would we?"
I wait until I can no longer hear her footsteps before purging my meal, the unsanitary conditions of the public restrooms nothing more than an afterthought. When finished, I feel dizzy and light-headed, as if I could faint at any moment. I sit so that my head is leaning against the stall wall. The amount of blood that I managed to expel terrifies me. I know that it's a bad sign. At the very least, it means that I'm getting worse, but I can't stop. It's not even really a vanity thing anymore; it's not even really about me wanting to be skinny. It's now manifested itself into a desire for control, just like my self-harming. It's a bad habit, like smoking cigarettes. Everybody has their own poison.
Once the dizziness has faded, I flush the toilet and open the stall door, nearly jumping out of my skin when I come face to face with Sara.
~
~
~Demi's POV~
~
~
"She looked adorable in that dress," I state after ending my facetime with Dallas.
"She'd kill you if you said that to her," Nick chuckles.
"You act as if you're not going to enjoy chasing away all of the teenage boys," I tease.
"It's not the boys that I'm worried about."
"What do you mean?"
"Her and Sara..." He trails off.
"You've noticed it, too?" He nods. "Do you think she'll ever tell us?"
"Hopefully. Do you think that Dallas has noticed?"
"No, Dallas is oblivious," I pause. "I feel bad for them right now."
"Why?"
"Knowing how Dallas can shop, she has probably completely tired them out to the point where they're practically begging to come home, and we're laying here doing absolutely nothing."
"We're talking," I roll my eyes, and he props himself up so that he's hovering over me. "This," He brings his lips to mine. "Is something."
"You're a typical guy," I murmur.
"Who's lucky enough," He kisses me. "To have you," Another kiss. "In his bed," He kisses me a final time before quirking an eyebrow. "Can you blame me?"
The doorbell echoes throughout the nearly empty house.
"If it's Bailey, I'm going to kill her," he jokes, getting off of the bed, and I laugh as I make my way to the front door.
When I open the door, my smile instantly vanishes at the sight of Wilmer and a man in a business suit carrying a briefcase.
"Ms. Lovato," the man speaks. "I am Mason Gibbons, Mr. Valderrama's attorney. May we come in? We have some matters to discuss, if you don't mind."
Of course I mind. Who wouldn't?
Biting my tongue, I turn to Nick who waits in the foyer, away from the door, his carefree expression now stone cold.
"Call my lawyer."
ns 18.68.0.81da2
