AN: So just a really short one, but I wanted to post something at least because I know I havent updated in a million years. I will be back to writing in February or March, but until then all my stories are on temporary hiatus starting now! Sorry! I have taken on way too much school work this year and I need to finish a couple of courses before fanfic can become any sort of priority for me again. Thanks for being patient!
Beautiful image of SCARLETT by crimson.@TDA
Troian Bellisario as Bollie, the wretchedly misunderstood heroine.
Rosie Tupper as Cherry, the girl who is everybody’s scapegoat.
Confession five - I have the appetite of a wrestler.
Cherry bugged me about the exchange the whole rest of the way to the kitchens.
“Do you know him? Do you have classes together? Why did you look so angry? What did he do? Oh Merlin, he’s not your brother is he? Or like your secret twin? Is he evil?”
“Look, just forget it, it’s nothing so dramatic,” I sighed, already wishing I had just left her alone in her bed to talk to one of her teddies.
I guess I must be scarier than I think, because she didn’t look happy, but she did stop talking, though that could have been because I’d just led her into the kitchens.
“Wow,” she muttered, after she had gotten over the initial confusion that stems from watching a normally sensible girl try to tickle a painting of some fruit.
“Yeah, it’s pretty cool,” I muttered, half heartedly accepting various pieces of food from the house elves who were running around, frantically trying to please us.
“How do you even know this is here?”
“Late night study sessions are good for something, I suppose,” I replied, which didn’t really answer her question, but she didn’t seem to mind. Instead she plonked herself down onto one of the spindly wooden chairs which surrounded the counter, and began happily munching on a huge bowl of chocolate covered cereal. Looking around, it occurred to me that I should really spend more mornings down there. Instead of just the regular breakfast foods the rest of the school was served, they had the beginnings of that nights desserts, which meant chocolate and cake and ice cream and all sorts of other yummy things I could easily devour in less than a second.
I debated for a second whether I thought the spindly, unreliable looking chair next to Cherry would take my increased weight, but my desire for food quickly overrode my desire for safety, so I threw caution to the wind and plonked myself down firmly before diving almost manically for a slice of apple pie that was being paraded past me by a smiling elf. He was unnaturally cheerful. I decided I hated him.
It was way too warm in the kitchen, and I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, imagining I could feel the sweat oozing revoltingly out of my pores. Cherry didn’t seem to notice it, because she was happily eating and chatting away to me, not even a hint of the tears which had been lurking earlier. Huh. I guess she was mood swingy too. I idly wondered whether she was growing a bastard as well, or if it was just generally a teenage girl thing. The latter seemed more likely, I had to admit.
I tugged at my shirt a bit, adjusting the neckline because my chest felt like it was about to burst into flames. I didn’t know whether dramatic body temperatures were a normal part of pregnancy, but if they were I was definitely not happy about it. Eight months of that and the most reasonable person in the world would have been ready to kill themselves. And I as not the most reasonable person in the world.
I shifted in my seat again, obliviously took another bite of pie, and a few seconds passed in silence. It was kind of nice. Companionable, not awkward.
“Look, I’m sorry, but I have to ask - did you get a boob job?”
There’s that awkward I was looking for.
I realised that by adjusting my shirt, I had basically given her the lovely sight of a whole lot of top boob. I wasn’t exactly flashing her or anything, but at that point my chest wasn’t exactly subtle, especially since I had spent so many years with it as flat as my stomach. Still. I hadn’t really wondered if people had assumed anything about it. I was pretty much past the age where you could pass it off as the last leg of puberty, though, so I guess if anyone saw me in a tight shirt for the first time since summer, they might subtly conclude I had spent my holidays getting a few adjustments. Like I say, awkward, especially because I kind of wished that was the case. It would have been a whole lot better for me than reality.
“Erm, no,” I say, pushing my food away.
“Oh. Oh! I’m so sorry. Nobodys, like, saying that or anything. I shouldn’t have assumed, it’s just that you look, erm, more... developed. Than before. Or something. I guess you just grew though! Ha, ha, lucky...”
She trailed off into a deep pool of awkward, and I don’t know whether it was the flaming embarrassment painted on her cheeks or the bumbling kindness behind her words or even that I just felt sick and tired and wanted somebody to know I had a real excuse for everything I was doing. My words came tumbling out before I could help them.
“Can you keep a secret?” I mumbled. She nodded, eyes bright. “I didn’t get a boob job… I got pregnant.”
And if my plan as to make it less awkward, I really don’t know how I thought that sentence was a good idea.