She had rejected him, a cold hard slap in the face. She had waited her whole life for something like that to happen, she had dreamed about it as a little girl. He was her whole world, everything to her, and she had rejected him. He had asked her to the dance and she had gone and crushed him, just like that.
She had tried to convince herself it was just a childhood crush when he had left. She thought she had succeeded, but really she knew better, in the back of her mind she knew she still loved him. But she had moved on, she had a boyfriend. When he had returned she had tried to convince herself that he was just her friend. But when she saw him she felt the same, she wouldn't admit it though, not even to herself.
She tried to be just a friend to him and for a while it worked, or she persuaded herself it had. It hadn't, not really; he was still flirty with her, believing her to still have a crush on him. But he had been excluded by the popular kids and Isabella had to make a choice: his friendship or popularity. She had chosen the latter, but it only became apparent when, out of the blue, he had asked her to the dance. Isabella knew she couldn't take it anymore and had chosen being with the popular kids.
She had declined, worse, she had yelled. She had rejected and crushed him. She could remember his eyes, his beautiful eyes, the look they gave her. In them she saw how much she had hurt him, they first broke, a black hole appearing where once there was happiness; then had come the disbelief, the pleading, pleading Isabella, begging her that it wasn't true, that this was not real, that it was a dream, that someone would wake him up from his nightmare. Next came the sadness... no, not sadness, worse, almost horror, despair, misery, woe, grief, sadness beyond what was normally possible for any human being, let alone Phineas Flynn. And then they had turned blank and he had walked away amid torrents of laughter.
He hadn't cried, he had broken, most likely forever. He had no friends, his old friends had changed. He was a nobody, a loser, an outcast, outcast by Isabella. She tried to rationalize that it wasn't all her fault: everyone had rejected him. But then again, they weren't his friends, or weren't supposed to be, she was. She was supposed to be there for him, forever, whether as a friend or a lover.
What had happened to her? She used to be a carefree fun-loving girl. She had cared about none of her peer's opinions of her, except one, her love, her crush since she had met him. Now that same boy was a reject, sitting on a bench somewhere, rethinking his life.
And then, like that, he had kissed her. How good it felt! Just after she had broken up with her jerk of a boyfriend. But now it was her turn to be rejected, he had told her that the kiss wasn't for her, but his best friend from all those years ago who, in his words, had died. And just like that he had vanished, back into the crowd, leaving Isabella rejected. He had looked at her with the saddest eyes while he had said it, like mourning for his dead friend.
Now here she was: at home, crying her eyes out like a loser. She had covered her head in her hands, what had she done? Why had she done that? What had it brought her? What happiness had come from it? How had it enhanced her life? Now she had no friends, she supposed they were never really her friends in the first place. She had beaten, rejected and sent her one true friend packing. She had killed that relationship right then and there, never again would they be friends. And, just like that, all her 'friends' had left her; now she was the nobody, a loser.
Isabella softly cried herself to sleep that night, she didn't want to go to school tomorrow.