.: Þrír :.
School, Isabella decides, is an extraordinary waste of time. Well, perhaps it wouldn't be if she were learning anything of actual value, but since she's stuck in class where the curriculum has not been updated in well over twenty years, she's restless.
She lets her mind wander, far beyond the simple desires and expectations of this small town. Isabella doesn't need to be famous, she decides in the middle of her home economics class. But she has to do something with her life, accomplish something that matters.
She will be content if that is all she can ever ask for.
…
Despite the shockingly small number of students at Forks High, Isabella doesn't see Isla once. Despite being the polar opposite of Isla, most kids at school often mistake the girls. It means Isla is seen everywhere, while Isabella is often forgotten.
Isabella doesn't mind too much. People are generally kind to her, thinking she's her sister, and all it takes is a small smile in their direction to placate them.
When Isabella walks into the front door of her parents' house, she can tell Isla is already home. Isla is loud, on the phone and storming around the living room as if she's warming up to be on stage.
"Yes!" Isla screams into the phone. "I know! Can you believe it?" She pauses then lets out a laugh that is somehow louder and more delicate than Isabella's own laugh. "I know! As if she even holds a candle!"
Isabella ignores her sister as she heads upstairs. She hasn't eaten all day, having skipped lunch to opt for more reading time in the small school library. She can feel her stomach rumble as she sets her backpack down by her desk. Brushing her still wet hair from her face, Isabella turns back to her door and prepares to head downstairs.
She freezes on the stairs when she hears Renée's voice.
"Oh, honey, that's wonderful!" Renée shouts into the living room. Isabella frowns. "Well of course you'll win. I have my old crown upstairs in the attic. Come on, I'll let you try it on."
Before Isabella knows it, Renée and Isla are headed up the stairs. "Oh! Izzy honey, did you hear about your sister?" Renée is beaming with pride. "Nominated for prom queen." She wraps a proud arm around Isla and she preens. Isabella nods slowly. She didn't hear, but she's not surprised.
"Congrats," Isabella says dryly.
Isla nods.
"We're going to go look at Mom's crown. Come on!" she says, pushing past Isabella on the stairs as she and Renée hurry up. Isabella sighs but turns to follow her mother and sister up the stairs. She wonders if Renée knows which daughter has been nominated, and then with a horrible realization, she knows it doesn't matter. They are interchangeable in her eyes; that has been made abundantly clear.
Renée leads her girls to the attic. It's a small space, hardly ever accessed for any reason beyond holiday storage.
"I know right where it is," she coos, settling down at an old chest the girls have seen hundreds of times. When they were little, they begged to play with the magical-looking trunk, but they were never allowed within reach of it.
Renée pulls open the heavy lid, and Isabella can't help stepping closer, intrigued by what might lie inside it.
It's mostly clothing, Isabella realizes with some disappointment, and Renée pulls each garment out carefully, recalling the exact instance she once wore it.
Isabella can't help feeling bitter as Renée goes on, describing clothes she can remember 30 years later when she's still not sure which daughter she's trying to show off a crown to.
Isabella is about to turn to leave and finally get something to eat when a small leather pouch catches her eye. It's old, that's abundantly clear, and looks scraggly compared to the clothes surrounding it. There is nothing remarkable about it, except that the very sight of it sends a thrill so deep through Isabella, she can feel it in her bones.
Her hands reach out, desperate to look in the pouch. Renée's hand slaps Isabella's before they can get near enough to the trunk. "Now this isn't for touching," Renée admonishes. "These are my special things. You'll get your own trunk one day, and that will be for your special things," she says, returning to the clothes. Isabella pulls her hands back, but her pulse is positively alive at the sight of the little leather pouch. She can feel the blood rushing in her ears, her heart thundering beneath her ribs. It's like she's finally found something she'd been looking for all her life, but she can't for the life of her begin to predict what it could be.
Renée produces the crown, and she and Isla fawn over it, giggling and delighting in the way it shines and sparkles.
Isabella can't take her eyes off that bag.
Finally, the three women head back downstairs. Isla offers to help with dinner so she and Renée can keep talking. Isabella takes this rare opportunity and slips back upstairs.