In high school, Courtney realized she could not write creatively. It was almost absurd; she could do nearly everything she set her mind to: play violin, debate, sing, dance, and she was not academically challenged in any way. Yet, in her creative writing class junior year, she struggled tragically to write fiction, nonfiction, and especially poetry. She was constantly encouraged by her teacher to keep trying, to keep practicing and soon she would become good at it.

She remembers a day, it was October - a few months after her birthday. Her teacher stood in the front of the classroom, confident in himself. Courtney could tell by the way he was standing he knew exactly where he stood and his arrogance in his eyes as well as his writing.

"I finished reading all of your poetry, and I must say I am disappointed." He began, crossing his arms and leaning on his left leg. There was a collection of papers in his right hand. "Most of you are not trying enough. Many are not practicing enough at home. As a published author, it is imperative you practice your writing every day."

Courtney listened intently to everything that he was saying, though her eyes were focused on the papers in his hand. She had worked particularly hard on this series of poetry and expected at least a B+.

As the teacher walked around the classroom distributing graded papers, Courtney was calm, legs crossed and waiting impatiently for her paper. On the board, in messy handwriting, he had written, "NARRATIVE POETRY" and it was underlined many times.

"I expected a lot better." A deep voice suddenly erupted into Courtney's head. She turned around to the disappointed look her teacher was giving her. He placed the paper face-down onto her desk. Then, he gave the next paper to the person sitting next to her and continued walking around the classroom returning the papers.

Confused, Courtney flipped the paper around, faced with a red and solid C staring back at her. Comments tornado-ed around the margins of her paper, in small, scribbly handwriting she could barely read. Shocked, she continued to stare at it, stomach twisted uncomfortably. She bit her bottom lip and turned the paper back onto the desk, eyes prickled with tears.

Her first C in her entire life left her insides rotten and her core brittle. She thought about what her parents would think, and then she thought about her future and if she would get into her dream school. The thoughts continued to swirl in her head for interminable moments until someone poked her arm. Swiftly, she turned around to her right.

"What?" She sneered, annoyed.

Sitting beside her was Savannah McCaffery, a student in the same grade as her. Sometimes, the brunette would talk to her. Courtney disliked the vast majority of students in their high school - Savannah was not one of them. The two shared many classes together throughout the past three years; Courtney wouldn't be surprised if the teenager was one of the brightest students in the whole school. Yet, she hid it with her natural laziness and similar dissatisfaction with the people at their high school. According to some of Courtney's sources, Savannah was somewhere in the top 10 in their class and could become a potential threat for valedictorian if she put her mind to it.

Savannah seemed unfazed by the angered-Latina. "Ignore Jeffrey's comments and the grade on your poem. You seem pretty worked up."

Courtney glared some more and crossed her arms. "What makes you think I'm worked up? Why don't you mind your business for once.".

"Well, what did you get?" The African Canadian girl asked. Her long black braids moved with every movement her head made.

"I don't have to tell you." Courtney turned her head away from the other girl, seeming more enraged.

After she had that, she knew that was a red flag in Savannah's eyes. There were times where the two often shared answers and compared open-ended questions, though they typically got similar scores. It was just a regular teenager thing to do when you were in high school. Plus, Courtney didn't consider that cheating because it always happened after things were graded.

A moment of silence sat between the two girls.

"Fine, I'll show you what I got though."

When Courtney turned her head slightly, and it was solely based on curiosity, she nearly snatched the paper decorated with few comments and a bright A on it. "How did you get an A?" Courtney asked almost immediately. The comments on the paper barely touched the surface of criticism; they were more-so comments of endearment and encouragement.

The Latina looked at her classmate and in return she shrugged her shoulders. "I've always been a writer. I just tell my truth and I just so happen to have a nice way of saying it." Savannah looked at Courtney. "I'm an emotional writer, cause I'm an emotional person. It's easy for me."

As she talked, Courtney remembered that the girl was not native and was originally born in the United States but moved here when she was twelve. Her voice echoed that of a person who lived in an urban city on the East Coast, like New York or Philadelphia. Courtney wasn't a linguist, but she could recognize a dialect non-native to Canada when she heard it. When Savannah called herself an emotional writer, Courtney noticed that was the first time she had ever heard the girl say anything about herself or her own perception.

"The big thing is truth," The African Canadian continued, "if you don't know your truth, how are you gonna write about yourself?"

Courtney was confused. So, she stayed quiet and read the poems that had earned Savannah an A. The majority of them Courtney skimmed through, but there was one in particular that caught her eye. The poem had given the Latina goosebumps after she read it for the first time. Quietly, she returned the papers back to Savannah and didn't say a word for the rest of the class.

Later in the years, after most of her time on the Total Drama series, Courtney had been going through some of her old notebooks when she found a ripped page with writing on it. She had only looked at it for a split second until she remembered where she had originally gotten the short piece of literature from.

The paper read,

"it was almost too late by the time i realized i was living in a cloud of thick, poisonous gas. When I had fell, a six-foot grave was already dug...some call it making a deal with the devil, cursing god and gods and wishing harm. others imagine it as bad luck or bad karma. I wasn't sure where i fell on the scale of judgement, until i heard the sounds of shoveling. it was getting closer, and i started to become excited, until i realized the sound wasn't shovels, and it was coming from underneath me..."

Courtney folded the paper in half and stuffed it back into the notebook, before continuing to shuffle through the papers, looking a little but more unsettled.

When Courtney woke up, the jaded dream of a past high school experience had quickly found itself in the enormous pile of forgotten memories. She blinked, searching for familiarity in her surroundings. After a few moments, she realized she was in her living room comfortably on her sofa. She was laying on her side, since everything was sideways. It was a still a little sticky in the small apartment, simply due to the outside weather. The brunette realized she never turned the air conditioner in the window on. It was propped in the open window, supported by the structures on either side of it.

She could see the air conditioner, but barely. To Courtney, that meant it was close to evening, which meant it was close to nine pm. The room was much darker than when she first closed her eyes a few hours ago. Shadows of the little furniture she had leered towards her, on the carpet.

Sitting up, Courtney heard a slight movement to the left of her. Her head snapped in its direction, until she connected the long blonde mop of her to her best friend. To be honest, Courtney completely forgot Bridgette was here. She was so used to barely having any visitors it was an unfamiliar feeling to actually have someone over. Plus, after longer naps she felt even more disoriented from the world than usual. After a few longer moments Courtney stood up softly and walked past the plain white island counter that separated her living room from her kitchen. She opened her white refrigerator and pulled out a water bottle. After drinking about half of it in one sitting, she sat it on the counter.

One thing she constantly thought about was buying a coffee table. That was one of the few things she wished she would invest in but didn't want to. Back when she lived with her parents, Courtney always sat in the living room and sat a cup of steaming coffee on it, drinking multiple cups a day. So one of her first beliefs when moving out of her parent's home was to lean herself off of coffee; this led to her avoiding the coffee table isle at the local furniture store. There was not a coffee maker in her apartment either. Coffee made Courtney on-edge, especially after the first few days of not drinking it. Since then, because it was months ago, she can properly function without it. Or, at least that what she believes she is doing, barely leaving the house and having to remind herself to eat sometimes.

Years ago, Duncan told her the addiction was unhealthy and that was the reason why she's so short and needed to wear her wedges. He had found out pretty early on in their relationship after the end of Total Drama Island. The teenager had been visiting his then-girlfriend for the weekend, and the two escaped into a crowded mall wearing silly disguises. It was Courtney who had insisted on visiting the Starbucks in the mall, nearly-dragging Duncan with her.

"This is your third cup of coffee today, Princess." He had noted, watching her down it almost immediately. He had assumed the coffee burned her throat. Later, that evening when the two were in his car, half-naked, Courtney had whispered in his ear how she liked the burn. The couple both knew exactly what it was she was referring too, which was not coffee.

"So?" She finally answered, after taking a long drink from it. Licking her lips, she looked at him confused.

"So, you're a complete coffee addict and it's unhealthy. It's probably why you're so short." He snorted, crossing his arms and leaning into the chair in the food court.

She had slapped him in the back of the head for that comment after they finally left the food court, but there was nothing malicious about it, and the brunette had blushed when Duncan winked at her after that.**

The memory made Courtney's head hurt. It was one of the many moments she could never forget, one the few good things before everything went bad.

Duncan Wilde.

The boy had nights dedicated to him. Those were the bad nights; the ones Courtney barely got any sleep. She could never stop thinking about their relationship. All the good and bad aspects of it. The timing, the situation, all the factors that went into their fiery, publicized romance.

"Hellooo? Courtney?" A voice disrupted her thoughts.

She looked up, and her friend was standing on the other side of the island, staring at her. There was the ghost of a smile on her lips, but she mainly looked concerned.

Courtney smiled, almost genuinely. "Good evening Sleeping Beauty. Sadly, your prince isn't here to whisk you away, so you will be stuck with me for the night."

Bridgette laughed. "That's fine with me, I like to spend time with other princesses anyways." She loosely spoke.

The smile immediately was wiped from both of their faces once Bridgette realized she called Courtney by an old nickname.

Blinking the gazed look away, Courtney looked at Bridgette, expressionless.

No one had called her that in a long time. Specifically, since Action. But that was only because they were filming the fairy tale episode of the show, and Courtney competitively fought her way to be the star of the episode. But even then, she should had known something between them was different. He called her by her full name on a regular basis. Sure, he still called her Babe sometimes back them, but it wasn't as enchanting as her true nickname. But Duncan never called her by her real name unless he was extremely pissed. But, Courtney guessed, he was mad at her a lot back then.

Bridgette was about to begin the process of apologizing and making an excuse before Courtney stopped her. "Bridge, you don't have to apologize." There was a small smile on her face.

When Courtney looked at Bridgette, she noticed how it seemed like Bridgette felt and absorbed some of the pain Courtney currently felt and reflected it onto her face. It was genuine pain and any specs of concern were Bridgette's alone. The brunette was never really concerned about herself, especially after the last season of Total Drama she was on. It was more-so frustration - a consistent bitter displaced in her throat everyday she thought about her mistakes on the show.

Courtney wasn't angry at her best friend; she had no real reason to be. If anything, considering how long it's been since anyone called her that nickname, she really shouldn't have any emotions about it at all. "It's fine Bridgette." She repeated. They both knew "it's my fault" was originally meant to finish the end of that sentence, but Courtney stopped herself last minute. If she had continued, it would have created an entirely new situation.

"No, I need to think before I speak next time." The blonde put her elbows onto the island counter and placed her head into her hands. Remnants of drowsiness could be seen in her eyes, and her lips were chapped, but Courtney couldn't help but have an elongated stare at the ring on her finger.

Would anyone ever want to marry her? A year ago, she would have answered an annoyed, but confident "Yes." without a second thought. Now, her answer was delayed, and constantly surrounded by mist so she really never knew. She hoped so, though.

"Bridge, seriously, you're fine. Don't worry about it." Courtney walked past Bridgette and turned the light switches upwards. They were placed on the wall that helped differentiate the living room from the kitchen. "Are you hungry? We can order pizza." She changed the subject quickly.

The lights in her kitchen buzzed to life, illuminating her friend and the kitchen. The brunette's best friend watched Courtney walk back into the kitchen after walking into the living room to retrieve her cell phone. "A little bit. We can order the pizza and then clean your room while we wait for it." Bridgette answered, smiling at Courtney.

Again, this was a topic Courtney mentally wrote in her imaginary laundry list of things to talk about with Bridgette. The list was beginning to get a little too long, to the point where she didn't know if "The P Word" was #6 or #7. It might actually be a sub-section until "Duncan", which was high up in a priority list based on the one with just the topics. "Okay, sounds good." Courtney agreed, scrolling on the local pizza place's website to order online instead of calling in an order. "Is half-vegetarian and half-pepperoni good?" She asked, looking up at her friend.

Bridgette nodded her head yes. "You should get like a medium, though. I doubt we can finish a large pizza between the two of us."

Neither girl was a large eater, and since they were both still slightly full from the lunch earlier, they decided on a medium pizza. After Courtney finished ordering it on her phone, she closed her web-browser app and opened Instagram, where Bridgette's post must have been still receiving likes, because Courtney was still gaining new followers every few minutes or so. She had considered posting a similar picture, of the two of them.

Looking up her name in the web-browser search bar, Courtney discovered it wasn't just one online newspaper that posted an article about her sudden reappearance into the real world. Now, there were multiple outlets briefing discussing it in their articles, having more questions than answers. In her head, Courtney knew she shouldn't be reading any of these - for quite a few reasons. The main one, was the way they talked about the Latina.

Many introduce the Latina in their stories in a negative manner, placing her as the troublemaker's crazy straight-a ex-girlfriend. It wasn't that Courtney didn't deserve it - she understood that some of the name-calling was well-deserved. But it still hurt, as much as she hated to admit it to herself. Karma.

Yet, this time it was a little bit different. There were the few articles, of course, that referenced her quick flame with Scott and messy relationship with Duncan, but most of the headlines simply called her an ex-contestant on the world-wide acclaimed reality television series. Some articles revealed they were happy to see Courtney was still alive and seemed to be doing okay (which really wasn't that close to the truth), but others were upset to see the former Drama Queen of Total Drama back in the spotlight and not for a negative reason. They would rather have something juicier to write about. Somehow, the online tabloids received information that released the list of former contestants that were planning on returning to the island for the reunion episode, and made note that Courtney was currently not one of the contestants returning.

The thought of the reunion made Courtney's hands sweaty. She didn't want to return to a place filled with nothing but eliminations, betrayal, and crappy food. No one, with the exception of Bridgette a couple others, would have been happy to see Courtney walk off the boat. Despite already telling Bridgette she had no intention of attending the show, it wouldn't be surprising if Bridgette somehow magically convinced Courtney to go. She had a power of convincing that no one could top, except maybe her grandmother. Courtney blamed her friend's hazel eyes. They looked alive and beautiful always, and at one point she was jealous of her friend's eyes.

Speaking of the blonde, Bridgette held detergent and Febreeze in her hands, smiling mischievously at her brunette best friend. "C'mon, let's get some progress done in your room while we're waiting for the pizza."

There was a twinkle in her eye Courtney recognized, and she didn't like the look. That look has created situations that left her vulnerable and her well-constructed walls of defense broken down to its foundation. The Latina could never escape the look; it was one of the many things about Bridgette.

So, she sighed and walked behind the blonde into her dark room.

When Bridgette turned the light on, she made a face of disgust and sniffed the air for a long moment, before shaking her head and turning and looking at Courtney, concerned. "Don't you smell that?" She asked, sounding exasperated.

Courtney genuinely had no idea what she was talking about. It still smelled like her room. If anything smelled, it was the laundry that had been sitting in the hamper for a few weeks, but she noticed early on she couldn't smell it unless she was within inches of it. In conclusion, she tended to avoid walking near that part of the room. She returned a concerned look.

"Courtney, you never smell, nor do you ever let things get this bad. You're a perfectionist."

"Was." Courtney corrected briskly, stepping around Bridgette and sitting on her bed, cross-legged. "I was a perfectionist."

The blonde looked at her friend like another head was blooming on her shoulder. Silently, she walked around the room, picking up articles of clothing she presumed were dirty and stuffing everything in Courtney's hamper. Grunting only slightly, she lifted it and walked over to Courtney, dropping it in front of her. "Take this to the laundry room downstairs." She ordered, without the voice of a leader.

The brunette looked at the hamper, then at her friend.

Bridgette crossed her arms, trying to be more intimidating. They both knew the blonde was harmless, but her best friend had a bite to her bark.

Courtney stood in front of the washing machine, her elbows settled on top of it. She moved with the washing machine, making no attempt to remove herself from the spot she was in. It really hadn't taken that much longer for Courtney to comply to her friend's orders/wishes. Bridgette had pleaded for Courtney to clean her sheets as well, so they were in the washing machine next to the other Courtney was currently by.

The laundry room wasn't too large, but it wasn't small either. The washers were on one side, and dryers across from them. It was painfully plain in the room: white walls, white tile floors, a sink on the wall, and a light in the center of the room.

The door usually stayed open, Courtney noted, but there were times where it was closed or locked for whatever reason. Every once and awhile she would run into another tenant of the apartment complex, and the two would make small talk, before leaving awkwardly and later seeing each other again to move their clothes from the washer to the dryer.

Thoughts sliding down a snowy hill of irrelevancies, Courtney pulled her phone out again and went back onto her last used app, looking at the most recent photo posted on her timeline. It was from LeShawna - Courtney didn't need to look at the picture to tell it was from her, because the username gave it away: shawnieindahooouse. The picture had her sitting in a chair on some talk show, possibly a more local one to her home. The caption was long, because of the hashtags she used, but essentially, she told her followers to click the link in her bio as she talked about being on Total Drama and her emotions about the incoming reunion. Naturally, Courtney double-tapped on the former contestant's photo, a bright heart appearing on it for a moment. And for a couple of minutes, Courtney wondered how the African Canadian was. She did remember the simple fact that Bridgette was friends with LeShawna, but she was unclear on their current status or if they had stayed in contact after the latest season, despite actually being on it.

Courtney actually considered posting a picture, of herself, and maybe have Bridgette in it as well. She decided against it, though, wanting to wait until another time. But also, she was afraid. Courtney always understood the power fame had as well as the strong opinions of others. Hell, Courtney had some of the strongest opinions of anyone she had ever met. Plus, she wasn't afraid to voice them, for the most part. Recently, though, she's been too tired and unmotivated to even argue with her co-workers or her parents about anything. And she could never really argue against Bridgette. It was more-so like disagreements that were later forgotten.

If there was one thing about Courtney that she always prided herself in, it was her honesty. As loud and obnoxious as it seemed at times, it was never a lie. On the island, that left her in a lot of trouble with her fellow contestants and burned unstable bridges. Dishonesty started to overtake her motives and reasoning the longer she stayed in the series. Courtney began using people, manipulating those around her for her own personal gain, -.

The Latina could barely think about it without guilt stabbing her abdomen. She decided to go back to her room; at least there was entertainment and she found comfort with her best friend. In the laundry room, it was so quiet Courtney's thoughts sounded all too real beside her, whispering in her ear about everything wrong with her.

She waited for the elevator instead of walking up four flights of steps. Despite recently waking up, she felt sluggish and drowsy, in a dream of her own. When it finally appeared, someone got off and the two made eye-contact for a moment before glancing to the floor and quickly walking into the elevator and clicking the "4" button repeatedly until the elevator doors closed.

"Oh! Courtney, you're back!" Bridgette greeted, waving at her friend as she entered her bedroom.

The former contestant looked at her friend and smiled, before moving her eyes on the floor and seeing the scattered notebooks on the floor. Silently, she sat down and looked at them all.

"Sorry, I really want your room to be clean, so I started going through some stuff." The blonde held up one notebook. "This is from high-school, Court. I don't think you need this anymore." Without waiting for the sound of objection, she threw it in the large black trash bag on the floor beside her.

"Bridgette! What if I needed that?" Courtney asked, as she started to reach for the bag.

The other girl moved the bag farther away. She gave Courtney a look and took another book and threw it in.

Courtney watched her friend throw away her notebooks, full of detailed theories, concepts, and homework answers. Those were Courtney's pride and joy; her clean handwriting and perfectly dotted letters all gone too waste.

Bridgette held a piece of folded paper, reading it interestedly. "Wow." She mumbled. "Court, I thought you said you didn't write poetry."

"I don't." Courtney raised an eyebrow at her friend, before looking at the paper in her hand and recognizing it almost immediately. "Oh." She paused for a moment.

"This is really deep, Courtney."

"I didn't write it, Bridgette." The Latina told her friend. The words on the simple slip of paper wrapped themselves around her mind. It was weird how taking the same twenty-six symbols and rearranging them could affect a person. "A girl from high-school did."

Bridgette looked at Courtney confused. "Then why do you have it? I've never seen you read or write poetry before."

There was a loud silence between the two, a silence Bridgette didn't really understand.

Courtney didn't exactly have an answer planned out. Honestly, she could barely explain it herself. The meaning she took from the words. In some way, she had an idea of what the author meant when she wrote the words. Like Courtney was going through a similar situation. Even though the conversation between them happened years ago, it appeared in Courtney's head like it was only a few hours ago. It moved something deep within her. A shift in a revelation Courtney was beginning to believe didn't exist. Truth. Courtney was an honest person, something she used to tell herself a long time ago. But, there wasn't an honest she was looking for. It was a truth.

Maybe that's why she spent so many months in her apartment, barely speaking for days. She was looking at it from the wrong angle, the wrong lens. Everything that had ever happened to her she reflected in a light that wasn't strong enough. The long nights had meaning to them after all. The long contemplations displayed her growth, sure, but it was more than it. It was always much more than that.

And even now, as she sat on her floor, across from her best friend. The subliminal messages were never hiding after all, and Courtney knew that. It was never about her lying, but her hiding. Her feelings, her meanings, her thoughts. Anything that would have been considered as a truth. Why did she hide the truth? What is she so afraid of? Courtney was always honest, but never truthful. Why?

She studied psychology in high school for a year, but they never covered this. She could give a basic explanation on mental disease, memory, and society, but this was an undiscovered ocean Courtney needed to experience, instead of learn about.

Bridgette watched Courtney's face, which was blank and expressionless. Then, Courtney blinked, and it looked like she was even more depressed than usual.

"Court?" Bridgette asked nervously. She reached and grabbed Courtney's hand. In response, the Latina tightened her grip on Bridgette's smooth, tan palm.

Interrupting the dense silence, Courtney's phone lit up and rang - a text message.

Courtney, let go, and stood up, and whispered. "I'm gonna go get the pizza. I'm okay." She was. Honestly.

hi everyone! thanks for tuning in!

as a quick heads up, I write these chapters in multiple takes within a couple days and kinda upload it as soon as i'm done, so please don't be afraid to point out any issues, whether it be punctuation or grammatically (though as noted in chapter one, i am going through and fixing things here and there).

i'm a little sad summer is coming close to an end, but excited for school to start. but when (and I will) continue this story in the future, expect the chapters to be a little bit more sporadic.

hopefully you enjoyed this chapter; feel free to leave a comment/review of how you felt about the chapter or the story as a whole. thank you much for your continued support! until next time!