Thanks to all for the reviews. I'm glad to know that you all are enjoying my story :).
The morning after the fight, Regina woke with a start at 3:41 in the morning. Immediately the weight of what she had done settled on her shoulders, prohibiting her from falling back asleep. She turned on an ornate lamp in the empty bedroom and lifted her romance novel from her bedside table. However, she found that she was unable to concentrate on the characters' debauchery; her mind kept drifting back to her own current scandal. She relived the night over and over in her head and found that her overwhelming emotion was not guilt, worry, or concern, but relief. The thought of living even one day without jealousy gnawing at her stomach was invigorating.
There were only two small catches, she finally concluded. Bianca could come back at any time, and she would just have to find some other way to deal with the brat. The other was the matter of John. He wouldn't be happy when he came home and his daughter was missing. Regina carefully concocted a plan of action.
At 6:30 in the morning, the time she usually woke up on Fridays, she called John on his cell phone. He answered with a sleepy "Hello?"
Pretending to be in a panic, Regina started with, "John, it's me. Bianca's gone!"
"Gone?" he shouted. "What do you mean, she's gone?"
"I mean, I woke up this morning, and she wasn't in her bed. She must have snuck out during the night. I guess she took her car; it's gone too." She was sure her voice sounded frantic enough to be convincing.
"I'm coming home right away," John decided.
"Good, honey. I don't know how to handle this alone. Is there anything you want me to do?"
"Call the police."
"Okay, I can do that."
"I'll get the first flight home I can." John quickly hung up the phone.
Regina's face contorted into a devious smile. Bianca was gone, and John was coming home early. This was turning out to be a very good week indeed.
…
Dinner that night consisted of grilled hamburgers, salad, and macaroni and cheese. After weeding the garden in the morning, and spending the afternoon helping Jake and Dave move furniture to set up a makeshift bedroom in a second-floor den area, Bianca was ravenously hungry. She devoured two burgers and third helpings of everything else.
"Looks like you got some sun," commented Trevor, who she had hardly seen all day. "Does it hurt?"
She nodded, answering, "Like hell."
"You'll get used to the sun," he laughed. "I used to be as pale as you, and look how tan I am now."
"You're still pale," Jake ribbed him. "But that might change if you did something other than playing Final Fantasy all day."
"Hey, that is a great game," Trevor defended himself. "At least I don't read chemistry books all day, like Matt."
They all started in on Matt. "See, this is what you get around here if you're not a lazy bum," he told Bianca, who giggled.
"Oh come on. We're not lazy, we're just not nerds like you," Dave told him.
"What do you do?" someone asked Bianca. "You aren't a premed major like him, are you?"
"I'm just a junior in high school. But I want to be an art major in college," she told them proudly.
"Cool," Codey said. "So can you like draw pictures of us?"
Bianca laughed. "Yeah, I can draw portraits. I really like to paint though."
"We don't really have any paints or anything here," Dave apologized. "At least, not the kind you'd want. We're not really art people. It's not manly enough," he joked.
"Oh, that's all right. I could use a break, to tell you the truth. I've been doing a ton of painting lately and I'm sort of getting sick of it," Bianca lied with a polite smile on her face.
"Maybe we can get you some art supplies next time we're in town," Brian offered casually.
"Oh, whatever," Bianca replied just as coolly, though her heart gave a little leap at the thought of painting again.
"So… you're a high school chick, huh? High school chicks are my favorite." Corey wiggled his eyebrows in such a preposterous fashion that Bianca burst out laughing in spite of herself.
"Yes, because Corey likes all of his conquests to be highly illegal," Matt informed her.
"Conquests?" Corey repeated, screwing his face up in confusion.
"Wins, victories," Jake translated, adding sarcastically, "not that any of the rest of us would view robbing the cradle as a victory."
"Only Corey would," Dave nodded in agreement. "Girls his own age reject him. Most of his girlfriends are like twelve."
This mocking set the tone for the rest of the hour, which was filled with conversations, jokes, rants, debates, and everything in between. The talk was easy and flowing, sometimes vulgar, and always entertaining to Bianca. She felt like the queen of the group. The men were just so welcoming to her, so happy to have her around. It was a warmth she had never before experienced. Her father had always loved her, but she had always gotten the impression that she was nothing more than a major inconvenience to her stepmother. Now that she had been forced out of her home by her stepmother and no one had made an effort to find her, as far as she knew, she questioned everything. How much did her father really love her? How much did her stepmother secretly hate her?
Suddenly the room felt cold and Bianca was filled with loneliness. Through the rest of dinner, though distracted, she put on a smile and participated in the conversation so no one would notice that something was wrong. If there was anything she had learned in her old life, it was how to be stoic. Beauty involved not just appearance but demeanor, and Bianca figured that the easiest way to drive everyone she knew away was to become a sobbing, blubbering mess. Bianca never allowed her friends to see her looking less than perfect, and she wasn't about to allow her seven male housemates to see her in that light either.
After dinner and dishwashing, they all migrated into their comfortable great room for what was now appearing to be a nightly routine. Card games were played, books were read, homework was completed, arms were wrestled, and a guitar was skillfully played by Brian. Though Bianca had sat down beside Jake with a book he lent her, her attention waned, and soon her whole mind became occupied with the sound of the music. She had always loved nearly any kind of music and, an artist herself, appreciated its ability to express what words could not. She sat on the couch across from him, inconspicuously peeking over the top of her open book at Brian's hands as they caressed the steel strings. He was too engrossed in the music he was creating to notice. Every once in a while, he would glance up and catch her eye, and she would blush and turn her attention back down to the book so quickly that she was unaware of his lips twisting into a curious smile.
Hours later, as Bianca had drifted into a hazy half-sleep, she registered the lack of music. Opening her eyes wider, she saw that only Brian and Jake remained in the room. "What…" she mumbled incoherently.
Jake, still sitting beside her, chuckled. "It's late. You should get to bed." He extended a hand, which Bianca gratefully grasped. Swinging her legs off the couch and planting her feet on the ground, she allowed herself to be pulled upward by Jake's steady strength. He gave her a brisk pat on the back, then followed Brian's lead out of the great room and up the stairs. They stopped on the second landing, where between Jake and Brian's rooms sat the window seat, coffee table, and pull-out couch Bianca could now call her own.
Jake waved a quick good-night and departed, but Brian found a spare pillow and a set of sheets in the linen closet and proceeded to help Bianca assemble the bed. Gratefully, she helped remove the cushions from the couch, made a valiant effort to unfold the couch until it snapped closed carrying her with it and she feebly asked a laughing Brian to help, then tucked in the sheets.
Once they were finished, Bianca warily eyed the large panes of glass on one side of the room. "It's like being in a fishbowl," she said tentatively. "I didn't notice in the daylight, but this is a little creepy."
Brian smiled down at her. "Well if you get too scared during the night, you're welcome to wake me up," he offered.
"Really?" she asked, amazed at his generosity.
"Yeah. Of course, if I hear a noise in my room, I might thing you're a burglar and try to kill you. So make sure you announce yourself well." He gave her a soft punch on the arm.
"I'll make sure to do that," Bianca giggled. They said their goodnights, and her glance lingered on his face for a few seconds longer.
Brian's eyes weren't plain brown, Bianca realized. Bathed in moonlight as his face was, they much resembled milk chocolate.
…
As Regina sat leisurely in front of the television, she heard the squealing of car tires. She snapped up and grabbed the phone just as John flew through the front entrance in a blind panic, throwing the door shut behind him.
"What's going on? Have you called the police? Have you heard anything?" he shouted.
Regina tried her very best to look troubled and concerned. "I haven't heard anything! I did call the police, and they said they would begin looking."
"Well, I'm going to call again!" John ripped the phone out of her hand, dialed a number, and pressed the phone up to his ear. After a long conversation with lots of distressed yelling on his end, he hung up and told her, "They haven't found anything, but they're putting out a missing person's report."
John proceeded to jog upstairs to his daughter's room, sift through all of her belongings until he found a school directory, and called everyone he knew to be even an acquaintance of Bianca, asking if anyone had seen her. No one had. He proceeded to search all of her favorite spots in the town. His quest was fruitless, but he did manage to get out word that Bianca was missing and that anyone with any news as to her whereabouts should call him immediately.
Regina sat by the window, waiting for him to come home. At last, John slunk back, defeated, and sunk into the nearest living room chair, burying his face in his hands. "I can't believe my baby is gone," he moaned.
"Oh, John, I'm sure we will find her," Regina spoke softly, masking her true delight, and put her arms around him. "I'm sure we will get through this if we rely on each other."
John looked at her, miserable, then patted the arm of the chair. She sat down on it and let him put his arms around her waist, leaning his head against her and shaking with silent sobs. Finally, Regina was in his arms rather than Bianca. Wife and husband were together, united by tragedy. All, in her eyes, was right with the world.
…
As time went on, despite her constant urge to protest and a lingering ache in her muscles, Bianca grew more and more accustomed to the chores she was doing. By the end of her first week there, she succeeded in making a box of Kraft macaroni and cheese and once again attempted to fry eggs. It took seven eggs and two triggers of the smoke detectors before an edible egg appeared, but she accomplished it nonetheless. She learned how to do laundry, clean the house, and tend the garden. In spite of all of her previous reservations towards housework, she found that maintaining her living space gave her a sense of accomplishment. Each time she ate a meal she had cooked, wore an article of clothing she had washed, or sampled a vegetable from the garden she helped nourish, she was filled with pride.
She settled into a comfortable routine of chores and hearty meals and social time. All day, she would look forward to the end, where she could listen to Brian's music. Eventually she overcame her initial shyness and began to ask him questions about his music until one day, he gestured invitingly toward the guitar.
"I can't do that!" she scoffed, shaking her head vehemently. Her hair bounced energetically; it was now a tangled curly mop thanks to lack of careful maintenance and the 89 cent shampoo the guys purchased to save money, much to Bianca's disdain.
"I'll show you how." With a mischievous smile, Brian walked over to her and placed the guitar against her body. The large wooden instrument felt awkward in her arms but bore the pleasant scent of pine. He sat down right beside her, and as he leaned close so his instructions could be heard, his warm breath tickled the back of her neck. Large, steady hands covered her own and guided them to the correct strings, and she giggled with delight every time her fingernails stroked out a proper chord. Though the tone was a little muted and odd-sounding at times, Brian nodded encouragingly each time she looked at him for approval.
This continued until their ears picked up a thread of conversation from the poker table: Corey's proposal of a party.
"Dude, we definitely should do it," Trevor urged. "The cops would never find us here, and there's no one around to tell us we're being too loud. It could go all night. It would be epic," he finished solemnly, initiating a smirk from Jake.
"And think about the chicks, man," Corey reminded. "We could get so many girls here with enough cheap beer. Maybe even Trevor could finally get a woman."
Trevor glared at him. "That's not cool, man. I'm on your side, remember?"
"Is that really all you guys think about – girls and beer?" scholarly Jake scoffed.
"Oh yeah. Life is short. I want to know that when I die, I will have scored with as many women as possible," Corey announced triumphantly. Then as an afterthought, added, "Sorry, Bianca."
"Corey, you don't pick up women. You pick up cheap hoes," Brian offered, also following up with an apology to Bianca. His comment elicited peals of laughter from most of the room's occupants.
Corey shook his head in mock sadness. "How can you say that about my girls? Come on. That redhead last week…"
"How can you possibly defend the redhead? When you brought her in here, even though I was clearly kidding, when I yelled, 'Take your top off,' she actually did," Dave reminded Corey. To remind everyone of this experience, in a rare display of silliness, Matt did an excellent imitation of her squeaky voice and yanked his t-shirt over his head.
Bianca could scarcely breath, she was laughing so hard. She had never been privileged enough (or perhaps cursed enough) to be around a group of guys being themselves, rather than trying to impress her, and it was an eye-opening experience.
"Well I think we should do it," Dave finally said after the noise subsided. "Trevor's right, it would be the perfect place for a party. Plus, it's college. Carpe Diem and all."
The group came to the consensus that it was time for a massive party to be thrown at their house. They set a date, began inviting everyone they knew, and started stocking up on appetizers and beer.
Bianca's own party preparation, she realized, would have to include some much-needed primping. For Bianca, parties had always been a chance to dress up and flaunt her beauty. But as she stood in front of the bathroom mirror for an appraisal, she realized she was quite short of beauty this time. Her appearance had drastically transformed during her time with the guys. Thanks to the hefty portions of food she had been eating, rather than the low-calorie vegetarian meals Regina had obsessively prepared, Bianca's once willowy figure was growing rather curvy. Since all she had been wearing for the past couple of months were baggy t-shirts and basketball shorts handed down from her male companions and the products of a very brief Wal-Mart trip, she hadn't felt her waistbands tighten. Apparently they had. Staring at her unclothed figure in the mirror, she was very disturbed. She was "one of the guys" around the house, but at a party, with loads of new males, she had been looking forward to impressing them. No guy was going to flirt with her, the way she looked now.
And that hair. She thought she very much resembled a Lord of the Rings character – which did not seem like a flattering look for a woman. It was always sweaty and dirty as she worked outside, and even with several washings, there was no way she could make it sleek and shiny. Her once fair white skin was golden-brown after the sun's continuous abuse. Faded sunburns gave way to a tan that completely ruined her complexion. Her nose and cheeks seemed permanently red, and in an all-male household, there was no makeup to cover it up. With a long sigh, Bianca resigned herself to the fact that she would have to hide in a corner all night to avoid being seen with wild hair and ugly boy's clothing.
When she was practicing guitar with Brian later that night, she kept placing her fingers in the wrong place and making bizarre unmusical noises. With a frustrated sigh, she thrust the guitar into his hands and announced, "Everything beautiful is gone from my life. I look ugly and I can only make ugly things."
Brian looked at her quizzically. "What are you talking about? You look fine to me. And guitar takes work, so don't get frustrated."
"You're wrong," Bianca huffed, crossing her arms. Not even Brian's pleasant demeanor could console her today.
He pondered for a moment. "Okay, I have an idea. We're taking a day off this weekend."
"But there are things to do! The party's in a couple weeks!"
"Nope, we're going out," Brian told her firmly. "We'll tell the guys we're going on a beer run, if it makes you feel better."
Bianca conceded, and went straight to bed, making sure she didn't pass a mirror on the way for fear of becoming more depressed.
…
Regina and John sat in their living room late at night. The TV droned softly, and the lone lamp cast sharp shadows on the walls. John stared absentmindedly at a book, and Regina stared at him. John had been distracted for the past couple of months, ever since Bianca had left. The girl was not truly gone from their lives. John was convinced that she was alive somewhere, and until he brought her back, there would still be a wall between them.
Regina disappeared to their bedroom for a few minutes, and descended once again in her most alluring attire. "Come to bed," she purred, standing before him.
John glanced up at her, disinterested, then back down at his book. "Sure, honey. I'll be up in a little while."
Disappointed, Regina sulked back up the stairs. She huffed as she flung herself onto the bed. She knew John would doze off in that chair. If he came up at all, it wouldn't be for hours, and Regina would be fast asleep already. Even if she was awake, it wouldn't matter. John was always distracted. That horrible little girl was always on his mind. He spent every moment he wasn't at work driving around searching for her, and every moment at night plotting out where to look next. Regina spent most of her days driving out to shop or going out to restaurants under the pretense that she was looking for Bianca. It was a horrible life, and she wanted John back.
Regina knew that the only thing that would solve this predicament was if she herself did go looking for Bianca – and found a body.
…
On Saturday at the crack of dawn, Bianca was awoken by Brian's hands pushing down on her bed repeatedly. As she bounced up and down, she sat bolt upright and, exasperated, demanded, "What the hell are you doing?"
"We're going on a trip, remember?" Brian answered.
Bianca decided not to complain any longer when she noted his expression of boyish excitement. "You look like a little kid who just got a new puppy," she observed.
"Wait until you see where I'm taking you. Then you'll understand," he replied cryptically.
After hastily getting ready, she allowed Brian to drag her outside by the hand so they could begin their journey. The drive down the same winding coastal road that had been so treacherous for Bianca during the night was refreshing during the day. Bianca found that once they were coasting over the sun-speckled highway, the overwhelming fear that Brian's clunky, thousand-year-old station wagon would fall to pieces on a sharp turn was quelled. Brian's optimistic attitude about their day of relaxation was contagious even to the composed Bianca. When he rolled the windows down, she had protested, but when Brian refused to put them back up (for fear that using the air conditioner might push his poor vehicle to its limit), she realized that the cold breeze rushing into the car actually felt good on her face.
However, when Brian decided that it was time to sing along to the radio, Bianca absolutely could not bring herself down to his level. Flipping through the stations, his eyes lit up when he landed on an Oldies channel. After belting out a few bars along with Diana Ross in a screechy falsetto, Brian shouted, "Come on! This is a classic!"
Bianca looked at him like he had grown antlers out the top of his head. "Are you crazy? Stop it!" she cried, scandalized.
Brian, wild-eyed with enthusiasm, paid no attention. After taking a huge exaggerated breath, he warbled the words to the chorus at the top of his lungs. He began to actually shake his upper body around erratically, in what she supposed was supposed to resemble dancing. Bianca shook her head in disbelief. Who was this maniac and why had she agreed to go out in public with him?
Brian, however, was not rattled by Bianca's show of disapproval. He punched her on the arm playfully and even reached a hand out and shook her shoulders for a moment, getting her to move.
Laughing tentatively, Bianca could no longer stop a grin from exploding across her face in spite of herself. Caught up in the spirit of the moment, she began to join in on the familiar chorus, but still looked at him like he was crazy. With a whoop from Brian, she allowed her guard to drop and her voice to grow stronger until the end, where they held a horrendously out-of-tune note through the beginning of an advertisement for a car dealership. They promptly burst into laughter that dwindled down into a momentary silence, made awkward in Bianca's eyes by embarrassment. Had she actually sung in public? In front of a male?
The very loud and overly cheery voice of a woman introducing some beauty product caused Brian to instantly change the channel "Let me do that. You pay attention to the road," Bianca ordered him, pushing Brian's hand away from the stereo.
"I think you just wanted to touch me, and you didn't know how," Brian teased.
"Shut up," Bianca snapped, flustered. She noticed Brian's lips were tightly closed – to keep a snicker of his own from coming out? Haughtily, she pretended not to notice him and pressed the "Tune" button as channel after channel of commercials, hippie folk tunes, and loud rock bands blasted out the speakers.
"Ooo, stop here!" Brian shouted excitedly when she came across a particularly aggressive alternative rock band.
Bianca wrinkled her nose. "It's just a guy screaming over a bunch of loud noises. It sounds worse than when I play guitar."
"Oh, honey, nothing sounds worse than when you play guitar," Brian cooed in a saccharine voice that made Bianca slap his upper arm in frustration. He continued, "But I suppose you listen to great music. What are you chicks into these days, the Spice Girls?"
Bianca rolled her eyes. "You are so behind the times. Here, this is the kind of thing I like." She found a station playing a pop-punk song with a semi-angry female singer and began to mouth the words, move side to side, and snap her fingers to the beat.
Brian cringed. "I cannot believe you listen to that crap." After intense argument about what constituted bad music, the conversation degenerated into a radio war, each trying to find songs that were progressively more obnoxious. After Bianca finally found a song sung by a 90's boy band, Brian conceded that she had won. Shortly after, he announced that they had arrived. Bianca stopped cutting up and really looked out the window. "Where are we?" she asked in wonderment.
"Big Sur," he replied incredulously. "You've seriously never been here? How long have you lived in California?"
"My whole life. But we mostly stayed in my town. Sometimes we drove to San Francisco, but everywhere else, we flew. Even just to LA. My stepmother gets carsick," she explained.
"High maintenance woman," Brian remarked.
Brian pulled the car over to the side of the road. He led her through a field of the greenest grass Bianca had ever seen, before reaching a small precipice overlooking the ocean. The deep turquoise water caught the sun and reflected it at millions of ever-changing angles, making the ocean sparkle. It was the most spectacular view Bianca had ever seen; it took her breath away.
They spent hours walking through the region, climbing small hills to get a better view of the ocean, chasing each other through fields, and eventually sharing a picnic of food Brian had brought. After they finished eating, they sat side by side, their feet dangling over the edge of the dropoff, watching waves crash against the rocks below them.
They talked about everything. Brian finally got the chance to tell her his life story. "I grew up in Indiana," he began. "I had a friend who was from this area. She always showed me pictures of her old home, and I knew I wanted to live here someday. I started applying to every West coast college I could think of. I was reluctant to leave home though." He inhaled deeply, letting the salty air fill his lungs before he continued. "My senior year of high school, my parents went through a nasty divorce. They fought all the time and they put me in the middle of it. I knew that whoever I chose to live with would gloat, and the other parent would never speak to me. So I decided to live with neither. I moved as far away as I could to get away from it all. At first I lived in a really crappy apartment out here, but it was worth it. My second semester, I met Jake in an English class, he introduced me to his crowd, and that's how I got here."
Bianca plucked a piece of grass out of the ground and twirled it around her fingers absentmindedly. "Well, at least you don't have a stepmother who tried to kill you," she reminded him.
"Yes, that is true," he chuckled. "Sorry, that's not really funny."
Bianca smiled and glanced sideways at him. "No, it's alright. I'm actually glad that something got me away from that house. I didn't realize how oppressive it was until I met you guys. I like my life so much more now." After a pause, she asked him, "Have you ever eaten tofu?"
Brian made a face. "No way. It sounds gross."
Bianca laughed, and looked back down at the blade of grass between her fingers. "Well that's all I ate. Vegetables and tofu. I really like meat, and I didn't even know it. And I really like doing housework. I must sound like I'm from the 1950's."
"No, I know what you mean. I love living with the guys. And you are definitely cooler than when you came here."
"How so?" she looked at him quizzically.
"You were a total snob," he answered.
"What?" she asked, with a laugh.
"You thought you were so much better than us," he continued. "That is, until you tried to cook an egg and you didn't know what a spatula was."
Bianca cringed and covered her eyes with her hand. "I must have looked so dumb to you."
"Well, yeah," Brian shrugged, eliciting a shocked "Hey!" and a smack on the arm from Bianca. He mollified her somewhat by saying, "We all think you're really cool now, though. And you look way better too." He gave her a little nudge with his elbow.
Bianca cracked up, half because Brian was not smooth at all, and half to hide the pleased smile that threatened to sneak onto her face. "What are you talking about?"
"When we first saw you, you looked so delicate. It was like if we touched you, you would break. But now, you look so… different. A good different, though," he added when she made a face. "Come on, why do you think Corey hits on you so much?"
"Because he's Corey?" she offered.
"That's probably right," Brian agreed with a laugh, "but that's not the only reason. You're hot. They all would hit on you, if they had the guts."
"I don't believe you," Bianca argued. "I was beautiful before. I had perfect skin, perfect hair, a perfect body. Now all of that is gone."
"But that's not really attractive," Brian persisted. "Guys don't want to date a doll. They want to date a living, breathing human being. That's what you are now. Plus, before, you were missing the most important thing."
"And what is that?" Bianca asked indignantly.
Brian's voice softened. "Now, you have a great personality. You're not afraid to crack a joke, or sing in the car. That's what is most important to me." Brian's face got very red, and he stuttered, "To guys. That's what's important to guys. Other guys."
Bianca half-smiled at Brian's fumbling.Staring out at the ocean to ponder what Brian had just told her, she once again noticed its glimmering beauty. After a moment, she remarked wistfully, "Thanks for bringing me here. This view is so amazing."
"Amazing enough to paint?" Brian gave her a knowing smile. Somehow he had guessed just how she felt. "You miss it, don't you. I can see it in your eyes. You really want to paint this scene."
Bianca shrugged. "It doesn't really matter. I can remember this and try to recreate it." Even as she said it, she wondered longingly how much time would pass before she could get her hands on a brush again.
"You're lying to me," Brian accused, with a smile.
"What?" she asked with a sheepish laugh.
"You're dying to get your hands on a brush. It's killing you, having to sit here and look at this gorgeous view and not be able to turn it into art."
Bianca gave in and nodded truthfully. "I just feel this need to create. I can't explain."
"Oh, I understand," Brian said. When she looked at him skeptically, he explained, "I'm a guitarist, remember? I feel that same thing - I have to make music. I have to…" he trailed off, unable to explain why he needed music.
"You have to create something beautiful," Bianca finished. "Sometimes art is the only way to capture some of the most amazing things in this world."
"Exactly." They sat still, but for Bianca's hair blown by the gentle breeze, both looking perfectly forward. Bianca could hear his breathing, smell his scent, feel his presence.
Suddenly, Brian stood and announced in a commanding voice, "We're going to have to do something about this. Get up."
"What? Where are we going? Bianca asked, confused.
"You'll see," he replied.
Once again grabbing her hand and pulling her along behind him, he led her to the car, and they sped off north. A few miles down the road, Brian pulled off onto an exit ramp and before she knew it, they were in the middle of a cute, wind-worn seaside town. Brian drove the streets, scanning the storefronts intently, until he slammed on the brakes and clumsily attempted to parallel park. After driving the car forwards and backwards about five times, he was satisfied and turned off the engine. Bianca, too preoccupied laughing at her friend's terrible maneuvering, didn't notice the sign on the front of the store until they were standing outside the car, right in front of it. "You brought me to an art supply store?" she gasped.
Brian grinned. "Hey, you need it, I can tell. Just consider it your repayment for having to put up with me on a daily basis."
Bianca wandered the aisles gushing about nearly every thing she saw. Brian patiently stood by as she babbled on at him, with an admiring grin on his face. She finally selected a small set of paints, a couple of brushes, a pad of paper, and, struck with sudden inspiration, a simple sewing kit. Brian's compliments had given her a small jolt of confidence, and with a devilish grin, she realized that though she did not have money to buy a fancy outfit, she would still be a knockout at this party they were throwing.
On the way home, she thanked Brian profusely for his thoughtful gesture. He shrugged and turned on the radio. But the atmosphere was not right, and he eventually switched the radio off so that the two could converse for the rest of the ride. Any shyness and inhibition had disappeared, and they found that they could go on for hours about everything and nothing in their lives.
Brian was surprisingly easy to talk to, Bianca was finding. He wasn't fixating on her beauty or trying to devise the best strategy to acquire her phone number. Instead, she was so fixated on their conversation that the whole world around her seemed to disappear. She forgot all about her malicious stepmother and neglectful father, relishing in her new life with Brian and the rest of the men. Brian wasn't afraid to be himself around her, and that had in turn coaxed her out of her shell and replaced her fear of social ostracization with the knowledge that no matter what, there would always be someone there. Seven someones, in her case.
…
During Regina's daily hunt for Bianca, she decided to pull off the highway into a small town that was reported to have many interesting furniture stores and clothing boutiques. As she exited a jewelry store after buying a fantastic necklace, she found so much more than she had been looking for. She found Bianca.
The slamming of a car door not far off had caught her attention. She
noticed a boy and a girl in shabby clothing walking towards the front of a store. The girl had the blackest hair Regina had ever seen and-
She staggered, losing her balance. She had the face of Bianca. Could that be her stepdaughter, with wild hair and tan skin, wearing an outfit she normally wouldn't be caught dead even jogging in? The two adolescents entered a building, giving Regina what she hoped would be ample time to devise a plan of action.
With a fiendish smile, Regina ran out to her sleek black car, started it up, and slowly drove the streets before finding an alley dark enough to hide her car from view, but close enough to the store she had seen that little monster enter to give her a prime view of the car that she and the scruffy-looking boy had stepped out of. When the two of them had meandered back out to the dilapidated vehicle and sped off, Regina waited a few seconds, then followed. It wouldn't look suspicious for a car to follow, at a reasonable distance, along one road, the only highway leading up the coast. At least she could see which town they departed towards, giving her a place to start her search.
Regina was shocked when, a while later, they slowed and pulled off of the road onto a winding dirt road. She continued driving towards her home. With a cackle, she thought, that's where she's been hiding? In the woods? No wonder the brat was a wreck. Well no matter; this was the end for her. No more hiding. Regina had discovered her, and it was only a matter of time before she found out how to rid the world of her.
