Prom Queen ━━ Niccolò Rossi

i. the start of a new year

CHAPTER ONE

AS SHE STOOD IN FRONT of her bedroom mirror, the brunette evenly ran her hands across her uniform as she unruffled the leftover dents, the pastel gray contrasting fiercely with her freshly manicured, glossy cherry red nails. She stood anxiously, the sense of oddness flushing throughout her system in disbelief.

Jimena sighed strongly, letting the jumbles of pent-up tension release, neglecting her negative thoughts. Who cares if she wasn't ready to face her pestering peers and their noisy chosen line of interrogating questioning. She couldn't stay locked up in her room forever, only going out for food and using the restroom.

The tumultuous chiming of her cellphone speaker clanged beyond her room, breaking her attention instantly. She stretched towards her bed, unraveling the phone from within the covers. A sense of annoyance immersing as she rolled her chestnut eyes, catching sight of the familiar name — Niccolò Rossi — better known as the cause of her problems, or at least the primary helper. Unknown to the young girl, the ruffled boy laid impatiently, anxiously bouncing his leg, waiting upon her answer.

Her fingers froze as she observed the call transfer to voice mail, allowing her device to fall against her comforter. She smoothly sealed her eyes, allowing the growing welt in her chest to fade. "Not this year, Niccolò," She whispered.

She'd tried everything to distance herself, from ignoring his bothersome visits to advising him that she no longer wanted to keep in communication. In return, he'd become more determined to talk to her — to discuss everything. Jimena rapidly realized his endgame, recognizing his obsession powered via his blatant need to have the last say.

"Jimena," the approaching cheerful voice tore over her utter thoughts, snapping her from her daze. She witnessed the smiling blonde appear at the corner of her view, Brenda Newton, being not only her best friend. But, for the past three years, her step-sister. Resided near the doorway, "C'mon, breakfast's ready, and you're taking forever."

"I'll be down in a minute," She replied, pursing her lips. Brenda lingered, witnessing the shift in the girl's voice, frowning her eyebrows and detecting the dainty sorrow that hindered, "Is everything alright?"

"Perfectly fine," Jimena muttered, practically inaudible, adjusting her loose-fitted blazer, "Why do you ask?"

"It's just— you look kind of pale," Brenda leaned on the hardened frame, confusion capturing her, wondering what could have broken her close friend's positive manner, which, unknowing to her, hadn't been there all along. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, Bren," The teen forcefully growled, shifting her contact towards the door in exasperation, quickly growing irritated, "Is it a crime to be nervous?"

"Over?"

Jimena huffed, dishonestly fabricating her choice of speech, willing to say anything to get her out of her hair. "It's surreal, I mean, with going all m.i.a and coming back like everything's sunshine and rainbows. . . I don't want to hear the whispers and rumors." — partially true, but not entirely.

"Hmm," Brenda mumbled, lifting her perfectly sculpted brow, skeptical of her defense, apprehending that she could bug as much as she'd pleased. Still, in the end, it would come with no success. Lightly grinning, she would go with her only form of comfort — reassurances, in the best way she could. "And since when do you care what others think? You're going back for you, remember that. If anyone says anything remotely bitchy, find me, and I'll kick their ass. Now hurry, your food's going to get cold."

Jimena scrambled a faint snicker — foolishly deeming that all would be well.

↼

author's note. i wrote that horrifically. i'm sorry; literally, i'm sleepy writing this. but, please be patient with me, i haven't written anything in months. i don't like how i wrote this, but it's okay; no, it's not <33