Liars

Italy

I frown, looking at the enormous house in front of me.

What an overkill.

"I like it." My brother said.

My dad nodded. "The garage is perfect."

"It's big."

"Celia Belle, why don't you like it? Is big a problem?"

I shrugged. "I liked Vegas better."

Somewhere on the third floor, I found my bedroom.

The room alone was the size of an apartment, a balcony attached looking over the sea, a bathroom bigger than any normal person's bedroom, and the closet not any smaller than the bathroom.

The wall with the balcony was entirely made of glass, long white curtains draped down on either side.

The room was fairly bare, a circular rug, a dresser, my bed, and a nightstand.

That would change soon.

I put my cat, Molly, down on the rug, petting her a few times before she leaps onto my bed.

I sighed, flopping onto my bed next to Molly.

cozy.

I woke up, my eyes squinting against the harsh brightness that came through my windows. I rolled over, looking at my clock. 7:23. I quickly sat up. I was asleep for 14 hours.

I jumped out of bed, exiting my room.

I rolled my eyes as I walked into the elevator.

Only my dad would get a house big enough for an elevator.

I stepped out on the first floor. I mindlessly walked around until I finally found the kitchen. In the process, I found a gym, three bathrooms, and an indoor pool. This place is insane.

I made everyone pancakes, cause why not?

After I ate and cleaned up, I changed into a cute little yellow sundress, and walked down all 3 levels worth of stairs to get to the first level.

I grabbed my keys from off the key hook by the front door, and walked out of the house.

Today I'm going to go explore the town. Maybe I'll meet a mysterious local boy. I sighed at the thought. Even if I did find a pretty Italian boy, it's not like he'd like me back. I'm not attractive. My brother reminds me of it every day.

He tells me I'm too short, my chest too flat. My freckles look like splattered dirt. Everyone desires blondies. I'm an ugly brunette with grass colored eyes. My smile is all crooked, and when I smile my eyes close almost entirely. I can't help it, it's just how I smile.

I hate it like everyone else.

At least I have nice teeth.

I believe my brother when he tells me I'm ugly, because it's the truth, really.

I'm 19 years old and I've bever had a boyfriend, unless you count the one in first grade. So, what makes me think I will find a boy who will find me as attractive as I find him?

I park in front of a little coffee shop.

I climb out of my car and walk in, ordering a simple light roast coffee with a few pumps of caramel.

For some reason, when I was little, my dad taught me Italian. We spoke it around the house so I learned quicker, and it soon became as easy as peeing.

Why peeing?

Now that I'm actually in Italy, I am able to use the language a lot more. Thank goodness for my dad, I would be completely lost here without him.