Izzy, Not Isabelle

Video Games and Pretenses

I duck into my house and slip into a tank top and athletic shorts. You'd be surprised how comfy Nike shorts are. I take my hair out of its braid and attempt to comb it out with my fingers. Unsurprisingly, it refuses to cooperate, so I just leave it alone. I walk quickly down the stairs to glance at the clock. It's been six minutes---not too bad.

I meet Jake in my driveway, and he's holding the video game. He glances at my hair but doesn't say anything. I plaster a smile on my face and walk in step with him. I push the thoughts of my earlier encounters with the girls out of my mind and focus on lining up Jake's and my paces. It's an odd habit I have, left over from the three-legged race days in elementary school.

Before long, Jake stops walking. I stumble a bit, having been too concentrated on aligning our feet to pay attention to much else.

I straighten up, glance at Jake's almost-laughing expression, exhale in a gust. "Nothing happened," I clarify. "I did not trip. You are delusional."

"And you can see into my mind?"

"Of course! Do you doubt my telepathic powers?" I place a hand on my chest. "Wow, Jake. You really hurt my feelings."

Jake opens his mouth to respond but closes it. Good. He cannot argue with my impenetrable logic.

I glance up at the store. It's dilapidated, with graffiti covering the outside and bright posters and neon paint covering the inside. I don't think it would be possible to find an unmarred section of wall.

I look at the cashier's desk, but whoever it is's face is concealed by the bulky computer in front of them.

Jake and I walk up to the person manning the register. She's dressed in all black, with black hair and black lipstick, staring at her phone. She looks up from whatever she was doing to stare up at us, pop her bubble gum loudly, and ask, "What?"

Jake explains to her about the video game, and I wander around the store. He catches up with me just as I reach the second shelf of games. Well, I say shelf. They're really just haphazardly thrown in piles on structures resembling bookshelves.

Jake tugs on my arm and we walk back out of the store. Turning to him, I ask, "Are you sure none of those games are stolen?"

He deliberates for a moment. "No."

I snigger before returning my attention to the road. Left with no other place to focus, my evil, apparently masochistic brain fills with thoughts of the girl from the hallway. I take a deep breath to calm myself, which earns me a confused glance from Jake, but I give him an awkward thumbs-up, so we're all good. We don't talk much for the rest of the walk, and Jake walks me to my door.

We exchange a glance. It's leftovers night, and we still have enchiladas. My mom greets us, and invites Jake for dinner. He accepts, rushing over to his house to inform his mom. I suppose she agrees, because he's back within two minutes.

He joins us at the table after Mom makes his plate. We exchange playful banter through dinner, then Jake and I make ourselves cups of ice cream.

"You wanna go to the treehouse?" Jake asks. I smile softly. He can always see straight through me. He knows I'm upset, but he also knows that I don't want to talk about it.

"Sure."

We climb up the worn rope ladder that my dad set up years ago, back before we had any hope of making it up two rungs.

After a few minutes of sitting in silence, Jake turns to me.

"Izz. Quit pretending you're fine. What's wrong?"

I avoid his steady gaze. Did you know there's a crack in the wall shaped like a lightning bolt?

"Izzy...." Jake takes my hand. "You can talk to me."

The words come out of my mouth before I can stop them.

"Jake, will you kiss me?"

A/N
Oh Izzy... what are you thinking?

Any guesses as to what Jake will do?

Vote and comment, dolls!! Love ya!!

(The next update may take a while since this is almost all I've got done. I found my planning notebook for this story... major editing is needed😬)