Studying You - Chapter One

Stalker Romance | Short Story | Multimedia Elements

All of my work is meant for those who are 18+ and may involve dark themes.

---

Sienna

I sighed as I pressed post. 

It was hard work maintaining my social image during the school year. I didn’t have to pretend as much in the summer. In the summer, I could make excuses that I was traveling instead of constantly coming up with lies.

I’d somehow managed to befriend the rich “in” crowd at Jackson High School. It was ironic because my family was the opposite of rich. But popularity is often based on illusion, not facts.

I set my phone down on the wooden table in front of me. It was so old that it didn’t look quite clean no matter how much I scrubbed it. It was probably time for a new one, but we couldn’t afford it. I looked around the room. There were so many repairs we couldn’t afford—the peeling wallpaper and the sink that always dripped a little bit shouted that almost as much as the table.

The pretense that my family had money, that I was one of the “it” girls, had started when I switched high schools last year. I’d just wanted to fit in better than I had at my old school. But now that I was 18 and a senior, I wasn’t about to give up the charade. Because it hadn’t just helped with fitting in—it actively opened doors. And I needed doors open now that I was about to move onto college if I wanted a better life.

Social posts and borrowed outfits were part of the illusion. I also was a cheerleader. I wrinkled my nose. I didn’t actually care that much for the sport, but people often didn’t see past the uniforms and pom poms. It was the perfect disguise.

I closed my eyes and grabbed my backpack before I slung it over my shoulder to meet my neighbor, Jenna, for my ride to school.

Jenna was my only real friend here. She knew I wasn’t what I appeared to be because I couldn’t hide it from her—not when she lived across the street and could see the shingles falling off the roof, and the greying door that could use a new layer of paint. Not when she saw how often my parents were gone at odd jobs. Luckily, Jenna had no desire to blow my cover. In fact, she seemed to enjoy the stories from the inside. It was why she gave me a ride everyday. 

My richer friends didn’t understand why I stayed close with Jenna, but I found that as long as I acted unbothered by their questions and shrugged, they moved on. People get bored when they press buttons that don’t do anything.

I smiled and waved as Jenna pulled up in our driveway. A real smile. She was one of the few people that got one.

—

I didn’t talk much to Jenna on the way home from school that day. I was too exhausted from a full day of pretending.

I waved as she dropped me off. I went straight inside the front door, shrugging my backpack off my shoulders and hanging it up once I was inside. The house was quiet. I’d expected it to be. My parents were rarely home except for when I was sleeping. 

They’d moved to this town so that they could live in a different area than they took odd jobs in. They still mainly worked an hour-and-a-half away where we’d lived before. My mother had wanted to be able to go grocery shopping without being judged. I scoffed. The irony was that she never had time to go grocery shopping now that she spent so much time on the road. 

I stretched. My body was heavy after a long day. I laid down on the sofa that sunk unnaturally in the middle and closed my eyes. I let myself drift off to sleep for a bit before dinner.

My growling stomach woke me up a few hours later. I opened my eyes to a much darker room as the sun set in the window. The house was still silent, but I was not surprised that I was still alone.

I’d picked up some pasta noodles and marinara sauce earlier that week so I supposed that was what I’d be having for dinner. I’d leave some in the fridge for my parents for whenever they made it home. They’d appreciate that. They were always so tired when they came back.

I was just in the middle of cooking it when my phone vibrated. I rolled my eyes as I picked it up. I expected it to be from one of my friends at school—a friend I’d have to pretend with.

But my eyebrows shot up when I read it. It was from someone much more interesting.

The blood drained from my face as I read the last two texts. The salad bowl I was holding onto fell from my hands and shattered to the floor, slicing a bit of my hand as it did. I grimaced. There was blood, but the cut didn’t look that deep.

I left the mess and ran around the house to make sure all of the doors were locked before bandaging my hand and cleaning up the floor.

I swallowed. I was glad I’d taken a nap that afternoon because I doubted I was getting any sleep that night.