Chapter 15
Stella
A fter hanging up with Derek yesterday, there’s something I haven’t been able to shake off. I had a notebook when I was a teenager where I wrote all my song ideas. I never threw it away.
Now . . . I’m wondering if I have it with me. I spent all day thinking about where I could have put it—if I still have it—and trying to remember what I wrote in it.
I brought everything here in a hurry, not thinking twice as to what to bring to Westwood Spring. I dumped everything in my drawers into my suitcase. Which means that, if I didn’t lose it, my notebook should be here.
With me.
It was a really small one because I wanted to be able to carry it everywhere with me in case I needed it. I smile when I remember the little blue clouds and violet music notes on the cover. I loved that notebook. It was my entire life when I was a teenager.
It takes me an hour to unpack everything because I refuse to have a mess to clean up after. I organized everything once, I don’t want to do it again. Call me a neat freak, I don’t care.
. . . And I can’t find it.
You haven’t used it in ages, it’s probably in the trash somewhere.
You’re too sentimental to have thrown it away.
It’s back in the city, dumbass.
Maybe it’s hidden in a bag somewhere.
Who hides a notebook? If you can’t find it, it’s gone.
You didn’t want anyone to find it, so it probably wasn’t in plain sight.
Anybody that hides something from plain sight shouldn’t want to find that said thing.
I sigh heavily and start opening the smaller bags I threw in my suitcase.
My eyes land on a small bag with clouds and music notes. My heart stops.
When I moved out to go train at the tournament, I put everything that had a sentimental meaning from my childhood in that bag. Obviously, I couldn’t put a piano in there, but I took a picture of it and many other things to put in that bag. And I put my notebook there.
With shaking hands, I open the small bag. Emotion clogs my throat as I look at each picture.
The piano in the forest.
Me, singing as I played.
My bedroom back at my parents’ house, full of endless notes for singing and polaroid pictures.
Me, smiling.
I grin as I hold the pictures. I remember taking them because I . . . wanted the reminder of what joy could be like. That it wasn’t all about the big accomplishments, but finding happiness in the smaller moments.
And now that I look at those pictures . . . I wish I had remembered. I wish I had listened to my younger self and followed my heart. But I didn’t.
I see it now, that being in the tournament stopped making me happy. I don’t know anymore if it ever did or if I caved under pressure. But, at the same time, I don’t want to let those years of hard work and sacrifice go to waste.
But you’re not there right now, Stella. You have a choice.
You can’t leave your life behind! You worked so hard for it!
You can build a new life where you’ll be happy.
You’ll have to start over. Everyone will see how far behind everyone you are!
Nothing matters if you aren’t happy.
Who cares if you’re happy!? You have duties to attend to, so fucking do them!
At the end of the day, it’s you and your reflection in the mirror. You don’t need anybody to be proud of you, but you need to be proud of yourself.
My internal debate is cut short by a knock on the door. I get up from the floor and walk to the door, surprised to see Layla on the other side of it. “Hi, Stella.”
I smile up at her. “Hi, Layla.”
She grins.
As I open the door, I notice the mess in my room from looking for my notebook. Ah, crap. “Don’t, uh, pay attention to the mess. I was busy with something.”
Layla laughs loudly, and I can only blink at her. “Stella, this isn’t messy. Wait until you have to share a room with Isa, and then you’ll have the correct definition of messy. ”
She comes into my room, and I smirk as I notice that inside her jeans’ pockets is a notebook with a pen. We’re a lot more alike than I thought.
She turns around and smirks at me too. “You have a notebook too!”
I giggle. “I was about to say the same thing!”
Layla smirks, her voice taking an ominous tone as she says, “We should work as a team on this.”
“A team? On what? What do you have in mind?”
“Well, I’m stuck with this one chapter. I can’t write it for the life of me. And you clearly need someone to kick your ass and tell you to work towards your dream. So, we can help each other. You can help me on the creative side, and I’ll make sure you make progress on your dream.”
We both grin at each other, full of mischief and excitement.
“You’ve had this idea for a while, haven’t you?”
“Since that day in the library,” Layla confirms. “I needed to find something to offer you so it was a fair trade, and now that I know what you need, you’re stuck in my trap. You can’t say no.”
I laugh. “Well, what are we waiting for?”
I put on music as Layla pulls out her notebook to write her second romance book and I get back into writing the albums I’d forgotten for so long.
…
“Holy crap,” I squeal as I notice the time. “We’ve been writing for five hours!”
“Come on, Stella,” Layla whines. “It’s the first time in months I have some hope and inspiration for my story. Please, keep going with me.”
I freeze. “What did you say?”
“Uh, nothing.”
I should have known there had been something beneath the surface. I scoot closer to her on my bed, gently telling her, “You can tell me whatever it is that’s going on in that head of yours. I’ll listen to you, I promise.”
Layla looks at me, conflicted.
I try again. “I won’t tell anyone. Not even your siblings.”
Her eyes sparkle at that. I knew it .
Layla looks at me shyly. “Do you promise?”
I smile. If there’s one thing I can guarantee, it’s that when I give my word, I keep it. “I promise you, Layla.”
She takes a deep breath, dropping her pen on the bed to look into my eyes.
“I can’t write, Stella. I’ve been stuck ever since my first book. My siblings keep teasing me about writing taking me so long, but I can’t write. Not a single word. I’ve been stuck with writer’s block for almost a year now, and it just won’t go away .”
“Layla, that says nothing about you or your writing. It’s a normal thing to go through.”
She groans. “Yeah, I know that, but I hate it so much.”
“Then I’ll hate it with you.”
She grins up at me, and I know this will be a long night.