The call goes totally silent and I pull the phone away from my ear for a second.

I don't think my brain is comprehending what just happened. Prime example of zero to one hundred real fast. I feel my heart rate pick up, and I'm mentally freaking out.

What if something happened to him? What if he's hurt?

"Bryce? Hello?" I call out into the microphone after waiting another minute or so.

"Hey, hey. Sorry about that, it was just my dad. Riled up on some work call."

Bryce's voice is back to normal and what he claimed makes moderate sense, yet at the same time I sense that there's still a hint of dishonesty behind his words.

Nonetheless, saying that I had a huge flood of relief wash over me upon hearing his voice would've been a great understatement. What even was I supposed to do if he didn't comeback to the phone? Granted, it could have just been something minor, but I'd be haunted forever if he ended up hurt in some way.

"You know, my mom doesn't live with us anymore. It's just Dad and I now." His voice is soft and relaxed now, as if he's deep in thought.

Did his mom pass away? Is that why they ended up back in this city? I guess it's really not that bad here, but there's just not enough opportunities for me as someone who wants to make it in the entertainment industry.

That's beside the point; everybody seems to keep talking about him as if he's fragile and needs to be protected after some serious traumatic event.

The death of a parent could definitely do that to a person.

I pull my covers tighter around me. I'm not at all fond of my mother but I'm sure I would still be shaken if she were to die, especially anytime soon. I would certainly be a mess if my dad passed away in the near future as well.

"Did she—" I start before Bryce quickly intervenes before I can finish my thought.

"No. She's alive and healthy," he says bitterly. There's something almost metallic about his voice and it practically sends chills down my spine. I was clearly on the completely wrong track.

"She stayed in Florida?" I assume, and Bryce let's out something between a laugh and a snort in reply.

"You could say that."

Great. We're back to being extremely vague and elusive again. Sometimes I think people trust me, and it hurts when I realize that they don't.

I get that sometimes people just don't want to converse about certain things; I would really rather not mention what happened to me either, especially since it's been years. Everything is resolved now, legally at least.

But Bryce can't just show up all of a sudden and act like everything is fine. He just shows up to school, sits down at our lunch table, and pretends that the last four years didn't even occur. He can't expect me to believe that his mother vanishing from his life has nothing to do with all of this.

He seems to assume that this conversation is about to go downhill really quickly, so he quickly changes the topic. "Daniel called me earlier. He's a character."

That makes me laugh. Daniel really is something. The only slightly-normal person any of us like is Mateo, but even he has his moments.

"Well I'm glad you found one person who's going to appreciate you for what you are."

"That hit hard. Are you saying you don't like me? Even after all this damn time?" he jokes.

I smile, shutting off the lamp next to my bed and curling up farther underneath the blankets on my bed. "I clearly despise you. I didn't realize there could be any doubt about it."

"Of course you do, Blossom."

He says something else after that, but I don't quite catch it.

🌸🌸🌸

I wake up the next morning to a bright stream of sunlight pooling in through my bedroom windows and it literally makes me groan in disgust. I'm really not a morning person when I don't get enough sleep.

Charlie has a soccer game at some school a half hour away, and my mom and dad always head down to the market on Saturday mornings, so I'm well aware that I've been left home alone.

Either way, I sit up abruptly in bed, yanking the elastic band out of my hair and brushing my fingers through the strands to loosen the braid it was holding. I swiftly grab my phone, checking the time.

12:30. It's been worse.

And then I see a notification.

I honestly find it hard to believe that Bryce had nothing better to do on a Friday night than staying at home texting a girl he hadn't seen in years. I always interpreted him as the party type which seems to go hand-in-hand with being popular, but apparently I was wrong.

Then again, who am I to judge? When I'm not at a dance or voice class, I spend my time singing alone in my bedroom.

When I reluctantly roll out of bed to get ready for the day, I first head to the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth, but after that I sit at my vanity and just stare at all the makeup before me.

A lot of people claim that they wear makeup for the art of it, but that's not the same case for me. I hate leaving the house without makeup. I don't think even my family has seen me without makeup recently.

There's just so much insecurity built up inside of me. It's really hard to resist the urge to mask whatever I can so I can try and make myself presentable by my standards.

I fiddle with the ends up my hair. They're definitely split. I've been refusing to cut my hair, or even trim it, for forever.

Don't get me wrong, I've considered cutting it. I will sometime this year, but I feel like my long hair has become what everyone knows me for.

You know, maybe I could just trim it myself . . .

No way. That's an absolutely awful idea.

Thankfully, I'm then urged to open up the small drawer below the vanity's tabletop. I don't keep much in there, just some more makeup. I rummage through the clutter, taking all the palettes out until all that's left is a few expired lipstick tubes cramped in the very back. I grab those too, tossing them in the trash.

My eyes dart to a small notebook stashed away in the one of the back corners, but I haven't written in there in ages, which is why I leave it untouched.

And after that, I finally grab the last thing in the drawer; a petite grey box that I haven't touched in ages.

I nearly forgot I still had this thing in my possession quite frankly. It's a jewelry box I had stolen from my mother when I had found it empty on her dresser, and she never seemed to notice so I figured I hadn't really done anything too wrong.

What's important is what's inside though. I unlatch the box, opening the lid and letting my gaze become totally fixated on the jewelry inside.

It's a delicate necklace with a silver chain and a glass pendant hanging from it. The pendant is a dainty pink cherry blossom which makes me laugh.

It is why Bryce calls me Blossom after all.

We were hanging out in his backyard one summer's day, minus Charlie and Jasmine, when we decided to dig around in the garden for some stupid reason and somehow came across it. He had no use for the necklace, so he gave it to me.

The nickname came soon after, and it somehow stuck despite all the arguments we had over it. I felt that it could be somehow interpreted totally sexually, and Jasmine brought up the fact that the name has a broad association to The Powerpuff Girls, but Bryce didn't really seem to care.

I gently lift the piece of jewelry out of the box, dropping it into the open palm of my hand. It truly is funny how I've managed to keep this thing after all those years. I used to wear it everyday, but eventually dropped the habit, hence why it ended up hidden in the shadows of a desk drawer.

Besides, isn't it something couples do, gifting jewelry? Even if we're referring to pieces dug up in someone's backyard? I get that we were really young and never though that deep about it, but as I grew older it just seemed kind of odd to me.

I shove all the makeup back into the desk, slamming the drawer shut. The jewelry box ends up with the privilege of remaining on the desktop for now, but I'll probably end up hiding it away again sometime soon.

Applying a final layer of mascara to my lashes and a coat of gloss to my lips, I scroll through my Instagram feed to waste a bit of time. I should probably go cook myself something for breakfast, considering I'm left to fend for myself.

A photo from last weekend pops up in my feed that makes me smile. Mateo posted it, and it's a picture of him, Jasmine, Ryan, and I. Mateo has his arm wrapped around my shoulder and we're both smiling like idiots while Jasmine and Ryan are jumping in the background, looking like maniacs.

I usually refuse to go to parties, but they had managed to convince me that I should have a little bit of fun for our last year of high school. I refuse to drink even a sip of alcohol and I'm not really about hooking up with random guys I don't even know, but I still go for my friends' sake.

I grudgingly leave my bedroom, heading downstairs and towards the kitchen.

I really hate cooking. With a burning passion. I don't like losing, and I seem to be awful at cooking. I have the worst luck ever. I somehow manage to burn everything. I swear that I pay attention, but it still always happens.

Sifting through the cupboards, I find a fresh bag of English muffins, something I'm capable of preparing, and I'm just about to grab the bag when the doorbell rings.

Can I not catch a break? I would rather not answer the door, in fear that someone may try to murder me, so I decide to ignore the bell.

Until the person rings it again, then knocks a couple times on the door.

Conclusion: The murderer is growing extremely impatient, or it's someone I know. The later is obviously the more viable option, so I ditch the muffins to go check the door.

I walk back down the hallway to the foyer, fixing my hair quickly in the mirror before I unlock the door, twisting the handle and pulling it back. I smile when a familiar face is revealed, letting him step through the doorway and into the house.

"Desperate much?" I joke, shutting the door to keep the chilly air out. "Did you really need to see me that bad?"

"Nah. I just know that you probably weren't going to let me in otherwise. Probably assumed it was a serial killer out there," Mateo says with a huge smile. I'm glad to see that he knows me well, but there's still a twinge of sadness lurking inside my head for some odd reason.

I'm about to ask him the reasoning behind his spontaneous appearance, but he quickly cuts me off. "I just wanted to see if you wanted to go grab something to eat with me? Maybe we could go grab sandwiches at that new cafe that just opened?" he acquires hopefully.

"Yeah, just let me grab my bag," I chirp, darting back into the house and to the main closet. I slip on a pair of Vans, grabbing the first jacket I see, over-sized and ripped denim. I sling a small purse over my shoulder, dropping my wallet and phone into the bag, before racing back to meet Mateo.

I find him gazing out the window, but he quickly spins back around when he hears my approaching footsteps.

"What were you thinking about?" I dare to ask and he just shrugs in reply, reopening the front door and holding it for me. I quickly step out, thanking him, and reaching to lock the door after he joins me on the doorstep.

I place my key in my bag, following Mateo down the driveway to where his car is parked on the street. He drives a dark grey Toyota Corolla that he shares with his brother who is currently in law school but still lives at home. Mateo plans on going to law school too, both brothers following in their father's footsteps.

His dad in a very sought-after lawyer apparently, which is why he left Mateo and his mom and brother to move somewhere in the United States for work.

It's funny that Bryce's dad did the same thing, except Bryce and his mom obviously moved as well.

I pull open the door to the car and Mateo climbs in on the other side, starting up the engine just as I slam the door shut. There's an awkward moment of silence that falls between us as I contemplate on a conversation starter just as Mateo jumps in with a thought.

"So, this Bryce kid," he begins and for a moment my brain locks up because I myself don't even know what Bryce's deal is. I'm less than capable of telling him anything about Bryce's life in Florida.

"You've known him for awhile?" he asks and I simply nod in reply.

"Yeah. I met him on the first day of grade Primary. Him, Jasmine, Charlie, and I were all in the same class at school. Him and Charlie had always been best friends," I clarify and Mateo bites his lip as he makes a right-hand turn out of my neighbourhood.

"When's the last time you spoke to him?" Mateo continues and I really wish he would mention something other than Bryce. I still have absolutely no clue why he acted so blatantly negative to Bryce right off the bat but he almost seems oddly obsessed.

I shrug, looking out the side window to avoid Mateo getting a glimpse of my expression. "Eighth grade, before he moved. It's kind of weird that we spent so much time together in elementary and middle school yet never exchanged numbers, but I guess it is what it is."

It's just as I open my mouth to bring up something like college, which both Mateo and I are really invested in, when Mateo speaks again. For a fleeting moment I wonder if he genuinely wants to spend time with me or if this is just a Bryce interrogation.

"Have you Googled him or looked him up on social media at all? Because I'm sure that would be interesting," Mateo says, his tone cool and passive. I turn to look at him with question in my eyes and I witness an odd shift in energy happen.

The easy smile Mateo was just sporting instantly turns neutral as his whole face shifts to a regretful look.

"What do you mean?"

"Never mind, I don't know what I'm saying. Just ignore that thought."

I brush it off without prying because I really just wanted to have a casual lunch with a friend but apparently we both weren't on the same page.

"Which universities are you leaning towards?" I ask and a comfortable mood sets over us once again.

Mateo beams, and I realize he's pulling into the parking lot of the cafe he insisted on. "I originally wanted to stay in the province but after Sam backed out of moving, my dad has been desperate for one of his kids to go to Western like he did."

"What about Nicholas?" I ask seeing as Mateo mentioned his older brother's situation but not his youngest brother's. Nicholas is still only in middle school, ninth grade, so I suppose it is a bit early for him to be considering exact schools yet I ask anyway.

Mateo easily backs into a parking spot and he kills the engine. We both step out of the car, heading towards the entrance of the cafe.

"He's leaning towards studying acting actually," Mateo says. He opens the front door for me and I step through the doorway, quickly thanking him.

As soon as we enter the quaint building, I'm instantly greeted with the sweet aroma of freshly baked goods and sweet coffee. The place is bustling with life, but it's not too cramped by any means. Mateo and I take a place in line and he continues his family story.

"My dad always says he still has the 'DiLaurentis brain' which is really just a lame excuse to keep him out of the Arts industry but Nick won't have it. He really is talented but my father really just isn't open to change. Which is ironic because he still left us and Mom for his job," Mateo snorts and I give him a sympathetic smile.

"How do your parents feel about you going into theatre instead of anything super academic?" Mateo further questions, and it think it's far more loaded question then he could know.

My dad has always been extremely supportive of me in everything I do; Charlie and him really are my biggest fans.

Meanwhile, my mother and I have an extremely complicated relationship and she can't seem to look past that to be proud of me every once and a while. After I got cast as the leading role in an actual professional and paying production over the summer I think she opened up a tad bit, but she doesn't really like talking about any of it.

"They're pretty okay with it," I finally answer, and Mateo nods. "And actually if you don't mind me asking," I begin. "Where exactly does your dad live?"

Even before Mateo says anything, another voice I know chimes in without being spoken to for what seems like the trillionth time over the past day and a half.

"Orlando."

I look up to see Bryce staring at Mateo with a disapproving glare.