52. Intermission: Lila's Diary Part 2

DAY 200 PART 3

I loiter around the front steps of the college for a while, waiting for my new best 'friend' to arrive in her swanky limo. For once, I intend to suppress the overwhelming urge to egg it to oblivion the minute the vehicle pokes it's overpriced hood ornament around the corner. It's tough, but I'll manage.

I release my pent-up anger instead by distributing free dirty glares at any passing lower school kiddies, and feigning kicks at pigeons who are dumb enough to roost nearby. I'm not so heartless that I'd actually want to harm the little rats with wings, but if any of them decided to take a crap on my perfectly aligned hair... well, the feathers will fly.

Well, what do you know. Blondie has decided to denigrate herself by walking to school today, and she's dressed up like she's just robbed a thrift store. I thought her outfit the other day was a complete joke, but nothing prepared me for today's dose of sartorial hilarity. It's a good job I decided to ditch the whole extortion plot about ruining her dignity, because she's making enough of a public embarrassment out of herself as it is.

Stretchable granny trousers? T-shirts with 'Hot Chick' transferred on them? If I got offered that sort of outfit for goodwill, I'd still prefer to turn up at school in vines and leaves. Maybe, on top of her talking to inanimate cuddly toys as if they were children, this added layer of eccentricity really is a cry for help. A good friend at this stage might advise for her to urgently seek aid for her obvious mental problems, to go talk to a seasoned professional who could return her to the land of the barely-functioning.

What a shame Sabrina is long gone. Me? You're confusing yours truly with someone who is a friend, to a person who's just acting like one. I know... I play the part really well. Sometimes I look in the mirror, and fool myself that I'm a good person (sigh).

In fact, once upon a time, I even wanted to make a few genuine pals of my own... until I learned the hard way that the world is just a ruthless dog-eat-dog heap of s**t, where only the strong survive and those who dare put themselves out there for others get totally exploited and destroyed.

Apart from the ability to tell the most outrageous porkie-pies with a straight face, that was the only valuable life lesson my shrew of a mother left me with after absconding one day, leaving us without a pot to piss in but lots of bitter acrimony. Thanks, Mum. Now, roll over and die.

Chloe looks pretty sad, bless her little cotton socks. Perhaps her jacuzzi was underheated this morning, or her butler brought her the wrong brand of mineral water. What a shame. I go over to her, and make up some bulls**t story about how we're still good buddies and that our 'deal' is off, while I put on my most fake empathetic face. It's the same expression I wore when I found out from my father that his new job had fallen through, and we were stuck in this pitiful place for the foreseeable future.

City Of Lights? More like... City of Sh**es. Hee Hee... I'm so funny I could shoot myself.

It's a crying shame there's no market for teenage stand-up comics around here, because I've got enough A-material to pack venues every single night. Fame and fortune would naturally follow, and me and pops's days of perusing the gutter for loose change will be over forever. Well actually, that only happened once. Twice maybe, when we needed a cab home on a dark, cold night. Come on... cut me some slack. It's not like we can afford a car. If we could, we'd be living in it.

Anyway, it looks as if I'm stuck tailing this spoiled brat everywhere all day like a lost dog. Actually pooches have it easier... at least they get chucked the occasional scrap by benevolent butchers. I've become so notorious on the high street for my stealing prowess, the only thing I'll get thrown at me is the book... that's if I'm ever careless enough to get caught.

I've evaded capture up until now, but even someone as flippant as me knows her luck is gonna run out sooner or later. And my father is not going to get that call to bail me out of juvie, using cash we don't have.

Even worse than the extortionate cost would be the utter shame he'd feel afterward at his 'perfect' daughter's contemptible conduct, after how well I've told him I've been doing at school. The enormous stress would be enough to give him a heart attack, which in his weakened state he'll never survive.

He'll just end up blaming himself even on his deathbed, when deep down I'll know that his early demise is all my doing. I'm not sure I could live with that knowledge. Better start preparing another plot for myself, right next to pops...

NO! THAT CANNOT HAPPEN, IT WON'T HAPPEN, AND... well, you can tell how serious I am because I used all capitals. I'm not going to give Miss Chloe Bourgeois a moment's peace until I discover her hidden powers, and utilised them for my own devious ends.

Then, as soon as my life is no longer a steaming stack of cattle manure, we'll be on the first plane back to Italy to settle the score with a certain bimbette I know only too well. Or the second plane, I don't mind a few delays, providing the excuse is good enough, like atmospheric conditions or a terrorist attack or...

Oh, who am I kidding, I'm just stalling here. I am closing this book right now and going into class. The reason behind my procrastination? Okay... I tell you this only because we're friends. Wait, did I just say that to a journal? Pathetic. Whatever...

Despite my commitment to the cause, I still find myself glancing around nervously for any sign of Squeaky and chums peeking out from the clouds. Hey, you'd be pretty freaked after undergoing a real-life Paranormal Activity moment too last night, right? Right?!

Hey, I told you before, don't try and lie to a liar. Lila? Damn, my name is too obvious as to my true persona... I must change it when I'm older.

Lisa? Cristina? Aurora? Hmm... all good possibilities... I shall decide on my new moniker later. Bye for now.

DAY 200 PART 4

Well, hi there again. How are you? Good, I hope. Kids doing okay? Have a nice weekend off? Finally get round to cutting that stubborn lawn? Super. Smashing. Great.

Me? I'm not doing very much right now. Just the usual, really. Sitting around, writing this diary, watching a naked girl with hairy feet get changed...

Oops, sorry. Did I just make you spit your hot beveridge out in surprise? Never mind, stranger... have another cup on me. Hee Hee.

Hey, don't get the wrong impression. I'm still as straight as a ruler, as my undying and so far unfulfilled crush on sex god Adrien Agreste will testify. I may have formed the illusion that I planned on throwing him off the top of the Eiffel Tower during my cameo as Fake Vulpina, but I'd never actually go through with it. He's my lovable, huggable, sh*ggable, personable model... and one of these days he'll be all mine, oh yes.

I actually don't mind the homely baker's daughter he's so obviously infatuated with... she seems like a decent sort, with nothing but the best intentions. But if she gets in the way of me and my man, I will make her life an ever-escalating pantheon of misery and woe. Sorry sweetbuns. No hard feelings.

Speaking of 'buns', I'm a bit sick of staring at Chloe's scar-ridden pasty ones, as she tries in vain to congest herself into a cossie which is clearly designed for a terminally ill supermodel. It's just so much fun watching her frenzied, failed efforts to put it on though, I can't tear myself away. How I've managed to evade detection through uproarious laughter is as much a mystery to me as to who'd purchase such a ugly swimsuit in the first place.

The only downside to the fun 'n' games I'm having is the missed opportunity the current situation presents. You see, I had to sell my precious cameraphone a while back to afford basic groceries, so I can't take any secret nudie pics of the Hairy Princess for possible future blackmai...

Okay, I'm fibbing. I would never shame another girl like that publicly, even Miss Prissy over there. I might give them the notion I would, but if they called my bluff... there's nothing I could do about it.

There we go. Despite all my protestations of being an irredeemable monster, there are still some boundaries I won't cross. Happy now? So, you can extinguish all your burning effigies of me. Save them for when I do something truly heinous, like adorn that ghastly, garish one-piece. You'll be waiting a while.

Anyway, I suppose you want to know why I'm here in the girl's changing room, scoping out the unclothed form of my nemesis when I should be in class, learning where Uruguay is on the map (no, ur a gay) and what colour the flag of Greenland is (apparently, it's not green. Astounding.). Well, I'm about to tell you. Are you sitting comfortably? Then, I'll begin.

First of all, believe it or not, I'm a girl... so I can come and go from this room whenever I please. Duh.

The second reason is, Chloe's bag. I must get a closer look inside... because whatever is giving her the power to summon inter-dimensional forces to my dirt-encrusted room at night is sure to be lurking in the depths.

I've already thoroughly investigated her desk and pockets (that collision in the corridor earlier was no accident) and, sure as I am she carries her secret with her everywhere, it has to be in that damn holdall. Either I'm going completely bonkers like the brat and soon we'll be sharing the same padded cell (bagsy the top bunk) or Lila The Enchantress will become an official trademark in days to come. We shall see.

Ever since I got into class today I've been brooding over what's occurring right now all over the city. There's a lot of weird and wonderful stuff going on, mostly revolving around some old dude with a cane who can send out evil moths to infect people with superpowers, before they're saved by a girl in a ladybug outfit and a guy trussed up like a cat. As soon as that whole shebang started up, as far as I was concerned, 'abnormal' became the new 'normal'.

So... is it really beyond the realms of possibility for Chloe's bag to have within an item of such great power, that she could bend the world to her whim? Some kind of mystical spirit that can grant me three wishes, like in that film starring the guy who just died? Maybe, the rise of the Bourgeois name isn't such an enigma, after all. We could be looking at a Faustian pact type-dealie here, or something equally sinister. All I can say is: If it saves my life and dad's, take my soul now, O exalted Evil One...

Actually, that doesn't make sense. Oh well, I'll figure it out as I go along.

I might be going totally out of my mind, or off the deep end (get it, because I'm near a pool) but the mere possibility of such a miracle existing has been bugging me all day, so much so I haven't been able to concentrate on pretty much anything else.

Even the laundry list of oddities concerning Miss Bourgeois's activities today I've meticulously charted pale in comparison to my wonderment of her ambiguous power, and when I went to so much trouble to write them all down, too. I told so many untruths today to get out of class and stalk her that if I were Pinocchio, my nose would resemble a redwood tree by now.

So, hoping to earn some future credit, I might as well scribble down the results of my hard graft for posterity's sake. One day, I'll be a legend in the spy industry, and 007 will be 000 due to my significant achievements. Sorry, Meester Bond.

1. Skating time with Alix... how the heck did someone who's probably never worn a pair of blades in their entire entitled life manage to not only perform the most audacious of turns to avoid slamming face-first into a wall, but also have enough presence of mind to catch up with the pink-haired one at light speed afterwards to stop her from smashing herself to bits down some steps? It's witchcraft, I tell ye.

2. Song time with Ivan... Since when has Chloe possessed the ability to write music that not only manages to help her befriend one of the shyest boys in the class, but make it so melodic that even I started tapping my foot along to it on the other side of the door as it was performed? And, don't get me started on her graceful, gracious singing... GRR! It's at times like this I wish I had a blonde voodoo doll and lots of long needles... I'd stick the first one right up her...

3. Weird secret chanting in the bathroom (which I wasn't allowed to enter by the teacher, for 'privacy' reasons), while she changed into that archiac school uniform after the hilarious bucket prank. Which no-one told me they were going to do, I didn't even get a text about it. I'm starting to get a distinct vibe from my classmates that I'll never be one of the gang, just because I told a bunch of lies on the first day. Well Chloe, it's looks like we both finally have something in common... social isolation. Sucks, doesn't it?

Just when I'm sick of gazing in envy at her taut belly and pert boobies (oh life, why are you so cruel), she actually manages to slip on the tight costume, and we're away. As soon as she's staggered off into the distance, I grab my trusty lockpicking hairclip, open up her locker and grab her bag from inside. Mission accomplished.

I let her keep the old uniform, though. I have no interest in such shabby attire, plus I don't want her to have to run back to class buck naked. She'll scare the kindergartners.

See? That darn good heart of mine strikes again. I hope, if this diary is ever discovered by some far-off distant civilisation, it's enough to give me a more sympathetic portrayal than I suspect I'll get... but, meh. Who cares. Unleashing ancient forces way beyond my control is my only interest now. I'm sure it'll work out fine.

As soon as I escape the drabness of the changing room, I make a bee-line for the nearest storage closet, throwing out various papers and useless vanity junk inside the bag onto the floor, including two nearly empty bags of nougat (I saw her crunching on this vile stuff during lunchtime, what was up with that?).

I find precisely nothing. Nil. Nowt. Diddly squat. No steamed up crystals. No magic lamps. Not even a damn cursed ring. Absolute rubbish, the lot of it. Especially, that stupid bee toy.

I stare at the poorly-stitched together creation in abject fury. No doubt it was manufactured in the far east by underpaid, underage sweatshop workers. Totally worth a few pennies an hour, putting this crap on the factory line.

I peer into it's lifeless orange bug eyes with growing irritation. It's as if they mock me, that I went to all this effort for a valueless plushie not even worthy of being a booby prize at the local funfair shooting gallery.

If I had my penknife handy, I'd tear the cheap stuffing out of it here and now. As it is though, I simply throw it against the wall in anger, before sitting down to record all this nonsense in my journal. It's not the toy's fault I'm so p*ssed off, but I need some kind of punchbag to take my many grievances out on. You just got nominated, honeysucker. Hope you're proud.

It was like this when I had all my teddies as a child. Instead of hugging the fake ursines to make me feel better, I used to just beat them senseless. Whenever my folks argued, or sent me to my room for some 'quiet time', poor old Bertie Bear ended up with a black eye. Perhaps I should have actually tried cuddling them once in a while, maybe I wouldn't be quite so... highly strung (don't say psychotic. Don't say psychotic).

Oh well, too late to do anything about it now. I have to plan my next move, like that Russian grandmaster chess guy. I'm still sure something strange is going on with Chloe, maybe I should 'check' into her hotel room for a snoop around next. It'll be hard getting past all the goons though... I'll have to come up with a foolproof plan for it to work. What I need is a decent disguise, and...

"You won't get near my daughter, Miss Rossi. She has a destiny, and so do you."

Wait, who said that? It sounded like... one of those spirits from the other night. The buzzy one. Don't tell me they've tracked me down already! I have to get out of here...

"You aren't going anywhere. Just relax... this'll only take a moment."

Hang on... that stupid bee doll... it isn't where I chucked it. And... what's that insect shaped silhouette hovering just above my book, which looks like it's holding some kind of comb. Oohh nnoo...

"You were warned, Miss Rossi. Now, prepare to face the consequences. Sweet dreams."

'Sweet dreams'? B-but, I'm not tired... Hey, get off me! Why are you clinging to my face, you weird bug eyed thingie. What are you... some kind of Alien? Where's the Predator when you need h-i-m.

Actually, this is kinda nice. My mind suddenly feels relaxed, all my concerns are gone. But I was thinking... what was I thinking about, again? Oh, who cares... they'll be no worries, for the rest of my days... lalalalila... zzzz...

The final 'z' is stretched out by a long pen stroke, that reaches the end of the page, formed as if to make the word 'zubo'. This is the last entry in the journal.

...

AUTHOR'S NOTE: And that's the last chapter in this fic for now, too.

I'm going to take a few days off after my MANY updates this week, but I'll be back with renewed vigour and enthusiasm soon enough.

You can trust me. After all, my name isn't 'Lila', right?

Which reminds me... there's a very subtle joke on that subject... see if you can spot it. A pat on the back, and a shout-out to whoever does.

Bye for now... ;)