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Chapter One of Kiss and Don't Tell
I looked at Hugo with admiration. What would possess such an exquisite soul to fall for Celine? Certainly, she had been persistent on coming to America because she needed my life to seem even duller. But I admit, the most horrific part was she was bunking with me. That’s right, Celine Aimable was staying in my room! (Isn’t it ironic how her last name is Aimable, French for likable, when I don’t find a bone in her body to my liking!) Celine may have Hugo wrapped around her finger (literally, their fingers were entwined), but with me, it would take more than the batting of her “lusciously full” and “flawlessly voluminous” eyelashes and the glint of her “pearly” white grin to scare me into being her minion.
She pecked Hugo on the cheek, and dangled her dainty arms around his waist. I cringed and then ignored them, or else I might get a glimpse of my breakfast. I’m not exaggerating, it’s something with Celine and Hugo being together that triggers my nausea.
I’m not naïve, so I could see right through Celine’s ominous trickery. It consisted of two points: to make me look like a total loser and get Hugo to despise me, as well as the entire planet (or maybe the solar system).
I was amazingly fanaticizing about Hugo and me, when I was interrupted. “Go stalk someone else!” Celine snorted, as she clicked her glamorous stilettos onto the all-too-familiar concrete. Hugo looked stunned. Wait, that was me. I was stunned because Hugo had slid his arm out of Celine’s. Was this a dream?! He looked fed up with her attitude. When Hugo was about to say something Celine tugged his arm and murmured (well, actually shouted), “Let’s get away from Geneva, she’s always following us!”
Hugo then, cleared his throat, and corrected “It’s Genevieve.”
“Whatever, just come on, babe!” Celine actually elbowed her beau in the stomach.
“Ow!” he said.
“Oh, don’t be a baby!” she rolled her eyes, her baby blue eyes with blue mascara, cat-eye eyeliner, and pink eye shadow. She was the perfect model for an American ad, stereotyping the average French girl.
“Hugo, are you hurt?” Adele asked. He didn’t answer. We both looked at him with legit concern. He was doubled over, and he looked kind of…kind of, well injured. I was startled by the sound of him collapsing to the ground. Adele and I both tried to lift him onto his feet, but he was too muscular.
When I’d first met Hugo, he was the scrawny boy in drama, but ever since he and Celine went out, he was a buff athlete. I secretly thought Celine was blackmailing him.
“I’m fine.” He reassured. He had gotten up, but fell right back down. I was quivering as I dialed 911.
Soon enough, the sound of sirens blasted through my ears.
It made me flashback to when I was stabbed. I was still conscious when the ambulance had arrived, but after that, my blood-loss had passed me out.
I heard sniffling. It was Adele. She tapped me on the shoulder and pointed. I immediately noticed a bruise on his forehead. I still didn’t understand why she was crying, I mean it was very frightening, but she was used to the hectic lifestyle now. “What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Geni, last night,”
“Uh-huh,” I motioned for Adele to resume with her explanation.
“He found out Celine’s secret.”
“That her uncle stabbed you.” Slowly, my vision narrowed, and I fell to the concrete.
I knew Adele would bring me to my feet, and my expectations were accurate. “What happened?” Adele asked.
“I had this insane dream where Hugo fainted and you said…you said…you said…”
I didn’t know how to complete my sentence, but to my pleasure and to my aversion, Adele did.
“Celine’s uncle stabbed you? Geni, it was no dream.”
“I know that, but I just wanted some serenity for once. I mean, we’re always running from and with the chaos.”
“Geni, we’re all going through the same thing. We just have to make sure Hugo makes it out alive.”