ceciliannewithane

[ceciliannewithane]

Chapter 5

Please do not copy this as it is my work! I hope you will enjoy this and if you want to read more please feel to check out my Wattpad via the link in my Tumblr bio!

-ˏˋ⋆ 𝟥𝓇𝒹 𝒫𝑒𝓇𝓈𝑜𝓃 ⋆ˊˎ- ⋆˚࿔ 𝐵𝑒𝓁𝓁𝑒 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

A/N : This chapter will not exactly follow what actually happened. Most things will follow though. Enjoy!

As the afternoon sun hung lazily in the sky, casting golden beams across the school grounds, Belle found her nerves fraying with every ticking minute. Lunch had long passed, but the sinking feeling in her stomach only deepened as the moment she dreaded loomed closer. Try as she might, she couldn't shake the unease. She kept repeating in her mind that everything would be okay, that she could handle it—but the words rang hollow.

Then came the sound that made her heart drop like a stone. CLANG. Moody Spurgeon rang the bell.

It echoed through the halls like a summons—one that brought no comfort, only a cold knot of anxiety. That was the signal. The moment was here. The game was about to begin.

Belle had always imagined her first kiss would be something magical, something out of a storybook—beneath cherry blossoms in spring, or gently drifting on a lake boat at sunset. Certainly not in the dusty cloakroom of a rural schoolhouse surrounded by giggling classmates and muddy boots. The idea of her lips meeting someone else's for a silly game, a joke, a dare—it felt wrong. She wanted to run, but she had no excuse. Jane had been right there when she told Mrs. Andrews she'd be late getting home.

With Mr. Philips finally gone, the class tiptoed into the cloakroom, careful and hushed like conspirators. Prissy quietly slipped away to study for her Queen's exams, avoiding the awkwardness altogether. She had no intention of playing a game like that with boys who were, in some cases, years younger. Belle almost envied her.

As soon as the coast was clear, Josie stood in the center, directing everyone into a neat circle on the creaky wooden floor.

"Jane, move next to your stupid brother," Josie barked, eyes sharp, ensuring the circle alternated boy-girl-boy-girl. Belle could tell she was in full control, savoring the power.

"Where would that leave Cole?" Billy jeered, clearly aiming for a laugh. His tone made Belle cringe.

She glanced at Cole, who sat quietly, eyes averted. He hadn't done anything to deserve that jab. In Belle's eyes, Cole was just another quiet soul caught in Billy's crossfire. Josie leaned toward Cole and whispered something kind, trying to smooth it over, but he only offered a chilly shrug in response.

The game began abruptly. Diana took the first turn, hesitantly spinning the bottle across the floor. The glass whirled and clinked as everyone fell silent, watching with wide eyes. It slowed. Stopped.

Moody Spurgeon.

The pair stood up, exchanging bashful glances. With stiff awkwardness, they leaned in and kissed—a brief, polite peck on the lips. The class exploded into laughter and applause, a few boys slapping Moody on the back like he'd just won a prize. Diana's cheeks burned red as she sat back down. Anne gave her a warm smile, trying to offer support, but quickly looked away.

"Okay, now it's Anne's turn," Josie announced with a smirk.

Belle narrowed her eyes. Josie was up to something.

"No way, I'm out," Billy laughed cruelly. "No way I'm kissing that dog."

The laughter was immediate and harsh. Even though Belle wasn't especially fond of Anne, she winced. No one deserved to be humiliated like that. The boys chimed in, one after another, declaring they were out—except for Cole, who sat still and silent. Josie sighed and moved on, clearly annoyed that the game had temporarily derailed.

Then it happened. The bottle was spun again, and all heads turned toward Belle. Her heart thudded so loud she was sure everyone could hear it.

Every boy rejoined the circle almost instantly.

It was obvious. Even if Belle denied it to herself, the truth was known to everyone—she was beautiful. Long, silky brunette hair, warm brown eyes, a soft presence that made others gravitate toward her. Some would say only Josie could rival her.

Belle hesitated, then reached out and gave the bottle a gentle spin. Time slowed. The bottle twirled, light glinting off its sides, then finally came to a halt.

Billy.

A hush fell over the room. Billy stood, brushing the dust off his trousers, and walked toward Belle with a strange softness in his gaze. He extended a hand. Everyone gasped.

He was being... a gentleman?

Belle felt a rush of heat in her cheeks as her fingers met his. His hand was warm, unexpectedly comforting. She wondered—just briefly—if he felt that spark too. Her hair fell over her shoulder as she stood, and for a moment, everything else faded.

"Can I kiss you?" he whispered, eyes locked with hers.

She nodded.

Their lips met. It was brief, soft, and strangely sweet—mint tinged the air between them. As they pulled apart, the room erupted with cheers, whoops, and giggles. Anne sulked in the corner, ignored. Josie and Jane beamed, throwing her excited thumbs-up.

For a moment, Belle felt weightless, like a feather caught in a breeze. But the moment crumbled.

The bet.

How could she forget?

Her mind spun back to the whispers she'd overheard. Billy and his friends, smug, laughing, daring each other. The wager. She felt a wave of nausea. She'd fallen right into it.

The rest of the game was a blur. She no longer cared who kissed whom. Her thoughts were clouded by the warmth of his hand and the betrayal hiding behind it.

When it was finally over, and the circle disbanded, Belle made herself a silent promise—she would never think about Billy again. He was nothing more than a mean-spirited bully. A "meanie jerk face." And Belle? She was kind. She was better than this. Still... weren't people always saying opposites attract?

Jane rushed over, giddy and breathless. "I knew it! You and Billy are perfect for each other!"

Belle quickly shushed her. Billy was still close by.

The two girls burst into giggles and dashed out of the school, arms linked and hearts racing. But halfway down the path, Belle stopped.

"Jane... I need to tell you something."

Jane turned, expression softening as Belle's eyes filled with tears.

"Billy made a bet," Belle whispered. "A bet that he could kiss me—not just from spin the bottle."

Jane's jaw dropped. Without hesitation, she threw her arms around Belle. "Of course he did something like that. Don't worry. I'll deal with him."

By the time they reached Belle's gate, Belle had calmed a little. She hugged Jane tightly and thanked her. Then, trying her best to look cheerful, she skipped up the garden path.

The door swung open, and her mother stood there, arms wide.

"My little sunflower, I missed you so much! How was Jane's?"

Belle melted into the embrace. "It was amazing. We had so much fun," she replied, voice muffled by her mother's blouse.

Her mother's scent—vanilla, sugar, and something floral—wrapped around her like a blanket. In the kitchen sat a towering red velvet cake, three tiers high with piped icing swirls along the edges.

"Yum! Mother, thank you! Can I take a few slices for my friends tomorrow?"

"Of course, sweetheart," her mother smiled, pleased by Belle's delight. "I'll call you down for dinner soon."

Belle raced upstairs. Her room still smelled faintly of lavender and new wood. Unpacking couldn't wait any longer. She opened the box on the floor—inside were her last few treasures. A gold clock. Some makeup. A few keepsakes.

She admired the soft glow of the sunrise through one window and the great oak tree outside the other. She decided to push her dresser and vanity over near the tree-facing window. It was hard work, but she managed.

She arranged her makeup neatly. Placed the clock on her bedside table. Her room was starting to feel like hers.

"Belle! Can you fetch your father from the study? It's time for dinner!"

Belle skipped downstairs, knocked lightly, then peeked inside.

"Father! Mother says it's dinnertime!"

He smiled warmly, setting his papers aside. "Good to see you, sweetheart."

Dinner was a comforting affair—roast beef, golden potatoes, vegetables glazed to perfection. The warmth of home dulled the sharp sting in her heart. And for now, that was enough.

After dinner, Belle made her way upstairs with her mother to prepare for bed. The warm aroma of roast beef and red velvet cake still lingered in the air, clinging to her nightgown like a cozy memory. Her mother's gentle hand rested on her back, guiding her up the creaking staircase while humming a soft lullaby under her breath—a tune Belle remembered from when she was a toddler.

Behind them, her father quietly retreated to his study. The click of the door shutting was soft, but final. Belle didn't ask what he was working on—she never did. Once, years ago, she had made the mistake of asking. The sharp rebuke and the tension that followed had taught her to leave the subject untouched. The study was his world, a place sealed by secrets and heavy books, and she had long since learned to respect its borders.

In her bedroom, the golden light from the oil lamp flickered softly, casting shadows on the floral wallpaper. Belle sat at the edge of her bed as her mother moved gracefully around her, retrieving the worn velvet pouch that held the curlers. Her mother always worked swiftly, her fingers nimble but careful, speaking in that quiet, soothing tone that somehow made the tugging feel less painful.

"I know it pulls a little, sweetheart. Almost done," her mother murmured, adjusting the final curler with practiced ease.

Belle winced slightly but said nothing. Her mother hated causing her pain, even accidentally. With a final twist and pin, she secured the last roller, then gently pressed a kiss to Belle's forehead—a ritual they never skipped.

"I love you, my sunflower. Sleep well," her mother whispered.

"Goodnight, Mama," Belle replied, her voice barely above a breath.

With a quiet click, the light was turned off, and the door closed behind her mother.

Belle lay beneath the covers, the coolness of the sheets brushing her arms. Moonlight spilled in through the window, casting a silver glow across her room. Outside, crickets chirped, and the breeze rustled the tree leaves like a lullaby for those who could sleep.

But Belle couldn't.

Her thoughts swirled like wind-tossed leaves, refusing to settle. She closed her eyes, but the darkness behind her lids only made the memory sharper—the kiss.

She had felt something.

There was no denying it now. As much as she wanted to stay angry with Billy, as much as she reminded herself of the cruel bet, she couldn't shake the way her stomach had fluttered when he'd touched her hand. It hadn't felt like a game. His hand had been warm, steady, and when their fingers met, something passed between them—something she couldn't name. A flicker, a spark, like the kind you read about in grown-up books or hear whispered about by older girls.

Did he feel it too?

She turned over in bed, staring at the golden clock on her bedside table. The ticking sounded louder in the stillness of the night. Each second reminded her of how little she understood what had just begun. She didn't even like Billy. He was rude, impulsive, and mean—especially to Cole and Anne. But for that moment, when he had whispered, "Can I kiss you?" he had been someone else. Someone gentle. Real.

And it terrified her.

She curled up tighter under her blankets, trying to shut it all out. But it kept playing over and over in her mind—the way he looked at her, the feel of his breath before the kiss, the cheers afterward, the ache in her chest when she remembered the reason why he did it.

She wasn't sure if she hated him or if she hated herself more for wondering what would've happened if the kiss hadn't been part of a bet.

Eventually, the moon drifted across the sky, and Belle finally began to doze. Her last thought before sleep took her was of the tree outside her window—the one she had moved her vanity next to. Its branches swayed gently, almost like it was waving to her.

Maybe tomorrow will be better, she told herself, clinging to the thought like a lifeline. Maybe everything will make sense.

And with that, Belle slipped into a restless sleep filled with dreams of red velvet cake, silver spinning bottles, and eyes that weren't supposed to make her heart flutter.

[ceciliannewithane]

Chapter 4

Please do not copy this, however, if you ant to read the full story, feel free to do so via the link to my Wattpad in my bio!

-ˏˋ⋆ 𝟣𝓈𝓉 𝒫𝑒𝓇𝓈𝑜𝓃 ⋆ˊˎ-

⋆˚࿔ 𝐵𝑒𝓁𝓁𝑒 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

I stared at him, completely frozen. My heart slammed against my ribs like it was trying to break free. What was I supposed to say?

Billy raised a brow, his tone dripping with smugness. "Belle, what were you doing in here? Couldn't stay away from me, huh?"

He stepped closer, casually—but each inch made my brain short-circuit. My cheeks flared with heat.

I couldn't exactly tell him that Jane and I were trying to sneak a peek at his homework. But what else was I supposed to say? I didn't want him thinking I was some creepy stalker.

Not that I cared what Billy Andrews thought. He was just my best friend's annoying older brother. And also the same boy who made a bet with his friends about kissing me.

Ugh.

"Don't flatter yourself, Billy," I scowled, rolling my eyes. "We just needed the homework answers."

He gave a short, humorless laugh and shook his head. "Do it yourselves," he muttered, pushing me gently toward the door.

So that was that. Plan: complete failure.

I stalked back to Jane's room, shoulders slumped with defeat and... something else. Disappointment?

Why did I even feel disappointed?

-ˏˋ⋆ 𝟥𝓇𝒹 𝒫𝑒𝓇𝓈𝑜𝓃 ⋆ˊˎ- ⋆˚࿔ 𝐵𝑒𝓁𝓁𝑒 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

Belle knocked before slipping back into Jane's room. Jane sat at her vanity, winding her long brown hair into rollers, already dressed in a creamy white nightdress that made her look like a porcelain doll.

"Sorry I couldn't stall him longer, Bells," Jane said, untying her ribbon and letting her curls fall. "Did you get it?"

Belle sighed and shook her head, trading her school clothes for a matching white nightdress trimmed with tiny floral embroidery. "No. He caught me. Said to do it ourselves."

Neither of them said much after that. They climbed into bed, the quiet stretching between them like a heavy quilt.

The next morning, Belle was woken by the sound of heavy boots thudding across the hallway.

She blinked groggily, rolled out of bed, and padded to the door. There stood Billy, proud as ever, holding a freshly caught pheasant and wearing his hunting uniform like he belonged in a war novel.

"Sleep well?" he smirked, lowering his head so his eyes met hers.

Belle yawned, nodding slowly, her brown curls bouncing with the motion.

"Good," he replied with a wink. "Pretty girls like you need their beauty sleep. Leave the hard work to us men."

She rolled her eyes so hard she nearly saw her brain.

Jane stirred behind her, muttering sleepily. Belle turned back into the room, where Jane was already pulling on her pink dress and apron, cheeks freshly rouged. Belle chose a soft blue dress with puffed sleeves and a high collar—practically the schoolgirl uniform these days.

By the time they made it to the dining room, the smell of pancakes and berries filled the air.

Belle only picked at the berries. Her father's obsession with appearances meant no hearty breakfasts if she wanted to avoid the "bloated look." Jane's mother didn't comment, just smiled kindly.

"Mrs. Andrews, could you please tell my mother I'll be late home from school today?" Belle asked sweetly, omitting any mention of spin-the-bottle.

She didn't want to play, not really. But she also didn't want to be left out. And under no circumstances did she want her parents to find out.

Soon after, the trio headed off to school—Jane and Belle linking arms, and Billy trailing behind, probably regretting not tying his shoelaces.

All the way there, the girls fumed about their failed homework heist.

"First lesson is reading," Jane muttered. "Mr. Phillips is going to kill us."

"Diana's our best bet," Belle said. "No one knows the readings better than her. Except Anne, but..."

Jane shot Belle a look. "Not after last week."

The subject of Anne Shirley made their blood run cold. Not just because of the Prissy incident, but because Anne had—supposedly—told people she didn't like Belle. And Belle had no idea why.

They arrived at school just as the morning bell rang. Billy bolted off to join his friends, and Belle and Jane hurried to stash their milk in the stream beside the classroom.

"Do you think Billy will say anything?" Belle whispered nervously.

"I doubt it," Jane said, but her voice wasn't very convincing.

Inside, the usual crowd of girls had already gathered. Josie was in the middle of her favorite activity: hating Anne.

"I can't believe that orphan trash doesn't like you, Belle," Josie sneered. "As if she has room to talk."

"Apparently you 'stole' all of us from her," Tillie chimed in with a scoff.

Belle gave a tight, practiced smile—one of many she'd mastered during years of pretending everything at home was fine. Jane squeezed her hand gently. She always knew.

"Whatever," Belle said flatly. "She'll have to get used to me. My family isn't going anywhere."

Before Josie could spit out another jab, Anne and Diana approached. The group instantly went silent.

As the other girls shifted uncomfortably, Jane and Belle took the opportunity to copy Josie's homework—thank goodness she didn't mind.

Just in time, too. Mr. Phillips marched in and wrote Reading Homework on the board.

But Billy and his group still weren't in class.

When they finally sauntered in, Mr. Phillips went red with fury. "Mr. Andrews! Mr. Spurgeon! Mr. Sloane! Why are you late?"

"We had to handle something," Billy said, casually dropping into his seat and—of course—sending Belle a wink.

She grimaced. Disgusting.

-ˏˋ⋆ 𝟣𝓈𝓉 𝒫𝑒𝓇𝓈𝑜𝓃 ⋆ˊˎ- ⋆˚࿔ 𝐵𝑒𝓁𝓁𝑒 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

After that, I completely zoned out. All I could think about was Billy's stupid smirk. Did he honestly think I didn't know about that ridiculous bet with his friends? To kiss me?

Gross.

And then there was Anne. Yesterday she said it was a pleasure to meet me, and today she was apparently spreading gossip that she didn't like me?

What had I ever done to her?

"Miss Chalmer!" Mr. Phillips' voice snapped me back.

"Yes?" I said quickly, my face burning as the class erupted in laughter.

Jane looked just as lost. Billy? Smirking again, whispering with his friends.

"Read from the extract," Mr. Phillips barked.

I found my place and stood, reading in the flattest voice I could muster. "The dawn breaks... the world awakes..."

At lunch, we all gathered at the girls' fort.

"That was so boring," I groaned.

"Actually," Anne said, perking up, "I quite enjoyed it!"

Of course she did.

I glanced at Diana, who looked like she wanted to disappear. Poor Ruby. She and Diana used to be close before Anne swooped in. Now Ruby just kind of... existed. Maybe Anne had no right to call me a thief of friends.

Josie interrupted my thoughts with a nudge.

"You guys excited for spin the bottle?" she whispered. We all giggled. Nervous energy buzzed through me. I'd never kissed anyone before.

"Belle," Ruby teased, "has anyone caught your eye? What about Billy? Josie's over him—he's fair game!"

I smiled, laughed, and shook my head. "No, not yet."

A lie. But I couldn't tell them. Not when he was Jane's brother. Not when he was him.

I could only hope they couldn't tell.

[ceciliannewithane]

Chapter 3

Please do not copy this as it is my story, however, if you want to read the rest of my story you can read it on my Wattpad (the link is in my bio!)

-ˏˋ⋆ 𝟥𝓇𝒹 𝒫𝑒𝓇𝓈𝑜𝓃 ⋆ˊˎ-

⋆˚࿔ 𝐵𝑒𝓁𝓁𝑒 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

That afternoon, Belle walked home with Jane, the air crisp with the scent of autumn leaves. Unfortunately, trailing behind like an uninvited shadow was none other than Billy Andrews.

"So," Jane asked cheerfully, swinging her satchel by her side, "how was your first day back, Bells?"

Belle opened her mouth, a response already forming on her tongue—but before she could speak, Billy reached out and gave a playful tug on one of her loose brown curls.

"Billy, keep your hands off Arabella!" Jane snapped, glaring at her brother.

Belle looked between them, wide-eyed. Billy only offered a smug, unapologetic grin, clearly enjoying himself far too much.

When they finally reached Belle's gate, she offered Jane a small wave goodbye. Jane waved back with a bright smile—but Billy, ever the nuisance, lifted his hand and waggled his fingers at her instead. Belle groaned aloud.

When was this boy going to take a hint?

Inside, the house was quiet. Belle kicked off her shoes by the door, hung her bag neatly on the coat rack, and called out, "Mama? I'm home!"

Silence.

Of course. Her parents were spending the evening in Carmody with her uncle. They'd told her on the train ride into Avonlea, but in the whirlwind of the day, she'd completely forgotten. A folded piece of paper on the kitchen table caught her eye.

The handwriting was instantly familiar.

To my sunflower,

Your father and I are going to Carmody this evening in case you forgot. You've been invited to dinner at the Andrews' at 8 o'clock—and you'll be spending the night there with Jane!

Have fun and be safe. Lots of love, Mama ❀

A grin bloomed on Belle's face. She glanced at the clock—5:30. Time enough to get ready properly.

She bathed quickly, then chose a light lavender dress with puffed sleeves and a modest high collar. She swapped out her school ribbon for a satin lavender one that matched the dress perfectly. At 7:15, she packed her bag with a nightgown, fresh clothes for school, and the dreaded reading homework Mr. Phillips had assigned. He'd called it "simple," but Belle found it mind-bending. After struggling through it for half an hour, she gave up and decided to bring it along.

Before stepping out, she checked herself in the mirror, fixed her hair one last time, and slipped into her shoes.

The Andrews' house looked just as grand as she remembered. Its sprawling gardens stretched toward the distant coastline, bordered by neat rows of chrysanthemums and late-blooming roses. The marble steps were polished and glowing under the moonlight. Belle climbed them and knocked gently on the front door.

Somewhere inside, Jane's voice echoed, shouting for Prissy to answer it. A few seconds later, the door swung open.

"Hello, Belle," Prissy greeted sweetly. "Jane's upstairs in her room."

"Thanks," Belle replied, stepping into the familiar hallway. She had just started up the stairs when she smacked into something solid. Or rather—someone.

Billy Andrews.

Her eyes lifted, and there he was. Smirking, of course.

"You just can't stay away from me, can you?" he said, eyes gleaming. "Blushing already?"

Belle's cheeks heated with betrayal. Traitorous face! "As if," she muttered, forcing her tone to stay dry. "I'm here for your sister. I'm spending the night, unfortunately."

Without waiting for a response, she shoved past him and knocked on Jane's door.

When it opened, Jane squealed in delight and flung her arms around her. She wore a mustard-yellow dress with puffed sleeves and a collar almost identical to Belle's. The skirt was embroidered with tiny flowers, and a matching ribbon tied her hair into a half-up style. Belle felt herself relax.

"I'm so happy we're having a sleepover!" Jane beamed. "Your cheeks are freezing—you must've been out in the cold too long. Dinner's downstairs, but ugh," she added with a groan, "Mother says we have to eat with Billy."

Belle made a face, and Jane giggled without suspecting the truth: that the blush on her friend's face had little to do with the weather, and everything to do with her infuriating brother.

The dining room was filled with delicious smells and candlelight. Jane pulled out a chair for Belle, then fetched them both plates. Billy was already halfway through his meal, earning him an earful from Jane.

"Honestly, Billy! Could you wait five seconds?"

He shrugged, completely unbothered. Most of dinner passed in awkward silence, broken only by the clink of cutlery and the occasional stolen glance.

Afterward, as Billy cleared his plate, Jane turned to Belle. "So... what do you think of the girls?"

Belle tilted her head. "What do you mean?"

Jane hesitated. "I mean... Anne."

Ah. That.

The word around town was that Anne disliked her. Belle didn't blame her. Josie had coldly excluded Anne from the group—but welcomed Belle instantly, making Anne seem like an outsider all over again. Jane had already explained Anne's unfortunate attempt to fit in by spreading a rumor about Prissy. It hadn't been right—but Belle understood. The desperation to belong was something she knew well.

And besides, Belle had grown up with Prissy almost like a sister. It was complicated.

Before she could reply, Billy coughed loudly. "Hate to break up the slumber party, but Mother said you two need to be in bed before eleven. And it's 10:30."

Jane rolled her eyes. "Billy's right, unfortunately. Time for bed, Bells."

Upstairs, the girls tiptoed down the hall.

"Wait," Jane whispered. "Have you done the reading homework?"

Belle shook her head, defeated.

"Billy's done it," Jane said mischievously. "Let's just sneak into his room and copy it!"

Belle blinked. "Are you serious?"

"Come on," Jane giggled. "Like old times! Remember spying on Gilbert Blythe when we were eight?"

Belle chuckled. "How could I forget?"

"Okay—you sneak into his room and grab the book. I'll distract him."

Belle wasn't entirely convinced, but Jane's enthusiasm was impossible to resist. So she nodded, smiled bravely, and crept down the hallway. Voices floated toward her—Jane chatting animatedly with Billy to keep him occupied.

She slipped into Billy's room.

Chaos.

His bed was unmade, clothes tossed everywhere, schoolbooks and hockey gear scattered like a storm had blown through. Belle grimaced but got to work. She dug through a pile of papers, shifting old notebooks and folded homework.

At last—the reading assignment! She grabbed it triumphantly.

But her victory was short-lived. Beneath the books, she spotted something—one of Billy's shirts, crumpled and smelling faintly of pine and soap.

And that's when it happened.

"Looking for something?" a voice drawled behind her. "Or were you hoping to take home a souvenir?"

Belle spun around, heart pounding.

Billy leaned against the doorframe, arms folded, eyebrows raised.

Perfect.

She'd been caught.

[ceciliannewithane]

Chapter 2

Please do not copy this, however if you want to check the full story out press the link on my bio to go to my Wattpad!

-ˏˋ⋆ 𝟥𝓇𝒹 𝒫𝑒𝓇𝓈𝑜𝓃 ⋆ˊˎ-

⋆˚࿔ 𝐵𝑒𝓁𝓁𝑒 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

Hesitantly, Arabella turned the handle.

The brass was cold beneath her fingers, smooth and worn by years of nervous hands just like hers. For a second, she thought about turning around, pretending she had the wrong classroom, maybe running all the way back home. But then the door gave way with a long, reluctant groan, the sound slicing through the quiet like a rusty hinge on an old secret.

Every conversation, every scribble of chalk, every faint giggle—stopped.

Eleven heads turned in unison, as though pulled by an invisible string. A dozen curious, wide, blinking eyes locked onto her like spotlights. She could feel the weight of their stares pressing into her like hands on her shoulders, holding her in place.

She froze.

The room felt like it was tilting slightly sideways. For one suspended second, she couldn't breathe. Her pulse roared in her ears, louder than the silence in the room. Her cheeks flushed hot, and a sticky kind of self-consciousness crawled across her skin.

Yes, she was late. Unmistakably, undeniably late.

Standing at the front of the room was the teacher, mid-sentence until she had interrupted him. He was of average height, though the wiry stretch of his limbs made him seem taller—almost like someone had stretched him out with too little care. His arms and legs moved with a jerky kind of grace, like a marionette just a little too used. A thick, dark brown French moustache curled extravagantly beneath his nose, casting shadows over his mouth and giving his otherwise ordinary face a kind of unexpected drama. He peered at her over thin wire-rimmed spectacles with an expression that was more sigh than frown—a tired mixture of irritation and the kind of detached amusement worn by someone used to mild chaos.

Arabella's eyes drifted across the classroom, taking in the rows of desks, the scuffed wooden floor, the patchy chalkboard with its barely legible scrawl.

Most of the faces looking back at her were blurry memories from long ago—kids she might've once built sandcastles with or raced down hallways. Ghosts from the time before London. But then—there. Jane. Her old best friend. Jane Andrews.

Arabella's breath hitched. Jane's brows furrowed, her mouth parting in surprise as she glanced to the girls beside her, then back at Arabella. Recognition sparked, but so did uncertainty.

The other girls looked familiar in that once-upon-a-time sort of way, except for one—she had a mane of wild red hair that looked as though it had never once submitted to a brush, and a constellation of freckles scattered across her nose and cheeks. Her eyes were wide and curious, and there was something alive behind them, like the flicker of candlelight in a windstorm. Arabella didn't know her at all.

The teacher cleared his throat. "Class," he announced, voice clipped and dry. "It appears we have a new student. Come to the front and introduce yourself, please."

Arabella's stomach dropped. Her hands clenched at her sides.

She took a slow, reluctant step forward, the wooden floorboards creaking beneath her shoes. Her long chestnut hair spilled forward over her shoulders like ribbons of silk, swinging with every movement. She kept her chin low, trying not to meet any of the eyes still following her every motion.

Every step felt like walking a tightrope. A hundred invisible strings tugged at her—memories, nerves, the cold realization that she didn't quite know where she fit in anymore.

When she reached the front, she looked up.

"I'm Arabella. Or Belle," she said softly, her voice steadier than she felt. "I used to live here... until I was nine. Then I moved to London. And now I'm back."

She offered a small smile. It was neat, practiced. Polite. But it didn't reach her eyes.

On the boys' side of the room, a low whisper stirred. Arabella turned just in time to catch Billy Andrews—Jane's older brother—leaning over to murmur something to a sandy-haired boy she vaguely recognized. Both were grinning. That particular kind of grin boys wore when they thought they were funny and clever and cruel all at once.

Arabella didn't need to hear the words. She knew that grin. It had chased her down hallways before.

"Well, find a seat then!" Mr. Phillips snapped, tone already over it.

A ripple of snickering spread like a virus among the boys.

Arabella's chest tightened. She scanned the rows quickly and spotted the only empty desk—right beside Jane. Thank God.

She walked quickly, gratefully, and slipped into the seat as quietly as she could.

Jane offered her a cautious smile. There was something guarded about it, but it was real. Arabella smiled back, some of the tension in her shoulders easing.

Mr. Phillips turned back to the board. Arithmetics was scribbled in jagged letters. Arabella sighed in relief. Numbers were safe. Predictable. Unlike people.

But even as she tried to lose herself in the familiar comfort of math, she couldn't ignore the whispers. The glances. The eyes darting to her and away again. Jane kept sneaking peeks at her too, then looking down just as quickly.

It felt like being under a microscope. Every breath monitored. Every pencil scratch a judgment.

When lunch was announced, Arabella didn't move. She stayed seated, slowly packing her things like someone stalling for time. She didn't want to stand up and realize she had nowhere to go.

Then, out of nowhere—

"Bells! I can't believe you're back!"

The voice was like music.

Jane's arms wrapped around her in a hug so tight it nearly knocked the air out of her. Arabella hugged back, the sudden warmth and familiarity making her eyes sting.

"Come on," Jane said, already tugging her forward. "You have to meet the girls."

They crossed the room toward a corner where a group of desks had been rearranged and covered with a blanket like a little tent. Jane ducked inside, motioning for Arabella to follow.

Inside, the air was filled with giggles and the rustle of paper lunch sacks.

"I'm Josie. Josie Pye," said a blonde girl with picture-perfect curls and a smile sharp enough to cut glass. "That's Diana, Tillie, Ruby—and of course, Jane."

Arabella smiled nervously. "I'm Arabella. Or Belle," she added, glancing at Jane.

Her gaze shifted to the red-haired girl, who sat with perfect posture and a gleam in her eye.

"And you are?"

The girl beamed. "Anne Shirley-Cuthbert," she said, with all the drama of a stage actress. "It is truly a scrumptious pleasure to meet you. I vow to be the most loyal and imaginative friend you've ever had."

Arabella blinked. Then she laughed—a real, surprised sound. Jane giggled too, covering her mouth.

Before anyone could respond, a sharp bang on the window made them all jump.

Billy Andrews again.

He stood grinning like a wolf on the other side of the glass, breath fogging the pane. Anne shrank back, pulling her knees close to her chest.

Jane rolled her eyes and pushed open the window a crack.

"Hey there, Bells," Billy said, dragging out the nickname like it was some kind of joke. Jane's jaw clenched.

"I haven't seen you in forever," he added, smug. "Which is why I'm inviting you to my hockey game Saturday."

He winked.

Arabella gagged. "Jane. I didn't realize Billy grew up to be even more insufferable."

Jane groaned. "He thinks he's charming. He's... not."

"Oh, and tomorrow," Jane said quickly, changing the subject. "We're all meeting after school—Josie's planning a game of spin the bottle. You should totally come."

Arabella was about to answer when a voice interrupted—soft, but carrying.

"How come no one invited me?"

Anne.

Everyone turned. Her face was pink, clearly flustered.

Diana opened her mouth, but Josie cut her off.

"Maybe I just didn't want to," she said with a smile too sweet to be kind.

Jane looked away. Arabella felt the room shift—colder now.

Diana cleared her throat. "Anne, you can come with me."

Anne smiled shyly. Josie rolled her eyes and made a cuckoo motion behind Diana's back. Ruby and Tillie giggled, not even trying to hide it.

Then—the bell. Loud and harsh. Moody Spurgeon, arms crossed, looked smug by the rope.

Spelling.

Belle's least favorite.

Mr. Phillips returned with Prissy Andrews in tow, flushed and breathless.

"We begin our Christmas spelling bee," he announced, eyeing Prissy like he was starring in his own tragic love story.

The class groaned.

"Miss a word, you sit. Last one standing wins."

Tillie misspelled "refrigerated." Sat down. Laughter.

Then Belle's turn.

"Neighbour," Mr. Phillips barked.

"N-E-I-G-H-B-O-U—"

"Wrong," he snapped. "That's the British spelling. You silly girl."

Laughter again. Her cheeks burned. Billy was mimicking her across the room, dramatic and cruel.

The rest of the day passed in a blur.

As she grabbed her bag, she heard it—Billy's voice.

"I bet I can kiss the new girl first."

"Spin the bottle doesn't count though!"

They laughed.

Not Belle. Not Arabella.

Just "new girl."

And that was when she knew.

She absolutely, entirely, completely hated Billy Andrews.

[ceciliannewithane]

Chapter 1 (EOE)

(Please do not copy, the full story can be found on my Wattpad, via the link tree in my bio! My book is called Echoes of Enchantment (EOE) and is a Billy Andrews fanfic)

-ˏˋ⋆ 𝟣𝓈𝓉 𝒫𝑒𝓇𝓈𝑜𝓃 ⋆ˊˎ-

⋆˚࿔ 𝐵𝑒𝓁𝓁𝑒 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

"Stop shuffling around," my father snapped, his voice sharp and cold like the wind slicing through the gaps in the train station roof.

I froze mid-step, my shoes scuffing against the worn floorboards of the platform. I hadn't even realized I was doing it—shuffling, that is. But I suppose I couldn't help it. I was back in Avonlea for the first time in six years, and my body was unsure whether to move forward or turn and run.

My mother, standing just beside him, gave him a withering look. Then she turned to me and softened, her expression like the sun peeking through storm clouds. She smiled gently, and it steadied me for a moment.

She always smiled. Always. Like a sunflower reaching for the light, no matter the weather. And somehow, that smile of hers had never faltered—not when we moved to London, not when Father's business nearly collapsed, not even now, as we stepped off a train into the cold of a Canadian winter.

Father had always been strict. His love, if you could call it that, was sharp-edged and practical. He believed that being hard on me would prepare me for the world. For marriage, mostly. For finding a "rich, respectable husband" and settling into a life of stability. He thought that was the best a girl could do. Mama never said it outright, but I knew she disagreed. Her dreams for me were stitched between her words, tucked into her bedtime kisses, and served in every warm breakfast she made. She wanted something different for me—maybe even something wild and free.

The train hissed, then clanked to a full stop, and my thoughts scattered. I sighed as I adjusted my scarf and stepped down onto the platform. The air was brisk and biting, immediately bringing color to my cheeks. Snow had already begun to settle on the edges of the tracks, gathering in soft little piles that reminded me of icing sugar on a cake.

I wrapped my coat tighter around myself and followed my parents off the train. The platform was packed with people. Their voices echoed off the high ceilings, blending into a loud, chaotic hum that made my chest tighten. I've never liked crowds—never liked being jostled or shouted over or stared at. Too many faces, too many smells, too many feet moving in too many directions.

To my relief, Father didn't linger. He muttered something about the "dirty, poor people" under his breath as we weaved through the crowd. I pretended not to hear it. Pretended I wasn't embarrassed by him. Pretended, like I always did.

Eventually, our carriage pulled up outside the house. My eyes widened as I took in the sight.

It was enormous.

I gasped audibly, unable to help myself. The house stood tall and wide, its stone walls dusted with snow, its windows glowing softly in the late afternoon light. It looked like something out of a storybook—something I might have dreamed up when I was younger.

Before returning to Avonlea, we'd spent the past several years in London. The city had been a whirlwind of gray skies, stiff uniforms, and constant noise. It was where most of our extended family had gone too, chasing opportunity. But then Father received a new business proposition—something lucrative, something he didn't explain to me—and we came back to Canada. Back to the town where I'd spent the first nine years of my life.

"Belle?" Mama's voice broke through my thoughts. "Belle, are you alright?"

I blinked, realizing I'd been staring at the house for longer than was probably normal.

"I'm fine," I said, quickly. "Just... thinking."

I had a habit of zoning out. My father called it "daydreaming," and not in a kind way. He thought it made me weak, unserious, childish. But I wasn't dreaming. I was remembering, wondering, feeling. That was different.

"Come on, Belle," Mama said, her hand warm against the small of my back. "Let's go inside."

I followed her in, still dazed. The inside of the house was even more stunning than the outside—high ceilings, a grand staircase, rich wooden floors that gleamed under the light. I could feel the heat coming from the fireplace in the main hall, and I stepped closer, grateful for the warmth.

Father had always said he wanted to return to Avonlea. "Money stretches farther in the countryside," he'd declare with a smug tone. For once, I couldn't argue. This place was beautiful.

Mama showed me to my room, which turned out to be on the eastern side of the house. The walls were painted a soft ivory, the curtains a delicate floral. A vanity sat under the window, and the bed was so big I could roll over three times and not fall off. I unpacked slowly, laying out a nightgown and a light pink, puffed-sleeve dress for my first day back at school.

As Mama helped me put my hair in rollers, she smiled.

"There's no need to be nervous, sweetheart. Jane's mother already knows you're back. You'll surprise her tomorrow. She's going to be thrilled to see you."

I smiled, even giggled a little, thinking of Jane—my childhood best friend. We used to play in the fields behind her house, climb trees barefoot, and pretend we were princesses escaping from evil queens. But as quickly as the memory surfaced, so did the fear.

What if she's different now? What if she doesn't like me anymore?

Mama kissed my forehead and tucked me in, brushing a strand of hair away from my eyes.

"Goodnight, Belle."

The lights went out.

I woke the next morning to sunlight pouring across my face. It warmed the blankets, the pillow, my hair. I sat up slowly, blinking against the brightness. I'd always loved the color of my hair—deep, chocolate brown. It wasn't wavy or particularly thick, but it was mine.

Today was the day.

I climbed out of bed and crossed the room to my vanity. I carefully removed each roller, gently combing through the curls. I always complained about them at night—they were uncomfortable and pulled at my scalp—but the results? Always worth it.

After dressing in my light pink gown, I padded downstairs. The smell of pancakes filled the air, mingled with the buttery scent of maple syrup and something vaguely citrusy—maybe orange zest.

Mama stood at the stove, humming as she flipped a pancake. Father sat at the table with his newspaper, his glasses perched low on his nose.

I skipped over and kissed them both on the cheek.

"Morning, Father," I said.

He nodded, a grunt of acknowledgment, but then leaned forward and returned the kiss.

Mama plated a few pancakes and tied my hair into a neat half-up, half-down style. She added a pink bow to finish it off.

"Thank you, Mama," I said, grabbing my coat and slipping my arms into it. I was already late.

I left the house with my heart pounding. My boots crunched through the snow, and I wrapped my scarf tightly around my neck as I walked quickly toward the school.

I didn't want to run—my dress might fly up, and worse, my hair might get ruined. The curls bounced gently with every step, and I tried to focus on them instead of my nerves.

What if Jane didn't want to be my friend anymore?

What if I had no one to sit with?

What if everyone stared? What if I was invisible?

It was already the second week of term. Everyone would've found their places. Their people. Their rhythm.

And here I was, starting all over.

The cold bit at my nose, but I barely noticed.

I turned the final corner and stopped.

There it was.

The school.

Exactly the same as it had been when I left.

Like I'd never gone.

Like maybe, just maybe, I still belonged.