acatalepsy
(n.) the idea that it is impossible to truly comprehend anything.

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CASSIDY

I knock on the door loudly -- more like bang on it. My best friend's parents are always at work during the day, and her sister is off at college. The only living being inside is a crazy species called Alaine Louise.

"Alaine, open the door, I'd be quite happy if I weren't really drenched in heat," I exclaim, ignoring the queer look of jogging Mrs. Robinson, the old lady next door.

That woman has always been giving me judgmental looks over and over ever since I became friends with someone living here. Alaine's neighborhood may seem like the typical peaceful and friendly environment with fresh air and colorful flowers, but the people living there sure aren't.

I gasp in horror as the door opens to reveal Alaine with blots of random make up on her face. Thick blue eye shadow tops her eyelids, the rosy blush makes her cheeks look like she'd just been slapped, her lipstick is as red as Snow White's poisoned apple, and her long blonde hair with brown highlights is propped up levelling her eyes using hair rollers. And to complete the look, she was in a bathrobe and fluffy Hello Kitty slippers.

"Get in Cass, people might see me!" she says, pulling me inside. I throw my bag on the couch and sit down, but I end up in full giggles.

"Cassy, it's not funny! Really!"
"Uh yeah, it sure is, you look like a depressed clown," I say, contemplating on her head.

"That's why I need you here! I am a complete disaster!" she says.

"And, what do I have to do with you looking hideous?" I ask, keeping a straight face but eventually burying my head into the throw pillows and explode in a bomb of laughter.

"You know exactly what to do with make up, and your face always looks perfect," she replies straightly.

"You shouldn't have darkened it too much; I'm telling you, simple make up always settles for better. And if I may inquire, why were you even putting on make up in the first place?"

"Duh, it's for the slumber party at Abby's place!" she says.

Alaine just wanted to skip school -- but of course she'd want to go to one of the many after parties.

"Aren't you coming?" she asks.

"I don't know, Abby's usual 'it is finally summer' party again?"

"Yeah! They're the best! We go there every year, and you do have fun, right? Don't say no, I know you like it there." she says, taking a seat right next to me.

I'm not exactly anti-social or anything, although I can isolate myself completely from time to time and I end up doing unusual things because of daydreaming. In fact, I think Abby's slumber parties are super cool. Only her closest friends spend the night, but there's always loads of people through the afternoon until ten -- along with swimming, music, food, movies, and wearing cute outfits. But I'd rather not come this year, I feel like I wanna go home or just get some rest here at Alaine's.

"Well duh, Abby knows how to throw a party," I say. "But I don't feel like going this year, I'm not in the mood,"

"Not in the mood? Is something wrong?" she asks.

"Nah, nothing's wrong, Alaine," I confirm. She looks at one short strand of hair falling down near her eyes and smiles sadly.

"Are you sure there's nothing? Parents, teachers, classmates, or boys?" she adds as I cringe at her last option.

Boys, really? I'm not Alaine who is always so head over heels on someone. The question should be reversed; it's the boys who have a problem with me and not me having an issue with them.

"No Alaine, nothing is wrong," I repeat. Taking a deep breath, she stands and pulls me up.

"Well I guess we're spending a night with ice cream and movies tonight. If you're not going, I'm not either," she says.

"It's fine Alaine, you could go if you'd like," I protest genuinely, pressing the sweetest smile I can.

"Really?" she brightens, as I scowl.

"Of course not! It's just twelve noon and we're going to buy pints of Ben and Jerry's, I'm not letting my best friend leave me alone," I say, marching up the stairs to her bedroom. She just laughs and follows behind.

"Now remove your make up, we're going on a B&J adventure,"

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I and Alaine walk back to her house with plastic bags full of ice cream. We're a little bit tired and it's one thirty, so the stroll back was much peaceful than complaining about make up and parties. I take a little scoop from the ice cream when we get inside the house, as Alaine brings out her iPad for a quick selfie.

"Ooh I just remembered, I need to message my mom," I say, returning the heavely tub of goodness back in the freezer.

"Be back in a jiff," I lie to her. I'm not messaging my mom at all, I'd use my phone for that. Right now, I want to do what I should have done to my iPad years ago.

I skip up the stairs and turn the doorknob to Alaine's pink bedroom. I find my black anello bag on the white chair facing her study table. As soon as I lift it up, books and markers and papers and all sorts of things fall down to the floor. Seems like I forgot to close it well.

But. . . I didn't open my bag before leaving -- right now was the first time I opened it at Alaine's. I had everything I needed for shopping and my wallet was in my smaller Nine West sling bag. Perhaps Alaine opened it or she might've accidentally moved the zipper a little bit.

I sit crossed leg on the floor and tidy up all the fallen contents, now scavenging for my iPad mini.

I know it seems extremely idiotic, but I had this very very very big crush on Logan since I was twelve, when I had a dream of him. After six months of imaginary Logan visiting me in my sleep, and denying that I liked him, and two months for research, stalking, and hating, I finally had the guts to say that I had a crush on him. I did everything I could not to fall for it, but I did. Yes, this is who Cassidy French is, I get the fact that I'm odd when it comes with love. He was so cute though. Trust me when I say that I hate hearts and Valentine's, and I seriously don't fall that easily, but the dream was just so different.

That's one scary thing I discovered about myself. I don't easily fall, but when I do, it's deep. And along with falls are rocks, and knives that will kill you, so it's better not to even attempt jumping at all.

So that you'd know more of this whole problem, I have not ever had a crush on anyone else in my entire life from birth till this very day, but that darn Logan Chase. I kind of hate him as much as like him. It isn't his fault for my despising, that's the usual me; just harsher. He doesn't even know who I am for sure, so I don't understand why I even bothered in the first place.

And to make matters worse, I had tons of different dreams of him on random days; the occurrence was like watching a new episode of my favorite Netflix series. This is childish and horribly immature, but. . .that iPad was filled with millions of stuff all about Logan Chase. Actually, all the things there are Logan-related. Poems, short stories, scripts, quotes, even one full length novel (yes, I reached that level) -- having something to do with him. I'm not a psycho that stalks him all throughout and I never came to be like Alaine or other teenagers my age, who constantly changes her phone's wallpaper depending on who her crush is at the moment.

Writing is my yesterday, my now, and my tomorrow; I can't describe how much I love it. I thought of burning the Apple iPad mini today. Putting it in water is not enough. One can never die once a writer has written something about you, for the words are forever pierced and stamped, inked and is immortal. Burning it is the least I could do.

Me and Logan are utterly impossible, and it was foolish of me not to listen to that conscience of mine before. We don't know each other. My twelve year old self has clearly been slapped with that harsh truth again and again, but my younger self hadn't been smart enough.

I still dream of Logan from time to time, but I swear that I'm trying my best to forget about him.

At first I was hesitant; I didn't want to see my precious iPad melting and burning inside the red flames. I've spent late nights smiling in front of its screen like stupid, or in tears composing an unsent letter to him, usually using the initials L.O. It's composed about ninety percent of my teen years; you can't blame me for loving it. I wouldn't want any other iPad but my old pink one.

But god, I'm turning eighteen this November fourth, and I have to let go of this. My last round in senior high school's in two months from now. It's been five long years. When I take a step back and look at the picture I'm in, I have no clue of how I even managed to like someone for so long, when I have no contact whatsoever with that person, or any knowledge about him. I'm theorizing that the long time I've liked him is sewn and brought together by my series of visions while sleeping, but even as the dreams are all gone and have disappeared, it wouldn't come as much of a surprise if I said that I still liked him.

I don't love him, really. That would be a stupid remark for stating that you're in love with someone that it's like your judging by the looks. I barely know him, so I only have a crush on him. A pathetic and dumb one.

I skim through the papers and folders through my bag, my hands feeling every object inside. I wait for the familiar touch of the iPad to greet my fingers. I empty out the items I've just fixed and scatter everything to the floor again with no sign of the slim gadget. I jog back downstairs with panic.

"Alaine, did you by any chance take my iPad?" I stutter.

"No," she says blankly.

"Did you open my bag?" I continue.

"No, I didn't." she replies. Oh God, help me.

"Cass, did you loose your iPad?"

I look at the painting on their wall and feel frozen on the spot, like that's the only thing I'll ever see in my whole life. I shake my head at the littlest movements to form a nod. I was planning to burn the iPad, yes, but I didn' to want to loose it so immediately, so quick. I feel like throwing up now.

"Maybe it's at your house?" she asks, trying to lighten up my mood.

"No. . . I was using it earlier at school," I reply, biting my lip.

"Are you very very sure that it isn't in my bag or anywhere else in my bedroom?" I nod again.

Alaine goes to her room and takes about eight minutes upstairs, probably searching for my lost piece of gold, but I don't have the will to move from the sofa. She comes back down with her purse.

"Come on, let's retrace your steps, maybe you left it on your way here," she says, opening the door to welcome the bright sunlight. I stay frozen on the couch, numb and emotionless.

"It's impossible for us to find the iPad; there are loads of people who could've broke or stole it already," I say, closing the door.

"Cassidy --"

"No, it's okay, that thing was old any way, it just had some, er, a bit of important information," I tell her as I force a smile on my face. I try lightening up; I think I deleted Facebook and all my social media apps anyway. Probably only Google and YouTube were the remaining apps that stayed strong.

I take my cell phone from the counter and try to act as casual as possible for Alaine. If my iPad did truly fall because my bag was opened, some person maybe tripped or stepped on it, and its life would end then and there. The roads are always busy, the chances are unlikely for a grown up to notice or pay attention to a girly pink gadget.

I try wearing a laugh, maybe I'll find the situation less saddening if I do. Besides, what were the chances of the Logan Chase actually finding it, right?

I think there is no such thing as a coincidence, because I believe that everything happens for a reason, from the smallest details to the most difficult of conflicts. And maybe my iPad falling down is a sign telling me that I have to get over the childhood fantasies and focus on my studies or improve my writing, not focus on some boy I just see in my head.

Oh, and Alaine doesn't know about my secret of having a crush on Logan. In fact, not a single soul on Earth knows about it. You may think that you know me well from chapter to chapter, and you may think I'm an open book, but I'm telling you now; I am not. If I tell you a level one secret, I trust you on an Alaine level which is already very high. Level zero plainly means I don't trust you that much, but you could be an average friend. But if I tell you a level two secret, you'd probably be dead for me to spill essential things, because no one has ever earned that amount of trust, or me being comfortable telling them.

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Hey. It's like one am right now and I keep rereading and editing this second chapter because I don't want to mess up this story.

Most likely, ninety percent of you who have read this all agree that Cassidy is just a total freak with love. I love this quality about her; she hides it with toughness (Even though Cassidy is a very girly type of person) and makes the world think she isn't just another piece in the matchmaking, because she wants to achieve so much and experience more that life has to offer. Love is not her priority. But throughout the story, she learns that love isn't as bad as she thought.

I hope that you liked this chapter and the story in general so far. Please vote, comment, and follow me, because it'd really mean the world if you could and I'll try giving those precious follows and votes back.