Chapter 1
Isabella pov
This can’t be my life, really; it felt like a sitcom sometimes. Like really,
I live in a dorm house. Since I was in the usher star program, it wasn’t a show. It was a youth-focused program aimed at developing the next Justin Bieber or Hannah Montana. Rising star, my rising star journey, I had an ep. Called Golden, 5 tracks, it was a flop, depending on who you asked, 100% flop.
The fans I had loved it, adored it, said they were doing me dirty. On social media. The dorm house was… very odd: 5 people, 3 girls and 2 guys. They made out with each other, did drugs like weed, getting high. I wasn’t. I stayed in my room, watching movies or TV. Social media
I thought as I heard them, “Borealla!!!!! Snoozabella, it’s the saint Isabella,” they said loudly.
I put my headbands on I pulled out a special photo book. It’s a photo of a close friend, pushing her boyfriend. Kookie was in Korea for less than a year. He was here in LA for dance class. We had a dance class. He knew no English, and I knew no Korean. Google Translate is my best friend; it wrote me notes. Printed out text messages and emails. Photos of us, the last photo was taken on the last day. I didn’t know it was the last day. We went to the Fairs Wheel at the boardwalk, and he took a photo of us. My favorite photo. I haven’t heard from him in years; he probably found a pretty Korean girl.
I thought as I flipped through all the notes, when I didn’t hear anything. Like, something was up, like eerie
Almost like smoke, I smell it quickly; it was a fire. “What the fuck?” I said at the time. I ran down the stairs where the fire started in the living room, then back up. I quickly ran back, grabbed my book bag, threw my photo book, phone, and my laptop in it, and went to the window, luckily for me. I could climb down low enough to jump into the bushes. As I ran across the street, I started calling 911. Next, I was calling the real dorm mom. She wasn’t. She told us never to call her unless we were dying, bleeding, or about to die. I thought as I dialed her phone number. Here we go, I thought at the time.
