I remember the day Nicholas told me what happened. Tears streamed down his slim face, but all I did was stare. No one had offered me comfort, no one said it’d get better, so I wasn’t sure what to do. Plus, I was still coping with my mother’s death. I was just a child, but I should’ve offered him something. I knew the pain of loss, but I couldn’t find it in me to even … give him a hug, and now he hates me. Now we’re further apart than we ever were close, and it’s completely my fault.
I groan and swing my feet over the edge of my bed as I hear Reagan’s little feet pound up the old stairs.
“WAKEY WAKEY!” she yells, pounding on my door.
“I’m up, I’m up! Geez …” I rub my temple, a headache already forming.
“Yeah, but you’re gonna take like … FOREVER to come down,” she groans, stomping back down the stairs.
She’s right, but it’s still annoying at times. I take forever to get ready, but that’s just because 1; I can’t find a reason to get myself out of bed, and 2; I don’t want to socialize. Those two reasons might be bigger problems in themselves, but … whatever.
I put on a black shirt and jeans, and slip on the red hoodie my mom gave me. It’s a bit of a tight fit, but it’s still wearable, so who am I to complain. My footsteps are quiet compared to Reagan’s, but still loud. That’s not saying much, though, considering I’m almost a full grown male.
As soon as my foot reaches the bottom of the stairs my stomach twists and my heart starts pounding. It’s like this every day. As soon as I get downstairs my anxiety increases by 10, and suddenly I feel like I’m going to cry. But I just do my best to ignore it and get on with these unbearable mornings.
“Good morning,” I say as I walk into the kitchen. Like usual there’s no response, just a snarky comment from my sassy sister.155Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡfwixt4TZMy
“Always so late,” she grumbles.
I roll my eyes and snatch an apple out of our fruit basket. Theo slowly stirs some eggs for him and Reagan, and Lisa kisses Dad as he walks out the front door.
“Why don’t you ever eat actual food?” Reagan asks, taking a sip of her usual morning glass of orange juice.
I pause, caught off guard. “What?” My face burns and my voice wavers for just a second. Did she notice? Will she judge me? Won’t everyone judge me for not eating at this age?
I shake my head from my thoughts and notice Theo glancing at me curiously from the corner of his eye. So he’s finally paying attention? No. That’s not fair, Rafael. Reagan stares at me intently. It makes me even more ashamed that this is the only time they notice me.
“So? Raffi?”
I walk to the sink and start to scrub my apple of dirt. Realizing the skin is starting to peel from pressure, I sigh, turning off the water. “I … do,” I turn around, grabbing my backpack. “Usually …” I mutter under my breath.
Theo whips his head back to the eggs, realizing they’re starting to smoke. I use this chance to slip out of the house, already feeling nauseous. I can eat, usually, but sometimes, especially when I’m feeling really anxious or ashamed it just makes me nauseous or sick. And obviously I’m anxious in the mornings, but I usually eat a bit at lunch and most of dinner.
As I walk past our green garbage can, I throw the apple inside, stuffing my hands into my pockets. The sky is dark and gloomy, and the clouds are thick. I should’ve brought an umbrella or something.
Something cold and small drops on my cheek, and then another, and before I know it, rain is pounding down all around me. I throw my hood up—the sidewalk is already darker because of the rain—and start running down the street. My backpack bangs against my back, a sensation I’ve always despised, but it’s better to get to school as dry as I can than to be soaked all because my backpack was bothering me. A car speeds by, splashing water in my direction. One moment, I’m relatively dry, the next I’m soaked to the bone.
I stop in my tracks, wet, angry, and surprised. I dig my nails into my palms as my face starts to burn, despite the cold temperatures. First Reagan asks about why I don’t eat, then I get splashed by water. What’s next? Is Nicholas gonna beat me up? Or maybe someone else? Maybe I’ll get struck by lightning and people will finally notice me. No. That’s selfish. I will myself to keep going, knowing there’s no point in standing here and crying about how my morning is going.
I stomp through the puddles, not bothering to run. I’m already as wet as I can be, so there’s no point in running, especially considering all of the negatives—my backpack, and possibly slipping and dying, which I guess wouldn’t be altogether that bad.
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When I reach the school, I see other kids hurriedly shuffling in, trying their best to avoid getting wet. I huff and finally speed up,
My wet shoes slap against the ground as I rush to my first hour. Mr. Kinny—an average height man with brown hair, a pair of glasses that’s kept together with duck tape, and a splattering of freckles—is my biology teacher. He’s very extroverted, and is always sharing the weirdest stories that he’s experienced. He’s one of my favorite teachers because of that—it makes class less boring and I look up to him because I want to be like that someday. Brave. Confident. Happy.155Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡjTMoZwpQ7G
The speakers sizzle to life, a prerecorded message coming on. “Attention all staff, please hold the attendance until 8:00 due to a large amount of late students. Thank you.”
I swing open the door to Mr. Kinny’s classroom, ready for his silly stories to make up my day, but as my eyes wander to my seat, my stomach drops … Nicholas.155Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡj6qt8pqzXW
and then Add to home screen.