Reagan talks about trick-or-treating for most of dinner. This year, she decided to go as a cow girl. But instead of wearing the normal color scheme—brown, blue, red, etc.—, she took inspiration from Theo’s clothing designs, and turned it all black.
Lisa and Dad head up to their room after convincing Reagan to go to sleep, leaving Theo and I to clean up dinner. I grab a rag to wipe the table, and Theo cleans the dishes. The silence is incredibly awkward, and somehow, I’m still not used to it. It’s your fault we’re not talking.
I can’t help but think about when we were kids. I would purposefully try to get Theo in trouble because I wanted attention. And with me being younger, even if it was only by a year, Lisa and Dad took my side. It was incredibly unfair of me, and, honestly, them too. That’s why I now just try to be as quiet as possible. I try my hardest to attract little to no attention.
“So, er, how is college going?” I ask, my stomach twisting at the attempt. That was so stupid. Couldn’t you have come up with anything better? Stupid, stupid, stupid.
“Good,” he responds. Of course it bothers me when I try to make conversation and Theo doesn’t try back, but do I deserve it? Yes. Very much so.
I finish wiping the table and walk over to the sink, rinsing out the rag and then hanging it up to dry. “Well, I hope it stays that way,” I say. “I think I’m gonna head to bed. ‘Night.” I turn towards the stairs and start in their direction.
“‘Night,” I hear him say quietly.
I take a quick shower, changing into a pair of black shorts and a red t-shirt. Once, as a child, I had to wear red for spirit week. I hated how it stood out, giving me a headache, but my mother said it looked beautiful on me, contrasting against my light brown skin. I didn’t listen to what she said, seeing as I was a small child, and the comment just had no significance. In my mind, it was a simple comment. Now, that simple comment decides my outfit almost every day. After my mother died, I couldn’t help but remember small details I’d missed as a child, that being one of them. I wear red almost every day now. No one else knows the significance, but they don’t need to. It’s a memory for me.
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I wake up the next morning to Reagan pounding against my door.
“Wake up, sleepyhead!” Her muffled shouts flood into my room, and I struggle to sit up, peeling my eyes open. “Hello?” I can tell she’s starting to get impatient.
“I’m awake, I’m awake,” I groan, rubbing my eyes. “Geez,” I mumble, trudging towards my closet.
“You’re gonna be late for school,” she scoffs, and I hear her little feet pound down the hallway.
I roll my eyes, slipping on a pair of black jeans and another red t-shirt. I stuff my track suit in my backpack, since I washed it last night, and slip on my navy blue tennis shoes. Before going downstairs, I quickly brush my teeth.
“Morning,” I say to no one in particular, running a hand through my tangled hair.
“Morning,” no one responds. I need to get used to this.
“Finally,” Reagan groans, rolling her eyes. “You take way too long to get ready. I don’t know why the kids at school are always saying girls take longer, because who they should really be looking at is you.” She takes a sip of her orange juice.
I smirk, grabbing my freshly washed navy blue water bottle from the dish drain, and filling it up with ice cold tap water.
“Oh, come on. I didn’t take that long.” I screw on the lid and look up, noticing Theo sitting at the table next to Reagan, glued to his phone.
“Morning,” I say. No response. “I should probably head out,” I say, sliding the bottle into my backpack.
“Bye,” Reagan says, taking another sip of her juice. “Love you.”
“Love you more,” I say, walking out the door.
Sometimes I wish I could say that to Theo, too. I know he’d find that weird, and he’d probably never talk to me again, but I wish there was some way I could show him my love. We’re brothers, but I don’t remember the last time we had an actual conversation. It’s my fault it ended up this way, so I need to find a way for us to talk again. Maybe if I get him a gift? Or what if I try harder to talk to him? Though it is already incredibly hard to speak a single word around him, so I’m not sure how that’ll work.
I walk down the quiet streets, glancing up every now and then when a car passes by. I could take a bus to school, but I prefer walking. It’s quieter, and I don’t feel like I’m being suffocated. It’s like running. A break from everything going on around me.
I approach the school, and already can’t wait for it to end. I wish we had track before and after school. Sometimes my mind has a hard time wrapping around why I’d need to know all of these overcomplicated things. If all I’m planning on doing in the future is running, why would I need to learn how to dissect a frog?
I spot one of my friends, and wave, jogging up to him. Kennedy and I have known each other since the beginning of sophomore year. He started track that year, and that’s when we met. He’s a pretty chill guy. He has a lot of friends, but I’m the only one on the track team. I have a few other friends, but we’re not buddy-buddies. We sit at lunch together, have small talk, but that’s really all. I guess it’d be nice to have close friends, but I’m surviving, and that’s all that matters—if that even does matter.
Our hands clap together, sending an echo into the cloudy sky. I look up, watching as new, darker clouds roll in. Something doesn’t feel right, like something bad is going to happen. The thick blanket of clouds is nothing in comparison to this heavy feeling in my stomach. I urge myself to stop overthinking it. It’s all in your head. Nothing bad will happen. It’s just a little stormy.
We walk into the school, chatting about random things, and I try to leave that weird feeling behind. There’s no point in carrying it around all day. I have other things to worry about. Such as that chemistry quiz I forgot to study for.198Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡwHRR2qNVXP
and then Add to home screen.