Chapter Two

Eva

It's only the first day and I'm skipping already. But my mom's just started a job for the first time since ...well, I'm not exactly sure since when, and I haven't had the house entirely to myself in ages, so it's worth it.

It should be okay, we never do anything on the first day, anyway. It's been unusually sunny today and I'm sitting outside on оur small porch in my improvised patio chair, reading Tess of the D'Ubervilles. I signed up for ELA and Creative Writing this year at school, and I'll have to finish the book before we get to it. I'm occasionally glancing at the kids playing on the street. There isn't much traffic in the afternoon, so they don't care. One of them is lying on the asphalt and the other pulling him by the leg. A less than three-year-old girl stood there looking at them in confusion.

Although it's always seemed to me that really small kids often look like they're confused by the world and don't know what they're doing exactly. They just observe people doing random, unexplainable to anyone things.

It's how I often feel too.

It's the late afternoon, golden leaves are covering the pavement, and since my house is very close to the woods, I catch the faint scent of pine cones coming from the trees nearby. The neighborhood's dog is playing with something she found, although to me it looks more like she's watching over the kids. I don't remember where this big dog with its scruffy red coat came from- I'm pretty sure Rudy used to be someone's pet, but they just threw her away. Mrs. Jenkins, the old lady who lives next door feeds her and the dog's been too calm to hurt anyone. I guess she decided to just keep it, but most of the time Rudy just wanders around the whole area as she's not kept on a leash. I look around and realize that's the most melancholic scenery possible.

The sun's heavy in the sky and it's like time has stopped. I'm trying to catch the wind, so I inhale as deeply as possible. My stolen moment before my mother gets back from work and I'll have to listen to whatever she wants to criticize me about this time. She always has something to say. It can't be grades, because I'm a good student. So it's usually about things like the way I hung the laundry, or how I fail to put my clothes in perfect order every time, or why the milk I've just spilled hasn't been cleaned already. And ‘Sorry, I didn't see it’ doesn't work, not with my mother.

She's started working in a supermarket, and she'll probably be too tired after the shift, so I don't think she'll have the energy to talk to me. Unless she flips and starts explaining how difficult everything is, and how she sacrificed her life so I could have the things I do now.

I sometimes feel like she's reading from the same script every single day. We're all in the same play when I'm constantly trying to change my lines.

But life just won't have it.

I'll have to go to school tomorrow- I know. Besides, I don't normally skip. I just...Okay, I worked all summer long and today's the only day in months I didn't do anything besides reading. I just need a break sometimes. 

I've always wanted to just be able to spread my wings freely without breaking someone's walls; preferably without losing my ability to fly in the process. The world can look very overwhelming from where I stand and for someone like me, even in this small town.

* * *

I kept my word - of course - and I came to school. Not that I had much of a choice, anyway. I almost missed the bus, and it's raining. Awesome, today's promising.

"And where were you yesterday, girl?" The friend I've had the longest in my almost eighteen years is standing next to me in the girls' restroom. She's checking her eyeliner in the mirror before going to our first class. Her dad always drives her to school, so we've never come to school together. I'm washing my hands for the third time in the last five minutes, because I'm really, really trying to focus on keeping myself busy right now.

"Hey, Chris. What's up?

"Are you all right?" she looks at me genuinely worried. I’m a terrible friend. 

"Oh, yeah, yeah. I just…I wasn't feeling well yesterday. "

"You never share anything with me.” She says, frowning. “It's enough I could barely see you in the past months because you worked in that stupid store the whole summer."

"I do share, I promise. It's just, you know ... " I gesture vaguely. I remember I didn't brush my teeth this morning. But I am sure I did last night. I never skip brushing them in the evening. I start wondering if I was sitting next to anyone too closely on the bus, or if I spoke to someone earlier. I put my hand in front of my mouth and exhale. That would probably look dumb to anyone who might see me. Chris doesn’t notice, though, and continues applying makeup on her face while I wonder what else I forgot to do earlier today. After a few moments, I hear her ask

"We're going, right?"

"Well, yeah. We are, I guess."

Wait. Where.  I'm usually good at both not listening and somehow managing to reply. But not today, not exactly.

"This new guy will be there, too.” She says, smiling at her face in the mirror, “Cloe was raving about him in the dancers' group chat last night. Said she can't find him anywhere. And if she can't - no one does."

I probably don't need to clarify, I'm not part of this group chat. But I'm used to Christina talking to me like I'm one of them; as if I know the pain of breaking up with the hockey team's captain, or the horror of not being able to grow your nails inches long because you might scratch yourself while doing bridge poses.

"I haven't seen him yet, but she said he's super tall and hot. Not cute or sweet. Cloe's exact words were: "Fucking sin on legs", Chris continues, applying pink matte lipstick now. She's read another erotic novel recently, I can tell. I mean, who talks like that? And yes- I've spent enough time with her to know the difference between rose gold and pink rose color. I look at her- she's pretty, but she always is, a beautiful mixture of features. Her mother was born in Mexico, her dad's French, and I'm pretty sure she has relatives somewhere in Asia. I've somehow always envied her for that.

"I only know the guy's in Jared's class. Stupid Jared, he's everywhere. I know I shouldn't text him and I won't, he simply doesn't deserve my attention anymore. I don't care how sexy his chocolate skin is, okay?" she applies the color almost angrily now.

I'm wiping my hands on my jeans, trying not to laugh at the other thought that pops up in my head. I'm sure if that guy's that hot, he'll be dumb as hell.

If he is not that stupid, he wouldn't be that hot. And if he is both- and chances are slim -he'll be the biggest, arrogant ass in the world.

It's a never-ending cycle.

And in case I have to listen to all the girls obsess about him, I'll set myself on fire. I’ll do it in the schoolyard before math class in front of everyone. Good riddance, Mr. Turner, and your integrals.

I'll make a huge slogan saying, "We have enough jocks here, thank you very much. "

"Cool, it's a deal then,” Chris says, putting her things in her brand bag. “Come to my house later and we'll get ready together and go."

Maybe I have just agreed to something I don’t remember even being asked about. 

"My mom wanted to see you too, so be prepared. “my friend declares, “She likes talking to you, and you're the only one who doesn't refuse her cakes. Okay, I've got to go- I need to give Maddie her shirt back."

"Yeah, ok. See you, Chris."

I've never understood why girls refuse cakes. I mean- I do, yes- but I'd never give up eating a chocolate cake for anything in the world.

And I mean - anything- there's nothing better than sweets.

Thinking of cakes distracts me from focusing on the thought I've somehow said yes to going to a stupid gathering, instead of staying home and reading. 

Daydreaming will cost me and eventually end me one day, I'm sure.