*Watty's 2021 Shortlist*
Samantha Roberts and Ben Evans have one thing in common - they both attend Sir Robertson's School for the Gifted, an elite boarding school for the children of the world's wealthiest. Both scholarship students, they gravitate...
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I spend most of the next day in a fog. Somehow, I make it through all my homework in time. It's probably not my best work.
The rest of the guys must sense my mood, since they all leave me alone. I don't see much of Anthony. I guess he's off somewhere with Sam, or something. The only highlight of my day is realizing Sam will have to talk to me again, to work with me on our project.
That night, after dinner, I make myself some coffee—because who needs sleep—and sit down by the window. It's still a little stormy, and wind whips at the windows. I sigh and pull out my laptop. Might as well do some research for our science project. I open up an article I had bookmarked on the way brains react to different stimuli and start reading. It's actually quite interesting. This person did this project where they hooked people up to an EEG brain wave reader then exposed them to different things, like music, or food.
The sounds of the common room penetrate my thoughts. The twins are playing video games. The D and D guys have set up at the kitchen table and appear to be in the midst of a vicious battle against some sort of dragon-turtle. It doesn't sound as if it's going well, if the groans and swear words are any indication. But...something's missing. There is an undercurrent of tension – and I know it's because of me. And Anthony. He used to come and hang out every evening, eating dinner with us guys in the kitchen instead of the crowded dining hall.
He'd sit on the couch and read, retiring at a far more sensible time than the rest of us. But he's not here now.
Anger bubbles within me. He's avoiding me. Just like that, I lost my best friend and the girl I love. It isn't fair.
Every fibre of my being wants to storm into Anthony's room and demand he talk to me. But I know that's a bad idea that will only end in one of us punching the other.
So I sit in my chair and do nothing. But I can only stand the loud noises of the common room for so long. I get up restlessly and pace the hallways, but honestly, that gets old pretty quick as well.
Honestly, I might have been hoping to run into Anthony.
I absentmindedly start to tidy up my room- which, admittedly, could use a good tidy. Or maybe an entire team in Biohazard suits.
I don't clean it very much. Sam always used to get annoyed about that. I bet Mr. Perfect cleans his room.
Sigh.
I guess I've found out something new about myself, though. I clean best when I'm frustrated. Fifteen minutes later, my bed is made, sheets changed, and for once there's no junk covering my floor.
My desk and shelves are similarly neat, and there's an overflowing cardboard box by my door marked "Junk to Get Rid Of".
My room has a fresh and clean feeling to it, which is nice. At least I have that together, even if the rest of my life is falling apart.
