Cover Your Tracks [HS][2014 VERSION]

1. Weightless

"Maybe it's not my weekend, but it's gonna be my year. And I'm so sick of watching as the minutes pass as I go nowhere . . ."

I'm lying there in the dark, staring at the ceiling when my alarm clock goes off. My eyes flicker towards the source of the blaring to see the time of six o' clock displayed in bright red numbers across its screen. I stare until my vision goes blurry, and then, I blink slowly before looking back up at the ceiling. I had been up all night, dreading this moment.

The moment when I have to leave the warmth and comfort of my bed, put on a smile I don't believe in, and start the first day of my last year of high school.

This moment was one that I had been looking forward to for a long time, but now that it was here, I didn't know what to think. I thought I would be happy, overjoyed with the idea that I would soon graduate and never have to look back at this place ever again. But now that the time had come, I found myself wondering where all of the years had gone.

Where my happiness had gone.

I reach over and dismember the alarm, causing the insistent buzzing to cease. My hands rub at my eyes as I release an inhuman noise that sounds somewhere between a growl and a groan.

My feet hit the floor beside my bed with a thud. I run my fingers through my messy curls as I make my way out of my room and towards the kitchen. A note is left for me on the fridge, messy handwriting scrawled unevenly across the lines. It looks rushed, but I can still make out the words.

Gone down to the station. Have a good day at school, stay out of trouble.

— Love, Dad.

I roll my eyes before opening the freezer, scanning my eyes over the contents. My hand reaches for the box of pancakes in the corner. I toss it onto the counter and remove a package of three, setting them into the microwave shortly after. I smile to myself as my fingers punch in the numbers on the appliance's buttons without a moment's hesitance—it's routine.

I eat in silence, occasionally staring at the world outside through the glass panes in the front door. Each bite is a struggle, but not for a particular reason. It's just that I don't feel like eating. I don't feel the need to eat.

I've felt like this for a long time now, but I don't know how or when it particularly started. All I know is that a numbness has made itself comfortable inside of me, and no matter how hard I try, it won't go away.

After staring at my half-eaten plate for who knows how long, I rise and push my chair back, causing the wooden floor below to screech from the friction. The remaining pancakes are scraped into the trash before the plate is placed into the sink.

I go upstairs to finish getting ready. I trudge down back down the staircase shortly after, slinging my backpack over my shoulder with a sigh. The springs on my porch door strain as I swing it open, slamming it shut behind me. I make my towards the faded yellow school bus that waits at the end of my driveway.

I sit at the back, in the last seat on the right. It's a single, so I don't have to worry about anyone sitting by me. That fact gives me comfort.

The ride to school is anything but pleasant. Bus number fifty-two rattles beneath me, sending vibrations through the torn leather seats. My fingernails dig into one for balance when the bus decides to change its course, making an unexpected turn. My schoolbag slides across the seat, towards the aisle, before I catch it and tug it back.

Sitting on a bus for forty-five minutes can be quite boring, so I pass the time by watching the people around me. I can't see their faces, only the back of their heads, but I can hear the sound of their voices talking over one another. It can be unsettling, but I've made a habit of just focusing on one voice in particular to listen to what they have to say.