The Brightest Star in a Constellation

56: Do You Think I'd Look Good in Blue?

☆ Evan ☆

I shift on my feet as I watch the cars glide past the hotel windows.

My phone buzzes with a text from Elaine, telling me she's arriving in an hour. I unlock it, scrolling through the rest of my notifications. Between a reminder to finish my social studies project, and messages from the AC group chat, there's a new post from Peter's blog.

Facts I Learned at Midnight #2203:
Ephemera are items (typically written or printed for a specific occasion) that are only meant to have short-term usefulness. Collectable ephemera include ticket stubs, postcards, and posters for events. (The origin of this word comes from the Greek ephemeros, which means lasting only one day.)

At the front desk sits Dr. Delacroix. She's working Peter's usual shift over the weekend since his assessment is tomorrow. It's somewhere two hours away, since Northwood's clinic doesn't have anyone qualified. He wants me to drive him, so I've been looking at the directions.

I've also been doing my own research. Admittedly, I've been trying to figure out how long it will take, what exactly it consists of, and what I'm supposed to do to support him.

I get a few articles deep into an explanation on sensory overload, (and I make a mental note to bring my headphones and sunglasses, since according to the Internet, that helps) when I sigh and turn to Dr. Delacroix.

"Are you sure I can't help?" I ask, which is what I've been doing all day long.

And like every other time before it, Dr. Delacroix checks the computer screen, looks at me, and says, "You don't need to help."

"Yeah, yeah, I get it. I'm a guest. I'm only staying until June. I'm not a burden. The usual stuff. But I've got an hour to kill, and I want to carry some towels or something. Please?" I plaster on my best smile, wondering if she remembers when I showed up at the front door. It makes my stomach churn to think about it.

Dr. Delacroix mutters something in French under her breath and motions for me to return to the seating area. "You already have a job. Last week, you came back to the hotel later than I did. There is no debt you need to pay back for being idle."

"Fine," I reply, heading outside. The sun peeks out from beneath a chalk blue sky. I shoot Peter a message, asking him what he's doing.

It takes about two minutes before the screen illuminates, and a smile appears on my face.

Pierre:
Nothing, why?

Evan:
Figured :)
I'm all ready to drive you tomorrow. Elaine is almost here, but we'll be back later
Do you want to come? She wants to go shopping.

Pierre:
Shopping for what?

Evan:
I'll give you one guess. It starts with 'P' and ends with 'rom.'
You should come. It could be fun or complete torture. I haven't decided yet.

The three dots bubble onto my screen and disappear, only to show up again. I groan inwardly. Jesus, he probably thinks I'm asking him to come to prom with me. What kind of person would do that through a text message? With my other hand, I fish the hourglass from my pocket, rolling it between my fingers. I have less than a hundred days left. Forty-eight, to be precise.