Still Dreaming - Treebros

Chapter 11: "He Doesn't Know He's Not Alone"

Thursday, October 3rd

  The hallway outside Connor's dorm room is quiet, except for my excited and loud knocking. It matches the thudding of my heart, which races with adrenaline.

Connor wastes no time opening the door, problem to stop my incessant pounding. "What do you want?" he asks, rubbing his eyes and leaning against the doorway.

"My application to Speedway got accepted! My first day is the 11th!" I say, undeterred by his lack of energy.

"Oh, cool. Congratulations," he says, nodding. I raise my eyebrows at him, and he sighs. Because being excited is an arduous task. I've never gotten accepted to anything before. Well, other than college. And my old job. But this feels different. Like I'm finally being independent.

"I am happy for you. But also you have a job and no one likes working," Connor says. And I know he's right. The second I start actually working I'll hate it. But I like the idea of working. Of being busy and making money.

"Well, it gets me out of my dorm. And now I'm making money and won't have to rely on Mom as much." And I have an excuse readily available if some I don't want to hang out with asks me to hang out. Plus, I might get scheduled to work with Noelle and that's always fun.

"And taxes. You have taxes now. And this is just on top of all your college stuff," Connor, resident buzzkill, points out. I get what he's saying though. My social battery is already crippled, and this job will take a lot out of me. I'm not exactly great at keeping a healthy work-life-school balance. But I want to try.

"Oh. Yeah. But I got accepted!" I say, holding my darkened phone up. The email that detailed my acceptance was still up. He just can't see it.

"Again congratulations," he says, smiling sarcastically.

"You could sound a little happier," I sigh, nudging his arm which flys up in surrender.

"You're gonna have to step it up with the good news then," Connor says. Like a job isn't enough. This is my second job, and he's never even had one. Not everyone's born rich.

I can't say that though. That's rude, and I don't mean it. But if good news is what he wants, then good news is what he'll get.

"The doctors said that my ankle should be healed by now," I say, doing half-hearted jazz hands.

"You've pretended that your ankle has been healed for a while now. I can't remember the last time you used the crutch or the boot," Connor says, looking unimpressed. Unfortunately for him, I am all out of good news.

"Let me be happy," I complain.

"I'm not stopping you," he says. Purposefully being pessimistic about all of my good news is definitely stopping me from being happy, but I won't say anything.

I roll my eyes, and slip my phone back into my pocket. I guess it's my turn to say something, but I don't know where else to take the conversation. I thought he'd be more excited.

"So. Remember on Sunday when we said we would talk?" Connor asks.

"Yeah," I say, trying my best to not cringe. We need to talk, I know, but god is it going to be awkward.