Today feels different. It feels happier. And as I sit on the swings, once again with my notebook in hand, I remember that: this was the first time since last month.
ON THE SWING SET:
EMILIA: Hi.
ME: Hi.
EMILIA: So, how was your day?
This surprises me but not enough to show it. Emilia is a popular girl. The kind to have their own signature table and walk in organised cliques and always have nice clothes and hair.
She seems different today, though. Less popular girl and more try-hard. I can see her dark circles under a hastily applied layer of concealer, and her posture isn't perfect like always. Her outfit is the same as last Thursday's - no big deal for you or me, but apparently a crime for someone like her. Her hair looks as if it has too much hairspray on, and she doesn't look model-slim, more unhealthy skinny.
ME: It was good. Is good.
EMILIA:
ME: You?
EMILIA: Oh. Me?
She shuffles around in the swing seat as if it's getting a bit uncomfortable.
EMILIA: It was alright.
And I can see, in her once brilliant amber eyes, that she's lying. They flit around and settle on her wrought hands, her manicured fingers looking more weathered than normal. There is a chip in her nail polish on one nail. Which fazes me. She doesn't get chips in her nail polish.
EMILIA: Well. Actually-
I sit patiently waiting for her answer.
EMILIA: I, um- I haven't been eating recently.
And then she cries, and I do my best to stay silent, because I know that's what she needs right now.
--
Grant's eyes sweep across my drawn on hands, noting down each detail.
GRANT: What's your favorite animal?
ME:- whales.
GRANT:
ME:
ME: They are very good singers.
And he nods, and smiles, and picks up a pen and begins to doodle on my wrists.
YOU ARE READING
If You Will
Teen Fiction"every night, she would look up at the stars she could see, and pick the brightest star and give it a name. meanwhile, he would observe every single one of them, and give the brightest a name; her name." - anonymous.
