The Art of being Strangers

xviii.

For the first time in years, my mom offered to drive me to school. She probably felt bad for me, but she insisted I'd keep going to school. I knew she would. My father on the other side, got mad when he saw me, screaming about how I'm always with my head in the clouds and how I'm irresponsible. They come and act like they care, while they didn't. At least my father didn't. I wasn't pretty sure what to think of my mother, though. Sometimes she'd act as if she cared, and like I was the center of her universe, then sometimes she'll leave the house for days without telling me, and then, when she came back she always blamed it on work trips. As if I believed her.

On the drive to school, my mom hummed along to the radio. I wasn't close with her, nor with my father. The fact that she enjoyed the music so much surprised me a little. Maybe I had this different image of her in my head. I didn't take her for the type of person who'd turn on the music at max and sing along. Maybe I had a wrong impression of my father too. But it wasn't like I was going to find out if I had a wrong impression of him or not anytime soon.

I remembered that when I was little, I always hated car rides. The music never played, the only sound in the entire car was the engine unless my dad was in the car with us. My mom and dad, they'd either argue inside the car or stay in complete silence. No in-between. I didn't know why; it was like it was part of their routine. They never really fought anywhere else. It was always in the car. I always sat frozen in the backseat, my wet eyes wandering between my father and my mother, who kept giving each other hate-filled glares. I always swallowed anxiously, waiting after any fight they would have for them to speak and clear the uncomfortable mess they've created.

So when I turned ten, I told my mom I'd walk to school on my own. I only asked her when I turned ten because that was the age I felt like I was mature enough to do important stuff on my own. If I would have asked her at nine – even eight, I'm pretty sure she wouldn't have declined me. She didn't question me, just nodded. The next day she bought me a cheap cellphone and told me to message her every time I arrive at school, so she'd know I was safe.

That made me think that maybe she did care a lot for me even if she didn't show it.

My memories vanished as my mother and I arrived at the school. Before she let me leave the car, she told me to be careful and text her if anything happened, or if my hand was hurting too bad. I was taken aback by her words but smiled and told her I would.

I entered the school, and my glare immediately caught a shadow.

"Basil?" I ask.

"Hm?" a voice answered.

I realized it wasn't Basil's voice who answered. It was Ansel.

"Basil? Why'd you call his name?" he asked.

I froze. I didn't have any idea what to say. I didn't expect Ansel to be here this early to school. He always came to school minutes before the lesson started. Never in million years, I would have expected him to be this early.

"Guys!" Marigold's yell suddenly filled the empty halls.

"There goes the last bit of peace I had," whispered Ansel, and I couldn't help but laugh at his words, even if I wasn't necessarily in a good mood.

I was relieved she appeared. I waved at her, smiling. Ansel did the same.

"We have an emergency—" started Marigold, but I unknowingly cut her off.

"How come you two came so early to school? And where's Esther?" I asked them.

"Could you listen for a second?" she stormed. "We have an emergency!!!" Mari screamed again