If We Were Heroes | ONC2022

chapter two

chapter two: I spend some quality 'me time' in the closet

I take back what I said about parties. 

Gathered around the dinner table, with a dozen pairs of eyes staring at you was definitely the worst thing in the world, surpassing even screaming kids and sugar. 

I wasn't exactly sure how to explain it, but I had always felt different from the rest of my family. Sure, I had the trademark boring brown eyes, boring brown hair as the rest of the Rodriguezes, but somehow, something always just seemed off. 

Maybe it was the way the room always seemed to dim to a low buzz whenever I entered it, or the pitying looks at family reunions (gosh, I hated those). Maybe it was the fact that unlike Miles who brought home a new friend each week, I only really knew Ethan. 

My uncle cleared his throat. "How's your foot?" 

I shrugged. I knew he was just trying to clear the tension, but I wasn't quite sure how to explain the ongoing tingle in my ankle. Ever since I talked to Ethan, the pain had just… stopped.

The tension hung in the air like an itchy electric blanket. My parents shared a knowing look, like they were arguing with their eyes. I tried—and failed to interpret what they were saying. 

Miles tugged at my sleeve, his five-year-old eyes wide. 

"Are you still hurting?" he asked.

I gave him a wane smile. "I'm okay." 

He grunted in response and went back to his food.

I took his example and did the same. 

/ 

My room was one of the few places where I felt fully me, which is funny because this was my aunt's room before she moved out, and we had never finished redecorating it. 

Still, something about the faded blue wallpaper, and long dead glow-in-the-dark stars made me feel like I had always belonged. Like I maybe I had a place in this family. 

A quiet knock at the door made me jump, quickly sitting up in bed as my mom walked in, her usual quick-paced walk slowed to a ‘normal’ tempo. 

"What's wrong?" I asked, cautiously. 

Mom smiled. "Nothing!" 

Now I knew for sure something was wrong. My parents weren’t exactly hard to read, considering the sad amount of time I spent with them. 

She sat down beside me, picking up the patched bedcovers and flicking at the loose pieces of thread with her long, manicured nails. 

"Mom.” I said, the noise driving me mad. "Just tell me what's wrong." 

She sighed, an old sound wheezing from the pits of her lungs. "You know we love you, Olive, and we'd do anything for you, right?" 

I grunted. Sure they would. 

"We're moving." 

"What?" I exclaimed. "You can't do that!" 

"We just want to keep you safe—" 

"I've only ever lived here! I don't want to move!" 

She waited for me to stop screaming. 

"I can't move," I explained, "because I've only ever had Ethan, and moving would be leaving him behind." 

"Oh honey," she whispered into my hair. "You're going to make new friends just fine." 

I stood up. "No I won't. Not like Ethan."