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CHAPTER SEVEN. drop dead.
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THE BEST TIME OF DAY is easily mornings. There is no possible way anyone can argue with me on this, because we all know I am right (I always am, but that's besides the point). What more could you want than the harmony of birds of paradise, the purity of dusk air, and the quietness that is instilled as most people remain in the comfort of their beds? That last factor is most beneficial to me as a girl with a rising hour of 5:30am, since it gives me the largest spread of time to first stuff my face with an overly filling breakfast, and secondly to rid myself of it without causing a hindrance to my mother or sister. Binge and purge; the perfect start to my day.
I feel no greater fulfillment than I do when mother finally arises, comes downstairs for her daily protein shake, and sees the improvement in my figure. She doesn't smile at me — has she ever? — but she praises me, and that's all a girl like me could ask for. I tire myself inside out for a simple utterance of pride but, in the end, I must admit it's worth my time. I am a byproduct of what other people want, a people-pleasing primadonna, a try-hard. That needs to be sustained somehow, otherwise I will lose the true meaning of what it is to live.
Now that my mother is well aware of the completion of my morning requirement, I wish her a good day signed off with a false smile, which exits me as quickly as my excessive calorie intake did, freeing me to direct myself back to my bedroom. The sole reason I am yet to shower is because I'm meeting the group for one of our workout sessions; said group consisting of Lola, Jason, and Rafe. I haven't seen any of them in days — Jason and Lola since the kegger, and Rafe since that night in this very room. The eldest Cameron boy never seems to have to face rejection, assuming that me shoving him off my lips was a scrapbook-qualifying memory for him, and he hasn't dared to contact me in the days that followed. Well, I'll admit I blocked his number, but he's been free of his banishment for approximately 6 minutes now, so it's not like he couldn't have reached me if he really wanted to.
Lola's line has also been radio silent, concerning me more than any of these other expressions of distance. The last time we haven't spoken this long was 10th grade, when one of the first boys who began taking interest in me was her elementary school boyfriend, and she assumed me to comprehend that fact despite only having lived in this area for under a year. Still, Lola still made the first move to reconcile our relationship a mere 39 hours after our initial argument, and I suppose I should expect her to do the same now. What worries me is that 4 days have come and gone post-party, and I continue awaiting so much as a confirmation that she is still alive.
