𝐅𝐢𝐥𝐭𝐡𝐲 𝐇𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐬

ten. | before/sixteen.

before
sixteen

A knock on my bedroom door is what rouses me.

"You awake?"

I rub my eyes as Willow comes into focus, pushing my door open and lightly bouncing to the end of my twin bed.

"Where'd you get off to last night?" she says. "Found the cupcake, I see," she eyes the small plate I left on the nightstand, the cupcake untouched.

"Nowhere," I murmur, pushing myself up.

"You and Dua causing trouble?" Willow smiles.

Good, at least she's not mad.

I shrug.

"Mom told me to wake you," she tells me. "She spoke to the neighbor this morning, and he's going to take you to get your permit for your driving lessons."

"Mom spoke to Anaca?"

Willow nods. "I would take you, but I got to meet Teg, and he offered."

That is the last thing I want to do right now.

Willow presses her hand on my shin through my comforter before she stares me down. "Can I ask you something, Woody? You would tell me if our neighbor was being creepy, wouldn't you?"

"He would never!"

I almost scare myself at how strong my defense of Anaca is.

"Alright," she lifts her palms. "I just wanted to make sure. He seems okay but you can never be too careful, and you can tell me anything," she presses. "I would never judge you."

"Anaca isn't like that, Willow."

She purses her lips. The same lips I have. "You're cool with him teaching you to drive?"

Not this morning, but I nod anyway.

"Alright, Mom told him you'd be over around eleven," Willow relays as she stands.

It's almost a quarter till.

"Guess I should get in the shower then."

"Yeah, you stink," she winks, while pressing her finger beneath her nose.

I resist the urge to throw my pillow at her.

I'm braiding my wet hair as I suck up every bit of my pride and walk across the driveways. As expected, my cruiser was leaning against the side of our house when I stepped outside. I find myself at Mr. DeRosa's door and I don't know if I should knock or ring the doorbell. Why this is such a question is beyond me and I finally settle on knocking. Only it takes me another twenty seconds to actually do so.

When he answers, I am met first with his converse.

"Morning."

My ears perk at the simpleness of his tone. I expected him to be angry, but as I gaze raises and I find him to be calm, I react the same.

"Morning."

"Ready?"

I nod, taking a step back as he steps out of the house.

"Thanks," I say softly. "For doing this for my mom."

"Seemed like the neighborly thing to do," he nearly smirks, tugging his hoodie over his head. It's a deep maroon in color that makes his eyes sparkle.

When he starts the civic the first thing he does is turn down the blast of air. A reminder of the night before, but neither of us acknowledge it.

He turns the radio on. 'Angel' by Theory of Deadman is playing and Anaca doesn't attempt to change it. I've heard the song a few times before, but I don't think that I've ever really listened to the lyrics. I don't know what it is about them that seem to tattoo themselves over my brain, but I found myself humming it the entirety of the ride.