Little Talks || A story based on the song

One

I wake up to the sound of my brother Graysons loud and broken bike pulling up. Light shines through the thin curtains hammered over the window, where a nail fell off. I bury my head into my pillow, hoping to block the light and gain a couple extra minutes of sleep. It almost seems like no matter how early I go to bed, I don't get enough sleep. My eyes are crusted over, and I just don't want to get up. But within two minutes Grayson's banging on the door.

"Time to get up Auggie!" He shouts through the wood. I turn over, and I can see his shadow from under the door. If i didn't feel bad for him, I wouldn't get up. But he works the night shift, and we swap places when he gets home, so I need to be ready for school and out of the room by the time he's done showering so he can go to sleep.

"I'm getting up," I mumble, pulling my a t-shirt over my head, and roll out of bed. The floor is warm, it's an unsettling feeling. I don't usually walk around barefoot, but it's been too hot lately for socks. When I open the door he's covered in sweat and dirt from head to toe, but he still has his million dollar smile plastered on his face, and he hands me my iced coffee.

"Morning sunshine. I have to wash my hair so you have a couple extra minutes to get ready." He says, before moving out of my way.

"Thank you," I take the coffee and step across the hall into the bathroom. Living in such situations has made us establish a routine for everything. We sleep in shifts basically, at least Grayson and I do. Dad sleeps on the pullout in the living room whenever he passes out at night, and Harley doesn't live at home anymore. It only takes me about five minutes to unbraid my hair and brush my teeth, so i'm out of Graysons way in no time. While Grayson showers I get dressed, do my makeup and drink my coffee. I became a coffee drinker when I started working and realized how much harder life is when you don't sleep well. Like I could just barely get through school because of my tiredness, but then adding nine hours of washing dishes actually killed me. I give Grayson $20 a week to get me a iced coffee on his way home from work, and it's saving me more than I wouldve thought.

I finish my coffee in the kitchen watching dad sleep. I know it sounds weird but I like watching him sleep. He's not drunk, and he's very peaceful. He also looks very younger, and not so scary. I'm not necessarily scared of him, i'm just definitely not scared of him when he's asleep. He looks like the same guy who played golf, and loved hosting barbeques for the neighborhood. I hardly remember that guy, but all memories I have are fond. I study his breathing, and force myself to breathe to the same rhythm. I get anxiety in the morning, especially before driving to school, but copying someones breathing always makes me feel better. Dads is the easiest because of how his stomach moves up and down, it's the easiest to see.

I look at the wallclock, it reads 7:58. I should probably get going. I don't need to be at school for another 47 minutes, and the drive is about 30 so I don't have to rush, but I also like being at school early enough. I grab Grayson's keys and open the door.

"Be safe Auggie," Dad mumbles, not opening his eyes. He hasn't called me Rory in a very long time. I look back at him one more time, and then close the door. I love you dad, Is what I wish I wouldve said.

"Mornin' Miss Bates!" Yells Tom from across the road. His trailer has been directly across from ours since we moved here. He sits on his front porch smoking a cigarette, his three chiuaua's sit in the window barking manically.

I wave to him with one hand, my other hand picking the helmet up off the seat.

"How are the dogs?" I ask, putting my hand down. He looks toward the window, and back to me with a toothless smile.

"The dogs are barking!" He yells back. I smile and put the helmet on. This has been our daily ritual for a very long time. A lot of people who live like us have a lot of routines.

"Drive safe darlin'" He says while I mount the bike. I wave at him as I drive away. Right now it's just me and the open roads.

I ride Graysons broken bike to school. I'm only seventeen and don't have a motorcycle license (or a driver's license), but we live in a small town, and if I take the backroads I won't get caught. Also, the police that I see don't care. I just park my bike in the Big Lots behind the school. I go to a private prep school. I had to take a big fancy test in 6th grade to get in, and I'm on a whole bunch of academic scholarships. So I have to keep my grades up, or they'll drop my scholarships and I'll have to go back to our town's public high school. Keeping grades up when you haven't been smart since middle school is super hard.

When I pull up to the Big Lots, the parking lot is full of golf carts. Many family's drive their kids to school through the bike path on the golf carts, but they caused traffic issues so now the parents have to leave the kids across the street and make them walk. At first, I got upset by it, since now there were more kids to witness me pulling up on Graysons busted bike, but now I don't care. Most kids don't pay attention to their surroundings anymore anyways.

I park the bike in my same old parking spot, and chain the helmet to the handles. I know it's not likely that someone would be interested in taking my helmet, but id rather not have the extra cost of replacing it on the just-in-case. Especially since Grayson would revoke my privileges of riding until I replaced the helmet. He'd be okay with riding helmet-less, but he would freak if I even tried to. He's always been annoying like that.

I walk to school beside my classmates, we're all in the same uniform, but i'm nothing like them. First off, my uniform is second hand, and so are my mary-janes. Everyones elses uniforms are brand new, and their mary-janes are designer and shiny. I'm pretty sure I got mine from payless five years ago, thank god I haven't grown more than one shoe size.

My school is pretty nice. It channels hogwarts vibes, but it's also very old and smelly. Rowtwell Prepatory Academy. Sounds fancy but it's so lame.