You Can Read Me

Reappeared

I woke up to the annoying ringing of my alarm clock, as usual. 

I slammed it down and groaned. Today was the first day of sophomore year and I was anything but excited.

Okay, maybe a little bit of excited.

But it was another year of sitting in a desk listening to teachers talk.

Another year of homework and less time to do what I wanted.

Another year of abuse.

I rolled out of bed, imminently regretting staying up so late, and walked, eyes half closed, to the bathroom.

Gosh, I feel like the girl in the beginning of the story, what was her name again? Ivy?

Moons, I feel like her.

Luckily I don't have a dog weaving between my feet and trying to trip me, so I was able to make it to my bathroom without nearly falling over.

But it would've been nice to have one.

I turned the tap on and splashed cold water on my face in an attempt to wake myself up, that ending up only half working. Brushing my teeth, I used all my morning energy, which was practically nonexistent, to avoid thinking about the black hedgehog with ruby eyes.

He was the only one who could see something different about me.

He was the only one who noticed the mind reading.

He liked my eyes.

He... OH SHUT UP!

I couldn't understand why I couldn't stop thinking about this stupid motorcycle rider that I would never see again.

Focus on that.

I will never see him again.

I will never see him again.

I will never see him again.

I will never see him again.

I will never see him again.

I think I get it.

I got dressed in a simple pastel yellow hoodie and white sweatpants, feeling awfully bold and different.

The feeling of being watched wasn't there anymore, which made me both thankful and suspicious. But then, I was too relived to think much about it.

I bounced down the stairs, skipping every other step. My ponytail bonded along behind me, a sudden, abrupt happiness engulfing me.

Today was the first day of school!

It was a happy morning, despite the event occurring today, and I felt that I had to match it's excitement.

Well, it also might've been because I was happy and excited.

I hit the bottom of the staircase, skipping through the house and slid along the tile in the kitchen.

"What's for breakfast?" I called out.

No one responded.

There was no scent of chocolate chip pancakes on the stove.

There was no energy of a busy family.

There was no mother to look over and tell me good morning.

There was no dad to say how proud he was of me.

There was no sister to playfully say I was late, before handing me breakfast and a glass of orange juice.

The kitchen was hopelessly, heartbreakingly, empty.