Seven

10

The morning comes, and I can hear the birds chirping outside my window. Normally, that would be peaceful to people. I don't like birds.

Mom had been extremely weird last night, according to Alex. She was more confused than usual, mumbling about things that didn't make sense. I wanted to stay home to keep a closer eye on her, but I've used up all my absences for school, and so has Alex.

Usually, I'd call in for backup—a home health aide. But given Mom's state, I don't think it's safe to let a stranger come into the house right now. She's angry, anxious, and sometimes delusional. I wouldn't want someone to get hurt.

I get out of bed and head to her room to check on her. She's muttering to herself, her eyes glazed over as she stares at the ceiling.

"Mom?" I say softly, but she doesn't respond. "Mom, I'm going to school now," I try again, but she just continues to mumble incoherently. I sigh, feeling the familiar weight of helplessness settling over me.

I go back to my room to get ready. I pull on sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt, grab my backpack, and head towards the kitchen. Alex looks up from the table, a worried expression on his face.

"She didn't sleep much," he says, staring into a bowl of cereal. "She kept talking about the man."

"The man?" I question. "We have to go. Should we lock her door?"

Alex nods, and I turn to lock the door to Mom's room from the outside. She doesn't typically leave her room—she has a bathroom attached to it—so she should be fine. She has food and she has water. Still, I feel really guilty about leaving her alone. I want to be able to help her if something goes wrong.

Alex and I head out the door, trying to push our worries to the back of our minds.

The day drags on, but at least I'm looking forward to art class. The room is filled with the soft hum of conversations and the scratching of pencils against paper. I sit at my usual spot, trying to focus on my sketchbook. I've started drawing an anatomical heart. I like to visualize things, though right now it's hard to concentrate. I keep glancing at the clock, counting down the minutes until I can leave and check on Mom. I didn't have time for any shenanigans today. Life is hard enough.

Aiden is across the room, chatting with his friends. I can't help but watch him out of the corner of my eye, observing the way he smiles and laughs. For a brief moment, it feels like a small escape from the anxiety that's been gnawing at me. I wonder why he isn't sitting with me, but I don't question it. I don't want to seem clingy, and I actually enjoy my solitude.

During a break between classes, Aiden spots me from across the hall. "Hey, Eve," he says with a friendly smile. "How's it going?"

I force a small smile in return. "It's going, I guess."

Aiden seems to notice the sadness in my eyes but doesn't push. He knows that if I wanted to talk about it, I'd have brought it up myself. "Are you working on something new?"

"Just a sketch," I say, trying to keep my voice steady. "Nothing special."

He glances at my sketch. "It looks great."

"Thanks," I mumble, though I'm not sure I believe it. My thoughts drift back to Mom and her worsening symptoms. The thought of her getting worse only deepens my sadness. I wish I could've stayed home with her.

The bell rings, signaling the end of the class. "I'll see you later, okay?" Aiden says as he gets up.

I nod, barely managing a quiet, "Yeah. See you."

As Aiden walks away with his friends, one girl from the group lingers behind. She's wearing a pink tank top with leggings, her hair pulled back into a messy bun. I wonder if she's cold.