The Middle One Will Die

002: 𝐌𝐢𝐝𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤

After the library day, I had been having those feelings a lot. The worst was at school.

I was quite frightened about it. I really had no idea what it was and why it had came so immediately and out of the blue. So I went to the library again, after school. Three days after the first feeling. I'd try to find out what the feeling was from books. Somewhere had to be an answer to it. Had to be.

I went through many nonfiction books, choosing them by names and eyeing the pages to find something even a bit near to my problem. I went through history books and some other books if there would be something. But there was nothing. Nothing at all. Not in any book was an answer to the feeling, and I had to leave the library still clueless about the weird feeling.

I went back home, where I found Isabella reading a book on our living room's couch. Our apartment isn't really big, much smaller than my family's mansion, but I like the apartment and I like that it isn't so big. It's just distressing if the house is too big and if there are too many empty rooms. Our apartment is really good for two people; two bedrooms, one bathroom, one kitchen and the dining table connected to it, one living room next to the kitchen with no wall between them.

"Would you like to eat something?" I asked my best friend, putting my keys on top of a black dresser when I walked to the kitchen. It's on the way, right after the entry.

"Sure," she replied. "What you was thinking about?" she asked, not looking up from her book.

"Well, at least not chicken as you don't like it," I replied, opening the fridge to see what we have.

"Alora, you know you can eat chicken even though I don't eat it, right?" Isabella asked, now raising her gaze to me.

I nodded and said, "Yeah, of course I know." It was true; I knew I could eat chicken even though Isabella didn't eat it, but I don't usually eat it, even though it's pretty good. At least in some forms.

"Okay, good," Isabella said and turned her gaze back to the book.

"Should I make something big and fulfilling or something smaller? How hungry are you?" I asked as I faced the problem of not knowing how big and fulfilling food I should make.

"Don't have to do anything really big, except if you want it to last longer than only this day. Smaller is good too, I'm not so hungry," Isabella replied.

"Okay," I said and started again to think about what I should make.

I decided I could just make socca. It's a chickpea flatbread. Easy and fast to do, and we have everything at our apartment for it. After about 17 minutes later, the food was ready, and I asked Isabella to come eat. We ate and talked about school, the book Isabella was reading, and what we would be doing on the weekend. Now is Thursday.

After the food, Asena was knocking on the door. Though I didn't know that before I opened the door.

"Do you want socca? There's a little bit of it left," I said as I made space for her to come in. She shook her head, smiling. "No thanks," she said.

"Let's go already, then," Isabella came from the living room, the book she'd been reading in her hands. We were going to Asena's apartment, as we usually hang out there if in someone's home. We had agreed that Asena will just come quickly to visit us, and then we would go.

"OK, but let's take ice creams somewhere on the way. There's burning again," Asena said, and Isabella and I agreed to that. The hottest is in late summer in Nice, and it's August; usually it's the worst.

I took my keys from the dresser's top before we left, so we could still get back inside the apartment. Isabella's keys were in the apartment, so we wouldn't have them