Yellow (editing)

The Screen on My Chest

There are a number of things people should not wake up to on a Saturday morning, and a pounding window is certainly one of them; especially if the pounding window is caused by a somewhat deficient man that whistled off-tune Beethoven symphonies while he worked. My mom had hired a guy to attach window screens to every last one of our windows, insisting that it was the only option for keeping our family safe because a) bugs, and b) robberies that could be stopped by a flimsy net.

Anyway, even though talking to Barry about my inner feelings made me feel a little bit more alive, I had been moping around the entire day, just dreading the day I would have to go to the St. Hemling interview (where they judge me even more). The last time I went to the St. Hemling interview I was only six years old, and awaiting my seventh birthday in November. The person who interviewed all the newbie primary school kids was – wait for it – Mrs. Brig, and obviously it was traumatic in a way that kind of made me want to rip my hair out. Mrs. Brig (or Mrs. Brussel, as I like to remember her) had me in a room all alone and pestered me about everything I liked and everything about my history. Which, honestly, isn't very insightful coming from a six-year-old, but she didn't care. I didn't care either. All I cared about was her garlic breath, which was probably why she was so disgusting, inside and out.

All that aside, the window screen eventually resulted in a very-confused-and-irritated-Orenda at 1PM, laughing as I explained to her that it was a little bit harder for her to tumble through my window like she was committing a robbery – which was, of course, that the screens were for.

"Maybe you should actually walk in through the front door for once," I mumbled as I maneuvered my fingers around the screen clip. I flipped it up.

"No, I like going through the window. It's... dangerous. Thrilling. Romantic, even."

"I guess." I sat down on my bed and smoothed my cold sheets around me as I listened to Orenda breathe and spin around on my chair.

"So? I-"

"I talked to Barry – my tutor – yesterday. Like you said. Thanks, by the way." I felt like I was saying thanks to practically everyone I within a 10 metre radius around me, but I suppose I needed to.

She didn't talk for a very long time, which gave me (perhaps too much) time to reflect on everything I had screwed up in my already screwed-up life. The only thing that came to me, the only thing I never really pushed away from me was, admittedly, Orenda. I sighed and fell back onto my mattress, taking the risk of hitting my head on the headboard – which really hurts, usually. My glasses got pushed away from my nose and I casually ripped them off and set them beside me, on my pillow. A truck rushed past my window, and the rumbling momentarily covered up the sound of Orenda, so for a second it was like she wasn't even there, and the room felt empty again.

"I'm a terrible person," I mumbled, right after the truck left.

"No, Finnegan, you're not."

"I am. I literally destroy everyone I know just because I'm not satisfied with myself. They're just too nice to get mad at me." I propped myself up on my elbows and tried my very best to keep my eyes closed, or half-closed, I couldn't really tell. My bed suddenly creaked and I flinched a little, and I heard Orenda gasp, which probably meant I had opened my eyes when I got surprised. I stuck my glasses back on.

"Finn, you're not a terrible person." She assured me, and then sat next to me, her flowery scent all around.

I lay on my back again and cleared my throat, "well I'm not great."

"Neither am I. Look, let's go. I've got so many cool things to show you, and I am almost two thousand percent sure it'll make you feel better. Heck, I'm three thousand percent sure. That's a lot of sure-ness, I'll tell you." I smiled, and she laughed. "Hey, we're teenagers. I'm not sure what I expect – other than mood changes in the blink of an eye. Sorry. Bad choice of words. What can I say? I'm also not very sensitive." Orenda grabbed my hand and pulled me upright, making me laugh and tumble off my bed.