How The Sun Rises

7: Explanations and Arguements

As we stared at one another, I had this strange inclination to throw up. Jackson's face was blank, but because his left brow was twitching I knew he was actually really irritated. I could feel my own face was flushed and, just like my heart, in a state of panic. They deserved an explanation; I couldn't imagine how freaked out they must have been in seeing my panic attack. That wasn't what the actual term for it was, but I preferred to think of it as lightly as possible.

"Do you want to explain what just happened?" Kyle asked finally.

"U-uh," I stammered, unsure of how to respond.

I needed to say something because I knew I should explain to them what had just happened. For me it wasn't something they need to be freaked out about. But that was because I knew what it was. They might have thought differently though, but most likely because they have all had never seen something like it. I felt guilty for scaring them, and it was making my gut twist as I told myself to just tell them.

The problem was I had no idea where to begin.

Part of me was grateful that my phone rang in that exact moment. But then I looked at the caller ID and wished it hadn't.

Mother.

With no desire to answer the call, I let it ring. For what felt like hours I stared at the screen after the voicemail notification popped up. Then a throat cleared and I looked up to see three very annoyed and expectant faces.

"I-I—" I looked down at the ground as my eyes watered, "I p-promise I will tell you guys. Just no-not right now."

Without even pausing for a response, I ran. Seconds after I realized it was a bad idea. Especially since I had left my bag. Worrying over how I was going to get my back without them seeing me, I made my way to my locker. The lock was jammed so I had to shake it a few times, but eventually it clicked open. There were three books, a pastel green cardigan, and dirt-clad sneakers inside of it and aside from that, three flash cards pinned to the back with magnets. Each one had a word in a fancy script and colored sharpie. The first, in neon blue, was courage. The second, in fluorescent yellow, was hope. The last, in a faded purple - that marker had been almost out of ink - was the word secret.

Looking at it, I knew I couldn't possibly tell them what they had just seen. As soon as I told what they would want to know how and maybe even why. Those were answers I just couldn't give.

Not unless I wanted to be shipped off to boarding school on some remote island.

I took my phone out and looked at the screen. There were two bubbles: one read 3 missed calls, while the other read 1 new voicemail. I swiped at the latter with my finger and pressed the phone up to my ear.

"I am disappointed in you. I expected you to at least be good at following orders - apparently not. Expect a visit from your sister."

That was it. That was the whole message left by my mother. Short and to the point; I should have been grateful she hadn't mentioned me calling her back. I wasn't. Expect a visit from your sister. That was enough to completely ruin the rest of my day.

My chest tightened as I thought of the many outcomes that could come of my sister coming to town. She had spent the last three years in Spain, hopping between beautiful Spanish men, using and abusing as she used them all for the sake of her art. My sister was certainly beautiful and she was unbelievably talented as an artist, but she was cruel. Almost as much as mother, which made me all the more worried.