Where Dreams Lay

[twenty three]

[twenty three] "the rest of the world was back and white, but we were in screaming colour." -taylor swift

"I can't do it!"

"Yes you can, Luke. Just try again."

"But it's too hard!"

I groan, "Just . . . try again. First do 4x2, then—"

"I give up." Luke gets out of his chair that's next to mine, and stomps off.

I slump into my seat, sighing. How did mom do this with him? How did she make him understand math without the frustration coming out?

We've been at this math homework for over an hour. Technically, he's only supposed to do about half an hour of homework each night. No wonder he's stressed.

Things at home haven't been well. Luke is getting D's in math and report cards are coming up, so if his grades don't go up, I'm screwed.

Casey had a tantrum when we first came home today, because I said no to bringing her to a friend's birthday party. I kind of had to decline that invite, there are more important things to worry about.

Joey is just Joey . . . just with a bit more weirdness. It worries me. Is it normal for a six year old to be that quiet? When I fed him dinner, he ate all the macaroni except for three. Three pieces were left on the plate. When I asked him why, his response was because 3 is his favorite number.

Everything that has been going on at home has made my stress level increase, and whenever I'm at school, there are other things to be worrying about. For example, Lindsay—I have no clue what she was talking about, but she clearly hates my guts because apparently Aiden talks to me more then her. So when I think about it more thoroughly, Jace seems to have a good point. I don't want to admit it, but he does. It makes me think twice about Aiden.

I sleep with a weird feeling in my gut that tomorrow might sprout something bad. Something that I'm dying to find out, but can also ignore for a thousand years.

* * *

It's getting warmer by the week. So much, that when I make my way out of school today, a sweater isn't even needed.

I hunch my backpack on my shoulders that are covered in a white tee shirt. My legs strut down the sidewalk in blue jeans which yes, are from Wal-Mart, but only because my good ones are too small.

So screw you Lindsay.

"Paris!" I hear my name being yelled from far behind, so I turn around. Aiden is jogging toward me. I try so hard not to notice the way his hair flops in front of his face as he runs, making him as hot as ever, but like I said before: I'm going nuts.

"Hey," he says when he reaches me, a foot away.

"Hi," I bite my bottom lip, not looking him in the eye.

"I haven't seen you all day, everything good?"

"Same as always," I look to the floor and mumble, "but not like you made much of an effort."

He gets taken back, "What?"

I look up, "Look, I know your just 'checking up on me' because you know about my mom and what happened. So when you ask me if I'm fine, do you really care?"

"I have no idea what you're saying Paris, but whatever she told you—"

"Why would you assume she told me something?"