Picture of Hayden above: aka Emma Watson
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dear diary,
I realized that I never mention my family, the reason I don't is because it's just straight out depressing. all they do is cry, there's nothing much to tell.
Peter wipes at the corners of the windowsill, while the warm vapor spewing out of his mouth fogs up the glass. He scrapes off the last of the paint, ducking back into the room. Taking a step back, he admires his work, which isn't much. The outline of the red paint is still visible, the moisture from the cold causing it to stand out more.
"Who would do this?" Peters eyes flick from left to right, as if the culprit were still hiding somewhere nearby.
"A punk."
He turns around, arms crossed. "You're a punk."
"Not this punk," I mutter, raising the blanket to my chin. "Hey, can you close that? I don't feel so good."
"Oh yeah, sorry," the veins from his arms bulge as he pushes down on the jammed window. "Stupid thing," It finally slams down, sending him toppling off the bench.
I don't even have the energy to laugh. But the cancer isn't to blame this time.
His eyes darken, "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," I dismiss him with a wave of my hand, "Just a little drowsy."
I close my eyes and wait for the door to click shut, it does. Opening my eyes once more, I stare at the faded red words.
Die already will you?
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"Get up, Punk. We're going swimming."
Rubbing my eyes, I get up on one elbow. "What time is it?" I ask yawning.
"Doesn't matter. Go change," Peter throws some shorts and a t-shirt on my legs.
I pathetically try reaching for them, "Ugh, they're too far away! Why didn't you throw them on my stomach?"
Peters face contorts into a look of pure shock, "Um.. you do realize that you have a tumor in your stomach. I may not like you, but I don't want to kill you."
I place my hand over my heart, "That has got to be the sweetest thing you've ever said to me!" I say with a lace of sarcasm, "But a couple of rags aren't going to set off squidward."
He shrugs, "You never know. Better safe than—" he cuts himself off, "Wait.. did you just call your tumor squidward?"
"Uh, yeah... It's as big as his nose so—"
"Who in their right mind names a freaking tumor!"
"Who says I'm in my right mind?"
"Touché," his eyes flick towards my 'bathing suit.' "Get dressed, we're leaving in 5."
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"Come on, Hayden!" Peter waves me over, going underwater and resurfacing in front of me within seconds. "Was I wrong about you? Are you actually a wuss?"
