Leaving The Friendzone

"You little bitch!" My mom hisses at me through the door. I know better than to respond. I just slide the window open and swing my leg over the side of it, followed by my other one. I slip the rest of my body through the gap and shut the window. It's been 4 years since my mom said something other than insults to me. 4 years since my dad said anything to me or my mom.

The cold Autumn air burns my cheeks as I maneuver the stairs of the fire escape. Once I drop to the ground, I turn left by instinct. Cory's house is about a block from mine.

Once I arrive out front, I walk around the side of the house and start to climb the tree that branches off to the side of the house. I climb on the roof and crouch down, before knocking on the window 3 times, and waiting a few seconds, Cory pulls the blinds away and flicks the lock open. I slide the window open and jump in with a thud, before turning to shut it again.

"You know you could always use the door. You have the keys, ya know." He says teasingly, walking past me to pull the blinds down again. I walk over to his desk where he was sitting, and grab a sweet chili heat Dorito from the black bag and pop it in my mouth, taking a seat on his bed and looking around. 

"Yeah, but it's much more fun to come in through the window. Coming in through the door would take the thrill of breaking in to your house away." I state.

"It's not breaking in if I let you." He retorts.

"You take the fun out of everything." I fake pout, crossing my arms over my chest. 

"Yeah-yeah, I'm an asshole." He jokes.

"Pfft... Tell me about it." I say, holding my chin high and turning away from him. He raises an eyebrow, walking to his computer desk chair and taking a seat.

"So what have you been doing on this fine Fall night?" I ask, waiting for his response with a cruel smile.

"Why do you always do that?!" He asks.

"Do what?" I say, mock-innocently.

"Say that word." He states.

"What word? Fall?" I ask wickedly.

He sighs. "Yes." 

"Oh, because it bugs you. Why else?" 

"Hmm..." He mumbles.

"Don't pout, or I'll go downstairs and get a carton of milk, dump it on your floor, and start bawling." I bluff. He groans, spinning the chair toward the desk and tapping away on his laptop. I laugh and walk up behind him. "You still never answered the question." I state. 

"What question?" he pretends.

"Whatcha' doing?" I rephrase.

"Ask.fm. Everyone keeps asking me dumb questions."

"About what?" I ask, reaching for another chip. Cory smacks my hand. 

"No." He says, looking me in the eyes. I rub my hand, trying to make him feel guilty, but he sees through it, and rolls his eyes, turning back to his laptop.

"You." He says, shaking his head at the screen and proceeding to tap on the keyboard.

Cory and I have been friends since we were six, when we got in a paint fight in Kindergarten over who's painting looked more like a puppy. His mom came over to my house to apologize to my mom on account of Cory for turning my hair blue for a week. (Of course, 6 year old Cory wasn't sorry, he proceeded to make fun of me for weeks, calling my hair "Smurfed") 

--They'd become friends since then, and we'd get to have play dates all the time while our mom's had coffee and watched the news. But ever since my dad left when I was 13, my mom has been drinking a lot, so obviously that means no more Mrs. Kensington.