A Great Perhaps

One.

FRIDAY, MARCH 11TH (2:53 AM)

Reading Masen's blog at two in the morning while inhaling a sleeve of Girl Scout Thin Mints wasn't really a stretch, but when I accidentally knocked off a jar that once contained pickles from my desk, I heard my mom's small footsteps stomp up the stairs. I quickly change tabs to the front page of Netflix and pretend like I'm searching for a movie.

"What the hell is going on in here, Noah?" She exclaimed, her short, light hair askew, glasses perched on the edge of her nose, the sleeve of her tank top had slipped over her shoulder.

I stifled a laugh, picking up the evidence, a slightly cracked Vlasic pickle jar.

"Don't you have a big Calculus test tomorrow or something? Shouldn't you be sleeping?" She placed her hands on her hips, shutting my Macbook.

I shrugged, "AP Gov. It should be a breeze," I open the screen again. "Besides, it's not like Yale's gonna take back my full ride. Goodnight, mom." She huffed, leaving my room and shutting the door, attempting not to wake my utterly adorable four year old little sister.

I clicked on the top of the screen, reopening Masen's blog, her front page containing a photo of her and her older sister, Eden, who had graduated two years before. Masen wore a tan-colored sundress that skimmed the top of her unbelievably toned legs- a result of several years of Varsity soccer, a small necklace apparent near her clavicle, and a pair of white wedges, a toe ring shone in the sun. A pair of Ray-bans were perched on the top of her beautiful mane of honey-colored hair. Her perfectly white teeth blinding in the photo. I could go on about Masen Walker. In her hand was a red solo cup, surely filled with choice Vodka, Masen's go-to after long soccer games or a fight with her sickeningly-toned boyfriend, Bentley Steele.

I opened her most recent blog post, a story of her visit to USC, where Eden attended college under a soccer scholarship. I grinned as I read through Masen's well-written, dripping-in-sarcasm post. After staring at her profile picture for countless minutes, a picture of Masen and Bentley in front of a mountain, the trip they had taken over Christmas break to the Andes Mountains in Chile. The wind whipped her hair back, her cheeks rosy from the chilled air, a large dimple in her right cheek; Bentley stood tall, one hand shoved in the pocket of his black coat, the other on the side of Masen's waist. I shut the Macbook and trudged towards my bed, glancing out the window towards Masen's large Victorian style home, only to see Bentley's white BMW parked near the curb, and her bedroom light shone through the curtains. I sighed, and climbed into bed, pulling the white, quilted bedspread to my chin and staring at the ceiling.

I hit snooze on my alarm clock 7 times the next morning, finally climbing out of bed and heading towards the shower, my feet dragging. After a shower and putting on a pair of khakis with a short-sleeved Navy polo, I glanced out the window once again, Bentley's car was nowhere to be found. I hopped down the stairs, walking into the kitchen with my keys jingling in my hand and my backpack slung over my shoulder.

"Did you get any sleep last night, N?" Mom asked, her dark hair pulled back, manicured fingers pushing a frozen waffle into the toaster.

"Yeah," I stated, eating a strawberry and glancing down at my phone.

"Noah, can you pick Q up from tennis tonight? I have a meeting at 6:30 and I won't be able to grab her."

"Anything for my monkey," I smiled, glancing over at Quinn, a grin on her face as she drinks a box of apple juice. Her curly brown hair is pulled back into a ponytail, her chubby fingers squeezing the box.

"Noah, can we get Cold Stone after? I really want some peanut butter cups and mom never has time to take me anymore." She says, eating a strawberry from the pile of fruit on the counter. Mom glanced over at me with sad eyes.