Unexpected

| ii | tell me what's wrong

ii~ tell me how your day's been, darling

ii-ii-ii-ii-ii

Grayson sits huddled against the glass walls of the phone booth. The phone is cradled in his hand and the ring sounds over the speaker. He whispers hopes that she will answer and not her parents. The hope is silly, but he cannot help it. At this point, he knows that calling his parents is fruitless and pointless. For all that they ignore his existence, the very thing they ignore becomes all that matters when put in danger.

He also does not want to watch his mother collapse to the ground again, eyes rolling to the back of her head and her body seizing-

"Hello?"

"Erin?" He says. He curses how croaky he sounds. There is a pause on the other end, and Grayson pulls the phone closer to his cheek so he will not miss a single thing. He winces when it is too close.

"Grayson? What number is this?" She asks. "And why do you sound… like that?"

"I'm calling from the phone booth by school," he explains, trying to not let his oozing nose affect his speaking too much. "And… I need your help."

"What happened?" She sounds worried now, and Grayson cannot help but feel a little smug. He is afflicted by that selfish feeling not uncommon to young people in love when they worry the person they care about. However, remembering the harsh words and relentless blows, any semblance of a smile is wiped from his face.

"There were some boys, and I was by myself… they knew about my mom." Grayson says simply. Once again, there is a long pause on the other end. He thinks that he hears Erin take a deep breath through the static.

Her squeaky, nine-year-old voice sounds very heavy when she says, "I'll be right there."

Grayson thinks that he sees a form moving somewhere in the dark outside the phone booth. He squeaks in fear and huddles closer to the phone, as if Erin's voice can provide him protection.

"Please hurry," he whispers.

ii-ii-ii-ii-ii

Thankfully, as Grayson watches from a respectable distance, he notices that the entirety of the student body has not been as harsh to Erin as their shared class was. During his lunch break, he spots her sitting with two girls on the small, green lawn. She seems hesitant in sharing amity with them, but they seem oblivious to her reluctance, chatting excitedly in that pretty way that teenage girls do.

He does not bother them, but when her eyes look up and meet his across the schoolyard, nor does he shy away. He raises his hand in greeting and he thinks—he thinks—that he sees her wiggle her dainty fingers in response. The two girls look over—a blond and a brunette respectively—and giggle when they see him, turning around to interrogate Erin. Grayson inwardly grimaces; he hopes that she is not close enough with those girls to tell them the unfortunate matter that broke apart their friendship.

Taking their turned backs as a sign for him to leave, Grayson heads to the parking lot, counting an even ten cars away from the school's back doors until he comes across his mom's car, an old Ford. The dusty brown color is a horribly dull luster in comparison to the nicer, newer cars of his classmates.

However, the common saying was not to judge a book by its cover. In any made-for-TV car movie, the old shit would be the car to win the drag race.

But Grayson's life is not a car movie, and as he sits down in the front seat, he is careful to not sit on the spring that pokes through the worn leather. The door is creaky on its hinges, and he has to slam it shut in order for it to remain so while he drives. Grayson closes his eyes before turning the key, thinking to himself, it could be worse. Lord knows that I know how much worse it can be.