No really, I'm okay. I'm also a great liar.

secretly playing lava while my parents are out: adulting at its finest

Annabelle says she'll talk to Bonnie about it.

I hope it works out, I really do. Sure, I'll miss her, but Annabelle is exactly the type of person who would love travelling. (I know she does, in fact. There are many pictures on her blog of different cities and landscapes. Studying abroad was made for people like Annabelle.)

I've thrown all the windows in the house open, and retreated to my bedroom. I can hear the birds chirping outside my window.

On days like today, it's not rare for me to stay locked up like this. I'll have fresh air and sunlight and will only be sighted every hour for food.

But the house is empty. Mom and Dad are at work, or out with friends. Something probably involving being social. Which is why they didn't ask me — I never say yes to those invitations.

And you know what being home alone when you're an adult means: listening to music without earbuds and playing the lava in the living room instead of in your bedroom.

So I take out this CD mixtape I made in high school and put it in the DVD player over the mantelpiece. 80s Films starts playing. It's not loud enough. I have to take advantage of my being home alone.

My living room has a challengingly sparse amount of furniture for lava in it. It's a big room, with a couch against one wall, two armchairs facing each other, a coffee table, and a desk that no one uses and is now piled with old receipts and report cards.

It's times like this where I wish I had a sibling. Someone that would understand my feelings toward my parents and play lava with when they're not home. Someone to tease about crushes and help with homework. (Though, granted, I would be rubbish with the geometry parts.) Someone to have dance parties with in the middle of the night.

For the first sixteen years of my life, I didn't even have a best friend. Then I met Rose, and we clicked. And though she didn't get my parents, too, she was a sister.

And when I lost her, I got a brother, and another sister.

Now I have all three, and an Annabelle.

They're the reason I mean it when I say it's the happiest I've ever been.

When I hear a car in the driveway, it's time to disappear and act like I was in my room the entire time and hide all the evidence I was not. Namely, take the CD out and readjust the pillows. It sounds a lot more exciting in my head.

And good timing, too. When I'm back in my bed I see that Annabelle has both texted me and, minutes later, posted something on her blog.

I open the message first.

i'm going to the u.k.!

That's awesome! I reply, then I switch over to No really, I'm okay.

Every time I see the title, I smile. Because maybe I am part of the reason she means it when she says it's the happiest she's ever been.

The post is a picture of her holding up the study abroad flyer, in shorts and a crop top.

It's not that uncommon, but the novelty of seeing her post on her blog with her face and her body so comfortably also makes me smile. Plus, Annabelle in a crop top is one of the most adorable things you've ever seen. Her skin just looks warm and soft.

I start scrolling through the comments, just like I do on YouTube and Wattpad. They're mindless and funny. It's a great pastime.

And then I want to start writing. I'm not really sure what — none of the stories I'm currently writing seem like things to do in this mood. (I'm not even sure what this mood is.)

I sit up and lean off my bed to get my notebook, barely avoiding falling off. I have a list of character names that I like in here. Maybe that will spark inspiration.

I also connect my phone to my speakers and start my playlist.

Hometown comes on, which makes me feel light and glowing. (Is that an emotion?)

I can't seem to find the list. But as I'm thumbing through the pages, I find the story that Annabelle and I worked on the very first day we met.

That day, all I remember thinking was how pretty she was and how good she was with a pen. I really wanted to hug her.

Look at me now, huh?

We had only left the story off at a good pausing point. We had never wrapped up all the loose ends and given the characters the ending they deserved. It was fantasy. I made the story, she made the world.

I could never write fantasy; my mind just can't create that sort of thing. But Annabelle; her brain can do anything. My only input on the world was to ask for dragons to be put in. (Which, might I add, greatly improved it. Dragons improve every story.)

When I finally fish out my pen from the contents of the top drawer of my bedside table, I'm excited to feel that again. That feeling I get when I'm writing, when the words just come out of my fingertips like they were meant to be on that page. I've only felt that feeling two ways: when I'm writing and when I'm with Annabelle.

I hope my future includes both of those things.

a/n: 1K reads, guys! (4/17/16) i really can't thank you enough. this means so much to me. really, i love you all *hug*