Welcome, Carter

three

three

SLICING his small pancake into bits, Walker stabs one and brings it up to his mouth, slowly. He softly bites down on it, tasting the maple syrup as it touches his tongue. He stares at nothing in particular, his right foot tapping against the hard wood ground out of habit. Feeling eyes on him, he glances over at his mother, Ramona, and furrows his eyebrows.

She's still upset with him from Friday night when he told her to talk to a therapist instead of him. It was true, though. When he needed someone to talk to, she made him get help. He's still getting help because of her. It's crazy how she's still mad at him for it. He should've known that she'd get upset. She always does. You can't say anything truthful to her or she gets offended.

"What?" He mumbles with a mouthful of food. She glares at him, pursing her red colored lips as she takes a sip from her mug, most likely full of coffee.

"Don't you have to be at school in ten minutes?" She questions, sitting her white mug down. He gives her a look.

"Twenty minutes," he corrects after a pause.

"Then why are you still sitting there?" She inquires, her dark eyebrows pointed and mad.

"I'm eating," he tells her slowly, pointing at his food. She knows this. She literally just made him the pancake five minutes ago.

"I think you're going to be late, and if you don't go right now, they'll most likely count you absent. And Walker, do you really want to be absent on the third day?" She questions, jutting out her jaw. Walker stares at her with irritation.

"School's two miles away," he replies, dropping his fork onto his plate. It clanks against the glass, almost sounding like it'll break, but it doesn't.

"You should go, then, don't you think?" She tells him, raising an eyebrow. He stares at her for second with narrowed eyes, contemplating on what to do. After a minute, he finally lets out a breath and stands up. "What're you doing?" He gives her another look and doesn't answer. Walker pushes his chair against the table and grabs his book bag off the back of it. Trudging over to the front door, he rips his blue lanyard off the key hook and opens the door. "Walker, where are you going?" His mother demands.

"To school," he simply replies, honestly not understanding her. She just told him to leave and now she's wondering where he's going. What's wrong with her?

"But you haven't finished your food!" She calls after him, jerking out of the chair she's sitting in.

"Mom," he begins, "for once, stop and listen to yourself." He stands in the doorway, waiting for her to say something in reply, but she never does. She just stands there, her stomach pressed up against the brown dining table, and her mouth slightly open. He lets out a breath and shakes his head.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Go," she tells him, sitting back down. She wraps her hands around her mug and takes a slow and exaggerated sip. He scoffs in annoyance and rolls his eyes. With one last glance, he steps out onto the porch and slams the door shut behind him.

•|•

No one told him to roll up his windows last night, and now his seats are damp. He honestly should've known. It's an obvious thing to do; always roll your windows up when you're getting out of your vehicle. Sometimes, simple tasks just flow right past his head.

   Brad was ticked about it, too. He was wearing a pair of nice gray shorts, which he hurriedly changed out of because it looked like he had an accident when he sat down, and now he's wearing black basketball shorts. Walker does feel a little bad about it because he did forget to tell Brad before he ruined his outfit. It's okay, though, because Walker's going to be wearing wet jeans all day. That has to at least make up for a little bit of it.