The Senior Year Crisis

Chapter 2: Agreements & Expectations

I knocked on the door. 

I took a step back once I heard the flurry of hurried footsteps going down the stairs.

Dad opened the door. He took a moment to realize that it was me. After a few seconds, he let out a sigh and gave me a hug. 

"Oh. Thank God you're okay," said Dad while still not letting go. "I've been calling everyone in the neighborhood, asking if they'd seen you."

"Why?" I replied, a bit confused.

"Well, there's been a report that some teenager was mugged and killed by some thug earlier. That was the same time after you left the house!" 

"Dad. Seriously? You think I could be just mugged like that? For all you know, I could've been the thug. Not the victim," I said in the most serious tone I could possibly achieve.

But Dad knows its a joke and brushes it off with a laugh. 

COUGH! COUGH!

"Son, are you okay?"

I immediately ended the conversation when I said, "I'm okay Dad." I made my way up the stairs.

"I just need some sleep."

I got into my room, immediately falling into slumber.

                                                        •         •         •

I woke up. Sick. Very sick.

I couldn't stand.

I couldn't move. 

Hell, I couldn't even think.

It was like being chained down to a king-sized conveyor belt. 

Except I wasn't slowly advancing towards my doom or anything like that.

I was just.. stuck.

It might sound pathetic but, it actually took a lot for me to try and get down the stairs, let alone walk.

Dad quickly took notice of my predicament and asked, "Are you okay? You don't look pretty."

"I'm sick. Obviously. (I live in Toronto, and I'm sweating like a pig early in the morning. Plus, my eyes look like I haven't had sleep since last year)"

"Oh. Uhh, why don't you go back upstairs and I'll go make you some breakfast. Sound good?" My dad replied, in a very comforting voice. It was creepy.

I nodded. As I went back up, I remember hearing him mutter out, "Now, how do I cook these pancake mixes."

I giggled. Dad wasn't good with cooki- wait let me rephrase that. Dad has absolutely zero talent in the culinary arts. 

Maybe you're wondering how I managed to survive all these years without being accidentally poisoned by dad's cooking.

Well, to be honest, after my mom left, we never really spent time together. We just met after school and sometimes dinner outside. I usually ate at this Chinese restaurant down the street. 

Dad came in my room bringing along the smell of freshly incinerated pancakes.

He hands me the breakfast and asks me about the offer.

"So, son. About the Springlake thing.."

I quickly interjected, "Dad. It's okay. I'll go to Springlake."

"Really? What changed your mind?"

"Nothing. I just decided that I wanted something new for myself and that meeting other people would be kinda cool."

Dad bobbed his head in agreement, "Oh. Okay."

"And besides, Kim's going there too," I added.

"Who?"

"Kim. Kim Sanders? My best friend."

"Oh. Miss Simeon's niece?"

"Yeah. Her."

"Well, I'm glad you changed your mind kid. Anyway, I gotta go. I've got a ton of work to do." 

I gestured my hands as if I was saluting then said goodbye. 

                                                        •         •         •

I look out the window as I listen to One Republic's "What You Wanted"

I wonder what the people at Springlake will be like?

Will they be mean, egoistic bastards?

Or will they break through stereotypical barriers and be nice?

These thoughts fill my head as I continued to sit idly. Waiting for recovery to take its course.