Dancing on the Moon {h.s.}

2. A Granola Bar Is Not A Proper Breakfast

A/n: this is the harry I imagine for this story. Or the little era before this one where his hair was a tad bit shorter and he wore that obnoxiously big bandana.

–

I got dropped off at my place at seven. I could tell Boston was giving me the narrow eye when we were at Cessy's as she downed her California burrito. I decided to shake it off and made the mood lighter by looking up jokes to keep her amused. She wasn't. So the ride back was awkward and quiet and uncomfortably wet.

She was probably assuming I was depressed again and was starving myself. I wanted to tell her that I wasn't. That my appetite was lost these days because of how often I was angry. That I didn't want to stick around in a house that wasn't home and that my parents were constantly getting on my nerves by planning out every second of my day, including what I eat. But I was tired of telling the same story over and over again, so I just told her I wasn't hungry without providing an elaboration.

I made my way up to the bathroom and threw my wet-suit into the dryer alongside my towel. Then I decided to step into the shower and let the warm water wash off any remaining sand. I quickly emerged and dried myself, throwing on a pair of running shorts and a sweater. I tied my hair up in a quick bun and put my playlist on shuffle.

I sat in my bed and began wondering what would happen if my parents knew the slightest bit about me. Not in the sense that I am a Jayden with dark hair and a larger nose than most girls, germaphobia, and a skill in math. What if they knew I painted? That I could stroke the canvas with my brush for hours? What if they knew about the prolific writing? The thrill I get from a couple of waves and a polystyrene board? The ugly look that settles on my face whenever someone shows off their success in the corporate world? What if they knew me?

Well, they don't. And they probably never will.

So I fall asleep to the voice of Billy Joel and the thought that my own mother will never know her daughter, and that I am to fight the good fight alone. And somewhere along the lines I'll have to give a little shove and shed a little blood.

–

I woke up the next day and made my way to the bathroom across the hall, rubbing my eyes. My skin was slightly peeling at the nose, clearly wanting to show me that it was suffering from a lack of sunscreen by flaunting its reddened surface. I groaned and ran a hand through my hair, tying the dark stuff up in a tight bun. 

I washed my face and brushed my teeth, going downstairs to get to the kitchen. My mom was standing at the stove, messing about with her scrambled eggs as my dad scrolled through his phone. He never took his head out of that thing, and if he did, it was to his ear while he stared off into space, in deep thought.

"Good morning," I mumbled. They both looked at me and granted the same greeting. I took my seat at the table and began nipping at my fingernails, watching my dad go back to his phone.

"Do you want some eggs, Jay?" I looked up and shook my head. "Then what do you want?"

"I, uh," I struggled as I picked out an oats and honey bar from the pantry, then going back to sit down. "I'll get a granola bar."

"A granola bar is not a proper breakfast," my dad chimed in.

"But I'm not hungry," I argued.

"That is not a valid excuse, Jayden. Your body needs the required nutrients to function-"

"Dad, I know. Trust me-"

"Then go eat something. Now."

I sighed in defeat and gave him a death glare as I shot up from my seat and grabbed some toast, spreading the laid out peanut butter and jelly on it. I threw the sandwich on a plate and plopped back down in my seat, feeling my dad's fiery eyes burning holes into me.

Once I was done, I excused myself and walked to the bathroom. I washed my face and hands and walked out. I grabbed my phone and texted Boston, asking if she had any plans tonight.

From: Boss
Yeyaa. We're going to a bar downtown. Wanna come?

From: Me
By 'we' you mean...?

From: Boss
Me, genius. Didn't we establish my lonesome existence back in 5th grade??

From: Me
My bad. And what are you saying about a bar? We're seventeen Boss lol

From: Boss
So? You know max, sams friend. He can hook us up with some legit cards.

I bit my lip in hesitation. I knew what she was saying. Maximilian had gotten into various clubs using his IDs that he made to look so bona fide. So I went along.

From: Me
Okay.

From: Boss
Be ready at five. See ya

Good. That was good. Mom would leave at 12 again and won't be home till later and if she asked, I was helping Boston out at the coffee shop. I should be fine.

–

Salut!

Hope you guys are having a dandy time. Can't wait for the next couple of chapters.

Love all of you.

E. x