Save Me

Chapter 6

I sighed, knowing that soon I would have to face my parents. I yank the shorts on and drag the t-shirt over my head. I tuck it into my shorts and then grab the cardigan. I dig through my suitcases once again, and pull out toothpaste and a toothbrush. Feeling slightly guilty about not brushing my teeth last night, I spend 3 minutes taking care of my teeth this morning. I put my toothbrush and toothpaste on the according shelf, and walk back into my room. I grab my lame phone and check the time. It’s 10:45, so I have just enough time to get ready and make some lunch for my parents. I grab a hairdryer from a suitcase and plug it in next to the sink. I dry my hair, brushing it out as I go. When my hair is no longer dripping down my back but instead falls gracefully, I find my makeup bag. I hate wearing too much makeup, so instead I just put on some lip balm and clear mascara. I check that I look good enough in the mirror, and I straighten my cardigan. I run my hands through my waist-length hair and tidy my side part up. I have a light streak at the front of my hair, and it’s been there for almost forever. I exhale, and walk out of the room.

            The clock strikes 11 as I walk into the kitchen. I open the doors of the fridge, and pull out some lettuce. I dice 3 tomatoes on a gray cutting board, and shred up a few carrots. I grab a bag of croutons from the pantry next to the oven, and throw them all in the decorative glass bowl. I rip up the head of iceberg lettuce, and put the leaves in the bowl as well. Next go the carrots and tomatoes, and then I toss it all. I open the fridge, browsing for salad dressing. I’d prefer Caesar, but as this is a house of 5 teenage boys, I have no luck. There is absolutely no sign of any salad dressing at all. I think back on my culinary training from Home Economics in school, and pull out mayonnaise, sour cream, and a bit of yoghurt. I mix it all up, add some onions and pour it on top of the tossed salad. I look down, and realise what I’m missing. I need cheese! Once the fridge door is open once again, I start rapidly opening drawers. It’s now 11:30, and I haven’t set the table yet. I only find shredded cheddar cheese, and that doesn’t help me. I sigh, admitting defeat, so I pull out some large, silver spoons and place them in the bowl. I walk around the room for a little while before stumbling upon the dining room. It has royal blue walls with lighter blue flooring. A beautiful, dark, wooden table sits in the centre of the room, surrounded by 8 chairs. I find placemats in drawers in a side table, and I pull 3 of those out. I walk back into the kitchen, my feet quieted by the tile in here. Then, I dig through cabinets until I discover plates and cups. I spot knives and forks in the drying rack, and place everything onto a tray that’s been left on the island. Carrying the tray with both hands, I cautiously make my way into the dining room again.

I go and sit in the bench in the lobby. I sit on my hands; my phone is in my lap. Very slowly, the time ticks by. Every few minutes, I check the time. It is a little past 11:50, and I am bored out of my mind. After already exploring everything on my phone, I have nothing to do. I feel ridiculous-here I am, sitting on a hard, uncomfortable bench while I could be watching TV or playing games. I am in a house designed for fun and for comfort, yet I am uncomfortable and horribly bored. I pick up my phone for the 5th time, exhaling in discomfort as I shift around on the bench. I call Claire. We haven’t spoken in 3 weeks, and I’m not sure she knows where I am or what happened to me. I have reason to think that this must be a different number than my iPhone was, as I have no missed calls from her. My theory is proven correct when I call her and she doesn’t automatically yell “KEIRA!”

“Hello, this is Claire Venille, may I ask who’s speaking, please?” Her phone manners always please people, and I beam through the phone.

“Claire? This is Keira!” I exclaim proudly, waiting for her reaction.

“K-Keira? Like Keira Abbott? Omigod! I can’t believe it’s you! Where have you been for so long? I’ve called and texted you, like, twenty times a day. Did you get a new cell? I also, like, tried your house phone, but it would be all like ‘sorry you cannot connect to this number,’ like totally bitchy. Anyways, I should probably give you a chance to explain…” Claire finally slows down and takes a breath. I giggle at the speed at which she talked, and how even after I haven’t heard her voice in so long, she still swears and says ‘like’ just as much.