Thirty One Days

Wait

Madam Luna had sent a letter to the predecessor of Professor Thorne a handful of days ago. She hadn't specified what she mentioned in the letter or where this predecessor lived. Or, anything about the predecessor really. Instead she repeatably told Istvan and I to trust her.
We didn't have another option. What else could we do? She hadn't given us any solid information, so we definitely couldn't do it on our own. And, even though she is a little weird, she hasn't lead us astray yet.
After my episode at dinner, which did not end well for me, Istvan and I haven't seen each other. In fact, we haven't really spoken since then other than our daily text. Which was a simple "okay" signifying we were alive and okay.
This realization came to me as I was sitting at my desk, in my room staring out the window that overlooked the front yard.
My desk was covered by a laptop, textbooks, writing utensils, a notebook, and little odds and end things.  I was attempting to do homework that I had slightly been neglecting but kept getting lost in thought.
Swiveling around I glanced over my book shelf, that sat on the same wall as my desk, and thought about how Istvan had complimented it. It was old, crooked, and was treated wood, nothing special but Istvan's compliment made me love it.
On the next wall, the wall that was mostly covered in photos, sat my bed and a night stand. Looking over my fluffy comforter I remembered the day I got it. I use to have a white ruffled one, however when the episodes started happening, the purity of it didn't last. My mom found a fluffy, grey comforter to replaced the perished one and bought an army of pillows to make me feel better. Though I have grown to love it I still miss my old white one.
Chelsea came to mind, she has been a lot lately, and my heart ached. We had done everything together since we meet in sixth grade, she had moved here from North Dakota. The hardest part of all of this was going through it alone, at first, and the only thing that had made it any easier was finding Istvan. What would Chelsea think of him?
The next wall over held a large bronze, horizontal mirror with multi-colored shelves placed around it, which held my trophies and awards, and included a hanging cork board. The last wall was broken up by my bathroom door and my closet door, both doors matching my actual bedroom door. As spacious as my room was, I often felt like I couldn't breathe.
Istvan mentioned that he had felt the same way, which is why he often escaped to the lookout spot on the parks trail. My cheeks blushed when I thought about us sitting out there together, alone.
Don't be silly, Stevie.
Forcing myself to turn around, I focused on my homework. English Four, I was writing an essay about Clock Work Orange, an incredible yet intense book about a young gang member named Alex. With the excitement of Madam Luna's lead still buzzing in my brain, I decided writing the paper was a good thing to do right now.
Spanish Four was a little easier to manage but couldn't hold my attention, no matter how interesting matadors were in the early 90's. Government was definitely a pass, on a good day when my medicines were working I couldn't stay focused in this class. My last subject was art appreciation, since I couldn't actually turn in art, I was forced to study and write about it.
I sighed, why couldn't I take interesting courses?
My eyes grew heavy as I sat there in my swivel chair, thinking about dropping out, and before I knew it I had dozed off. Without finishing homework, without finishing my laundry, and without deciding how I felt about Istvan.