Something There

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven:

I'm sitting at the kitchen table, spooning cereal into my mouth as Charlie suddenly comes hurdling down the stairs and into the room, a panicked expression on his face.

"Did Dad make any coffee before he left?" he asks me, and I nod, gesturing to the coffee pot on the counter.

"Thank God," he sighs, grabbing a mug from the cabinet and pouring almost all of the remaining coffee into it.

"You want any?" he asks me, and I shake my head, taking another bite of cereal.

"I hate coffee. It's gross," I tell him, and he rolls his eyes at me.

"You're so picky."

"And you're so overdramatic," I retort. "I mean, seriously; why did you just run down here like a maniac two seconds ago?"

He groans, collapsing back into the cabinets. "I have a math test today and I have no damn clue what in the hell is happening," he whines, drinking a large gulp of coffee.

I give him a doubting look, which he chooses to ignore.

Charlie then grabs an apple from the bowl on the table, stalking out of the door and into the foyer.

"Hurry up. We're going to be late," he calls out to me, so reluctantly I follow him out to the front door.

I then grab my jacket, pulling it on and wincing as my hair gets caught in the zipper per usual.

Charlie is already out the door, not even bothering with a jacket or anything of the sort, so I grab my backpack, double checking that all the zippers are shut and heading out the door.

"Great, let's go," Charlie says in a rush, shutting the door behind me and quickly turning the key in the lock.

I've never seen Charlie so concerned about being on time, and I'm the one usually rushing us out the door. This morning is certainly an odd turn of events.

He unlocks the car with a click of a button, hurriedly climbing into the drivers seat and starting up the engine. I open the door, sitting down in my seat and pulling my bag into my lap before turning to Charlie.

"Why are you so on-edge?" I ask, and he shakes his head.

"I told you already," he responds dryly. "I'm worried about that test."

"Since when do you care about grades?" I question and when he doesn't have a good response, I immediately know something else is up.

"Fine, you don't have to tell me," I sigh, staring out the side window as Charlie pulls out of the driveway.

I really should look into learning how to drive, but the thought of it just makes me anxious.

"I wasn't planning on it," he smiles, not saying anything else to me for the rest of the ride.

At quiet moments like these, where the only things around me are buildings whizzing by my view through the window or the soft hum of the radio, I find myself daydreaming and overanalyzing everything.

Today's spiral of thoughts seems to be revolving around Bryce.

When I really think about it, it's surprising that he said anything to me at all last night. I'm expecting him to ignore me all day and then some, because knowing him he probably regretted everything as soon as he stepped into his dad's fancy car.

I get it, because I'm the same way. I say something personal and then instantly wish I had just kept it to myself.

For months after The Incident, my parents forced me to go to therapy and talk to a professional in hopes of helping me in whatever way they possibly could. I can now see why they did, as it must have hurt them to see their precious daughter so broken down and weak, but the therapy sessions just frustrated me and made things worse.