Just One Voice

•Two-Facing•

~21~

Returning to a normal school schedule on Monday, I had already told Rylie and Acalia that I would have to dip on lunch with them today. Instead, I head over to my dorm room with a smoothie in one hand. Max had been on a school trip all weekend, so I still haven't even relayed the events of Friday. Perhaps it was a good thing for me to have to wait to tell him, because now I've had several days to think over the situation and to calm my conscience.

I shift to get comfortable atop my bed, placing a pillow between the small of my back and the wall. Selecting the first name in my contact favorites, I click the FaceTime icon and adjust my hair in the camera while it rings on Max's end.

"Hola mi amiga." He quickly answers, zoomed in way too close to his nostrils. Once he fixes the camera, I recognize the cabinetry behind him and deduct that he is sitting on his kitchen floor.

Not exactly classy, but typical.

I smile, "Are you taking Spanish this year?"

"Nope, French. I was debating between the two, but then it was brought to my attention that you can't walk around saying wee wee whenever you feel like it in Spanish class."

"It's spelled oui you know." My face twists, trying not to laugh at his terrible sense of humor.

"Frick," he mumbles, "That means I probably already failed a couple of quizzes."

Making sure that my eye roll is obvious, I reach for my melting smoothie. "Just bake a baguette to make up for it."

"That's a spectacular idea, actually."

"I was joking, M. How was your school trip?" I ask, simply making thoughtless small talk. My own story is naggingly bubbling up inside of me, but it would be rude of me to just come right out in full-rant-mode.

"It was great, mostly because it means that I don't have to be at school today. The art at the museum was sick, and the exhibits inspired a few new ideas I've already started on." He flips his camera towards the tile flooring.

A stained, once-white sheet is spread across the small kitchen space with a canvas centered on top of the thin material. There are blotches of color sprayed across every object in sight, including Max's feet and light gray sweatpants. I can't exactly make out what the painting is supposed to be yet, so I bite my tongue and refrain from guessing.

"Yeah." Max's face returns to my screen. He scratches his head, streaks of green slathered across practically his entire forearm. "It kind of looks like trash right now, but it will get there. Do you think Mom will appreciate some artistic oil paint stains on her fridge? Because this crap is getting everywhere."

"Probably not." I admit with a distracted chuckle, previous thoughts of embarrassment eating up the majority of my attention.

Max continues, "Well besides that, the bus ride was the longest and most boring experience of my life. I sat next to this new girl though, Natalie I think. She was pretty cool and— Okay, what's up?"

I blink, "What do you mean?"

"Brooklynn, you're completely zoning out. You obviously have something you need to get off your chest."