As the month of March blooms in fluffy pink petals on our street, Sky and I chat on our walk to school together, calm and happy.
"Really?" Sky says, surprised.
I nod. "So at the festival, I'll be able to celebrate Hana's shop opening, and Emma's glorious victory." I beam. "I'll be double-proud, double-happy."
He laughs. "She's definitely winning," he says, mouth full of one of Emma's cookies.
"I know," I agree, biting into mine. "It's not like there's actually any competition."
We fall back into comfortable silence for a small moment, listening to the wind, feeling his fingers tied with mine.
"Everything okay at home?" he asks, watching me concernedly.
Everything is okay at home. In the sense that I'm barely even there at all, and that I don't talk to anyone unless it's absolutely necessary.
I got used to taking care of myself. I got a licence and a small job at a local library. I don't ever need to be in the house. And surprisingly, my mom hasn't made any comments. She's seemingly accepted that I'm slowly drifting away, finding better for myself. Unsurprisingly, my father hasn't made any efforts to understand why, to try to bring me back.
At least I know that I wasn't the one to give up on them. They gave up on me long before I even thought it possible to leave.
"It's fine," I shrug, "nothing bad's happened if that's what your asking." A grin grows on my face. "I can't stop thinking about your dance the other day."
The last time we went to the studio was my birthday. I hadn't told anyone, not even Sky, because I didn't want to make a fuss. So he greeted me like it was any other day, and we went to school that way. But in class that day, a teacher mentioned it, and to my dismay, the entire class began to sing 'Happy Birthday'. Except Sky. He was eerily silent as I died inside. During what seemed like the year it took for the class to stop screeching, and the two more spent in English class, I avoided Sky's gaze, but as always, felt it burning holes in my head. When I finally turned my head to him, slowly, gingerly, he was wide-eyed with shock, and slack-jawed from the deep, deep offence I had caused him.
He pouted and ignored me for the rest of the period, finally breaking when lunch rolled around, in fits of: 'Why didn't you tell me?' and 'I would've gotten you something! I would've prepared something!' and 'Now I look like the worst friend ever! And it's your fault! What do you have to say for yourself?'
The rest of the day he was hyper-sticky and whiny, and it was , quite honestly, the cutest thing in the universe. He ditched his friends at lunch to sit with me and Emma, and halfway through he pulled me to sit between his legs in front of him. I protested as people turned to look, but he shook his head and put his chin on top of my shoulder, whispering: "That's what you get for not telling me it's your special day, love."
After school, we went to the studio, and he showed me a dance that he had been preparing for me.
"For me?" I said, incredulous.
"Yeah," he prepared the music, crouched in front of his phone. "I thought I'd have a bit more time, but since someone didn't tell me it was their birthday, I have to improvise a present."
I shook my head at his accusatory glare, heart fluttering, and sat back to watch him move to the lyrics:
All the things that I know that your parents don't
They don't care like I do, nowhere like I do
Nowhere like I do
"It was so great Sky," I say for the thousandth time, seeing the school approach at the horizon. I'm still so upset at the fact that I can't ever find the words to describe exactly how amazing it was.
But he understands. Like he always does.
He grins almost shyly, swallowing another cookie bite. "By the way," he says, poking my cheek with his crumby finger, "my entire friend group turned into Emma."
I raise a brow at that. "Meaning?"
Because honestly that could mean a thousand things.
Emma's room is decorated, now. And it's perfect. It's so her. And she started a small catering business at school. She's been adding desserts to the cafeteria menu, and doing bake sales at almost every recess.
She says it's for practise, but we can see clearly how happy it makes her to have other people taste her stuff. She's completely disassociated herself from her old friend group, who make fun of her on the regular now. But it doesn't matter. Because people are ordering her cakes and complimenting her outfits, like I knew they would.
YOU ARE READING
Asunder
Teen Fiction"Promise me. Promise me you'll never beg someone to stay when they're already gone." Tangled up a million knots, Kingsley has lost faith in happiness. Her heavy heart struggles to continue to beat, and she is slowing down. It seems to her that the w...
