Parfait

8: Strawberry Juice

It's no surprise I actually don't get any sleep at all until seven. The hours go by with me laying in the bed, my eyes staring towards the ceiling as I process the... recent events. Kal was right, as much as I hate to admit it. We shouldn't tell anyone about it. We didn't even witness anything.

I force myself to think of something else and that's when I remember: the results. The results will be out in less than three hours.

I hear the creaking of a door and quickly close my eyes and hug my pillow. Not much later, my own door opens and my parents whisper to each other.

"Oh, look, she's actually sleeping."

"Is she that calm? Or did she sleep way too late?" Dad asks and I can almost see his frown.

"Probably the second one. She either stayed too long at Kal's or a band was releasing a song and she waited until three to listen to it right away."

"But if that was the case she would have been ecstatic all day."

I hear Mum laughing. "She would be jumping around like 'OMG DAMN FALL OUT BOYS ARE AMAZING' "

Both my parents laugh, and I try hard not to correct them on the name and the fact my voice doesn't sound like I've inhaled a hundred litres of helium.

Even when they go I keep my eyes closed. Now that I was forced to do so I realise how much tired I am. Still, I'm way more anxious than tired and I can't get any actual sleep. So I get up, dab some concealer on in case they mistake me for a zombie and throw chairs at me or something before heading to the kitchen.

Mum and Dad are sitting at the table, drinking coffee and eating toast with banana on top.

"Good morning, honey, are you ready?" Dad asks.

"I know I did well, I'm just going to see how well," I say.

Hey, if I say it I might believe it.

I have to calm down somehow, which is why I opt for a glass of strawberry juice instead of coffee. The caffeine would spike up my heartbeats more than my stress already has.

I sit at the table too but my feet are restless, constantly drumming on the floor.

"Just remember, even if you don't have the best grades, it's alright. Nothing ends with these exams," Mum says with a small smile.

My own smile is threating to fall. "I don't have to remember it because I'll have the best grades anyway."

"Now that's a positive mindset," Dad agrees. "And very competitive."

Mum nudges Dad. "When did we make two Elizas?"

I roll my eyes and take another sip from my juice. I'm nothing like Eliza.

And here's the proof.

When I hear someone fumbling with their keys I know it's her. Of course she took the earliest bus to be here with me at the most stressful moments of my life and remind me how unphazed she was.

Eliza walks in, dragging her big suitcase and looking a little different than how she did two months ago. Her blonde hair is even lighter, styled into a tight french braid. She's wearing a black T-shirt along with black denim shorts that almost reach her knees, and white sneakers. Her skin isn't too much lighter than mine, which is strange considering her exams ended only a few days ago and we have the same skin tone. Her arms and legs seem more defined too and maybe even thinner.

Why did she have another glow up?

"Good morning, Tink! Are you ready to find out your grade?"