Stability (by D&N)

Ch.9- Jada

When my eyes fluttered open, they were met with the galaxy of Angelina's eyes, concealed behind the lustered shimmer of the sun reflecting off of her glasses. "Hey, sleepy head." she knelt down on one knee and booped my nose, like any other ordinary day. My nose crinkled like the wrinkles of a raisin, which cast a slight smile onto my best friend's face. Her cheeks were flushed to a light crimson, as if she might've been running, or possibly overthinking something. I lifted my torso to an upright position and swiped my eyes with the back of my hand, leaving a barely discernible streak of black painting the soft skin of my backhand. The little application of mascara I had briskly stroked my somewhat long eyelashes with before I had left for school this morning had come off too easily. I had been crying in my sleep. Oh god, I thought and diverted my eyes down, hopefully hiding whatever my face had been distorted to (due to my crying and mascara smears) and looked down at my lap. I ran my index finger and the slender length of it under my eyes, trying in vain to wipe the excess dried tears and old makeup. Such petty troubles for an appocalypse, huh?

"Hi." I sighed, very lamely. I rubbed my upperarms, as I usually did when I had nothing else to do with them. It was either that or fold my hands, but this wasn't church. My fingers drummed up and down my large arms, feeling the little bumps scattered along my skin.

"So, ummm, we have come up with a group thingy." she replied. Even with her hair a frizzy nest the color of an ebony night sky, she was still beautiful. Any guy would be lucky to have her.

"Cool." I murmured. As happy I was that I survived, the feeling of... I'm not entirely sure what it was. Loneliness, left out-ness, weakness, acceptance, I'm not sure. I knew I wouldn't be a sufficient attribution to the group, so I tried to hide my disappointment (That's the word!) with a casual "cool."

"So, so far we have me, Shamar, Robert, Michael F, Brandon, Joe, Logan, and Juan."

"Joe?" I sort of gasped. I cleared my throat, "I mean, Joe? Do you honestly think he'll be alright out there?" I felt a bright heat inundate upon my face. Even just the sudden treble of my voice made my mind spin in a dozen different directions. The wheels twisted and turned in awry positions, causing my heart rate to speed up, my fingers to drum on whatever surface I had, and my brain to overthink. No Jada, stop it. I guess that was one of my least favorite qualities about myself. Besides over-complicating simplicites with my over-active brain, I always put other people's opinions of me as blinders around my eyes. I aimed to please too much. My mom would always say that I needed to stop caring so much about what others thought of me and just be me. Now, I guess she can't really remind me anymore to stop such habits. I looked up to Angelina like a sister, and the little change in my voice tone made me sink into a tornado of thoughts, wondering if she thought I was weak, or fearful, or that I didn't belong there. I was a minnow in a shark feeding frenzy of my own thoughts, them eating me alive. Especially Shamar too. He was one of my closest friends and I looked up to him like a little child. If I ever did anything to slightly upset him (even though it would never really be my fault, I would always think it was-- until later when he would reassure me that I did nothing wrong) and not meet his, I guess "expectations," my self-esteem would drop like those amusement park rides where they let gravity take over and your heart is in your throat. See? With simple things like these, my brain goes to sugar-high mode and runs in circles, leaving the palpable answer in the middle and my conscience racing around it, never achieving the answer right in front of me.

Angelina's eyes softened, like melting chocolate, and spoke. "I asked him if he was personally capable of doing certain things that he might be called to do and he said he could."

"Words don't make good promises, Lina. His mouth may be speaking something, but his mind may be pounding with some other answer, hidden behind a composed smile. I'm scared for him."