I blinked myself awake Monday morning, the cracked, sagging ceiling of my bedroom bleary beyond a layer of sleep crust. I yawned, and pushed myself up and off of my flattened twin bed, thin enough that I could feel the separate slats of wood bracing the frame. My window was still such a dull, dark grey I almost thought I'd woken before dawn, but the sudden flash coupled by a heavy rumble that soon followed told me otherwise. I huffed, and dragged my feet out to the narrow, creaking hall on the second floor of my house, up to the small, singular bathroom my mum and I made do with.
I flicked on the light, illuminating the pale yellow, late 70s decor and color palette. I looked exhausted in the mirror over the crooked sink, my bushy hair matted on the side I'd slept on, the bags under my eyes looking worse than before I'd slept. I slowly exhaled through my nose, my conscious mind finally grinding into gear.
The past two days felt like a dream I couldn't remember whenever I made the conscious effort. Sunday was like a lazy, languored hangover day, spent thoughtlessly laying about the couch and flipping through the channels, not really watching anything. Music videos, decades old sitcoms, the weather channel. My mind was still a hazy blank following the events of Saturday. It was a wasted day, a little void between school on Monday, and...and--
I rubbed my eyes, wincing as the sand irritated me further, and moped over to the small, chipped vintage tub, a clawfoot piece with a nice raised slope on the back end to lounge in (knees tented, of course). I pulled off the massive, washed out Care Bears t-shirt I wore as a pajama top and slipped out of my underwear, then stepped into the tub, pulled the curtain, and turned the water on. In a minute, I was rinsing myself beneath the steaming spray, wiping my eyes and face, running my hands through the knots in my hair. As the shower helped me warm and wake, I stared glumly at the water swirling around the drain.
Melissa had kissed me. She'd done more than that, too, and I had just...surrendered to it. I liked it, or I think I did--there was a suffocating thrill that continued to rise in my memory, leaving a shiver through my lower belly as it did. But now, in the sober silence of my own thoughts, I was conflicted. What did it all mean? Was I gay? Was she?
Did she even like me, or...?
"Fuck," I whispered to myself, resentful at a whole new source of stress rearing it's head, as if school, the looming promise of finals in the coming months, my mom working overtime to keep us housed and fed weren't enough. I continued washing up and tried to push it out of my mind. It wasn't a problem I could figure out at that moment. Not alone.
I got out, towelled off, and hurried back to my room to dress and brush out my hair. I could feel the chill slipping in from the poorly insulated outer wall, and went for come comfier wear. Pink Hello Kitty panties, a simple white bralette, a pair of thicker, fitting, dark blue jeans. I dug around in my drawer, frowning, before scurrying about my room in search of--
Ah, right. My blue wool sweater, the comfiest thing I own, my treasured garment of 3 years running, was in the wash. In the wash because on Saturday--
"Fine." I chewed my lip and snatched up the first t-shirt my fingers found in the open drawer, simple and white, with the design of a windmill in a bed of flowers on it in the style of those small Dutch pieces. A threadbare black hoodie that zipped up the middle would have to make do.
I stood in front of my little mirror, going through the usual motions of trying to look presentable, and was surprised I didn't much mind my hair being out. Maybe it was the care I'd taken brushing it, but it actually looked kind of decent. I raised my glasses to my face, then slowly lowered them. Inspecting myself. I liked my glasses well enough, for the sharper clarity they afforded, but also the curious effect of helping me feel protected behind the barest of barriers. I looked...different, but the same.
"You're so cute. With or without glasses."
My breath shuddered in my throat as Melissa's words echoed in my memory. I swallowed, though it did nothing to stop my thudding chest. I needed to get to school.
As usual, mum was gone by the time I plodded down the stairs, off to another long day and likely overtime. Some room temperature fried eggs and strips of bacon sat under a plastic lid on the counter, and rather than warm it up, I began to eat, sipping some of the cooling coffee leftover from the daily brew. I felt sharp and present, and after finding myself an umbrella, I slipped on my backpack and stepped out of the house.
It was absolutely roaring outside, torrents of water splattering to the wet roads like bullets, the sound of cars shearing through gutterside puddles from the next street over. It was dismal, but not unbearable, and I deployed the rickety, dark green umbrella as I made my way off the porch.
By the time I was approaching the main road leading to school I was regretting my choices, the water soaking right through my scuffed bargain sneakers. I had boots but I hadn't even thought to wear them. I kicked myself, but figured I could just bear with it and wait for them to dry over the course of the day. I wasn't prepared for what came next.
As I turned the corner, a tunnel of wind struck, blowing along my back, sending my hair fluttering into my face, and worst of all, tugging at my umbrella until it yielded, turning inside out like a huge, mechanical flower. I shuddered, gasping as the deluge fell upon me, flinching and cursing, before quickly snatching the hood of my sweatshirt and flipping it up. I felt the drops drumming over my head, seeping through, and shoving my umbrella down its stem, double timed it the rest of the way to school.
I was miserable, trying to compartmentalise the crummy morning and focus on first period, Sociology. It sort of worked, though every time I moved my feet or so much as shifted my toes I could feel how waterlogged my socks were.
I made it through Chemistry, and was a little more composed as I weaved through the halls to my locker, my shoes now merely damp. I stowed my bag, then grimaced down at the damaged umbrella I'd set down below. I took it out, and after a bit of effort, reverted the umbrella to its original shape. Too little too late. I tossed it inside, sighing, and gauged if I was hungry enough to get some fries from the cafeteria. There were other options but the fries were the only thing I'd feel comfortable eating.
As I slammed my locker shut I nearly leapt out of my skin. There she was. Melissa leaned on the lockers next to mine, holding her tote over her torso as she eyed me with intrigue. She was...well, flawless, her hair tied back with an asymmetrical smattering of small braids and hair ties, her glossy hair framing her face. She looked like an extra from Lord of the Rings or something.
"Hey there, Woolcott," she greeted me with a jocular smile.
"Mel--uh, hi. Melissa. I didn't um, see you there." I found myself looking over my shoulders, suddenly paranoid we were being watched. Her chuckle brought my eyes back to her.
"Yeah, you don't notice much that isn't right in front of you, huh? I kinda like that about you, though." She wore the beginning of a small smirk, leering at me intently. The usual heat started making my chest and neck flush. How was she so cool?
"Anyway," she bulled forward, leaning herself off the locker to turn to me. "What are you up to? Have lunch with me?"
I shrank into myself, looking away to escape the maelstrom of feelings and memories threatening to derail my school day. "I...uh, I was going to..."
"What? Head out up the street for pizza? Grab some shitty cafeteria grub? Screw that, come hang out with me. I got food anyway."
I looked at Melissa with a pained expression, and she tilted her head back, eyeing me lazily, before wordlessly raising one hand and giving me a 'come hither' gesture with her forefinger. I swallowed, feeling as though she'd just tugged on a taut string wrapped about my heart, and without another moment, she turned and made her way down the hall. In a breath, I was a step behind. She didn't turn to make sure I was following. She knew.
