"Well you wouldn't come with us, so we brought the party to you," Tyler said, nonchalantly.
"Maybe you'd like to thank us by putting on a shirt?" DeAndre asked, chuckling.
"Right," I muttered, heading upstairs.
The realization hit me as I pulled on a t-shirt and changed into gym shorts. They must've been in the kitchen, for the popcorn, and seen the bottle of anti-depressants. They must've heard me puking my guts up in the bathroom. But they didn't say a thing about it, didn't even hint towards it. They just breezed over it, turning the attention to something else.
With a new sense of admiration, I made my way back downstairs. The floor began to move, and I found myself tripping over the bottom stair, sprawling out on the floor.
The guys' voices hushed, and I heard footsteps coming towards me as I pushed myself up off the ground.
"Hey idiot, you gonna join us or what?" Tyler called.
"Be right there," I muttered, bracing my palm against the wall. I rubbed my temples, my eyes closed.
"I don't get why you still do this."
"Put on your damn act. We're all your friends, and we won't judge you." His footsteps retreated back into the living room, where the conversation resumed.
I opened my eyes, the headache pounding away at my skull. The dizziness had faded, and I made my way into the living room. I plopped down in one of the comfy chairs, wrapping my arms around my torso.
"We switched it to Sports Center," DeAndre said, as they showed highlights from the baseball game last night. "ESPN is just showing the rerun of some football game."
"A good football game," Nathan argued.
"An old football game," Caleb said.
"So old means it can't be good? Wait until I see your grandma," Nathan muttered.
"You eat any breakfast?" Tyler asked me.
"Well I'm ordering a pizza, so get hungry." He got up and headed into my kitchen to grab the home phone.
"So what teams do you think will be any good this year?" Nathan asked me.
"Well the Jets got Tebow, so I'm banking on them," I answered.
"The Broncos got Manning, they'll be the powerhouse," Caleb argued.
"Manning's done. He peaked right before his surgeries."
"Bullshit. You're just mad 'cause he replaced Tebow."
"What you got on your DVR?" DeAndre asked, checking without waiting for an answer. He turned on Hancock. "Dude, this movie is the shit."
"You just like it 'cause the main character's black," Nathan said.
"Like you wish you were."
"Pizza will be here in twenty," Tyler called, diving back onto the couch. "Hancock? Dude, this movie is the shit!"
I couldn't help but let out a laugh. That was enough to stir my stomach. It wasn't long before I bolted to the bathroom again, emptying out my insides. Once I was done, I braced my hands against the sink, taking a few deep breaths.
I headed to the kitchen without looking at any of the guys. I grabbed a bottle of water and drained it, my stomach still churning. I knew it was no use taking my seat; I'd end up in the bathroom within five minutes.
YOU ARE READING
Monroe Academy for the ArtsTeen Fiction
Completed. Thousands of students apply, and only 75 get in per year. This prestigious academy is seemingly perfect on the outside, it's every student's dream. But the students struggle to keep up the facade. Each student holds a secret, something de...