ᴀᴅ ᴍᴇʟɪᴏʀᴀ ~ ᴅᴘꜱ (ꜱᴛᴇᴠᴇɴ ᴍᴇᴇᴋꜱ)

10 - phone a friend

One, two, three, four...

No, I skipped one.

One, two, three, four, five, six...

I lay on my bed, staring up at the ceiling. It's 4pm, and my last class ended about two hours ago. I made a bee-line back to my dorm afterward, like I had every other day this week, and focused on homework for roughly 20 minutes.

That was until I noticed the cracks sprouting from the light fixture between mine and Amy's bed.

Now, here I am, flat on my back, wondering why it's so hard to keep track of the little lines surrounding the light.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve...

There are 17 in total, in case you were wondering.

I roll onto my side, turning my attention to the scene outside our window.

It's not a very impressive view. Better than my view from Terrance Hall, that's for sure. I was stuck staring at a brick wall for that entire year. Still, it barely cures my insurmountable boredom. The small park across the street is vacant, as to be expected at 4 pm on a Thursday. A few puny trees still cling onto the memory of leaves even after the rest of nature has long forgotten. There are two girls studying on a bench on the far side. They're both dawning the Constantine uniform, a white button-up and pleated skirt, paired with a matching beige jacket and tie. Their clothes are the only thing familiar about them, I can't match a face to the rough outline I can see from the window. They look to be around my age.

It still shocks me how, after all these years, there are girls in my own grade that I've never met before. Saint Constantine School for Hurls is not very populous, but neither is my little bubble, I'm beginning to realize.

The girls pour over a textbook together, occasionally pausing to offer commentary or to crack a joke. The girl on the left does more of the talking and reading. The other just nods and listens, but her friend doesn't seem to mind. I think they like it that way.

I turn back towards the wall and bury my head in my pillow.

I've decided I hate those girls. Maybe it's from jealousy.

-

"I feel nauseous..."

Amy stirs around the peas on her plate, occasionally picking one up just to place it right back down. There's almost a green hue to her face.

"Gosh, Ames, did you eat something bad?"

"No." She rests her forehead in the palm of her hand. "I haven't had a chance to smoke this whole week with Ms. Lane on my back. It's killing me."

"Ain't that a bite... Maybe it's a sign. You know, that you should stop. "

"Yeah, yeah, Cameron. I hear you."

"Is that your only comeback? Calling me Cameron?"

"It's a good one, you've gotta admit," she sneers.

"No, I don't, because it isn't. I'm worried, Amy."

"You've got your own problems to worry about, and I've got mine. And that doesn't include my habits."

I sigh. There's no getting through to her, even when it's putting her in pain, and I know it.

"So," I say, redirecting the conversation to a more comfortable place, "are you excited our sentence is almost up?"

"Two more days..."

I can't tell if it's relief or exasperation lacing her words. Probably both.

"That's right, and it can't go by any quicker. I'm losing my mind being cooped up all day."