Citrus | ONC 2024 ✔️

1: Stay Safe

Sour water clung to my tongue. Fatefully, the taste faded with time and my eyes opened in full, taking in the vast expanse ahead. Lines and lines of chairs stood in my path, both sides of me but not in front, the rows of seats only interrupted by a desk, line, and slim hallway. At least, that's what I imagined lay beyond the threshold, a long hallway, high ceiling, fluorescent lights, and a gap between a plane and solid ground.

Grasping the collar of my jacket, I rubbed my thumb back and forth across the material. My heart thumped harder within my chest. My steps became heavier by the second. The signs above became blurred and disorienting. Numbers looked like letters. Was that an "a" or a "9"? I couldn't tell if I tried. And I was trying, blinking back the call of sleep every step I took. Maybe I did need glasses.

"Morgan, don't drink it too fast," Dad warned, patting my younger brother's back.

The intonation of his voice made its panicked home in my brain, and any comfort gained by his previous gestures was destroyed in an instant. There was a lot to be panicked about---a lot to hold fast to and not forget. Forgetting meant losing. And losing meant... I shook my head, the thought dissolving like whatever orange was supposed to be in my orange juice.

Morgan only grinned and slurped the mango smoothie faster. "I need to keep my title, unlike this guy."

A bony object prodded my side, and I smiled a little. Just a little bit, but the action felt wrong. So wrong. "Can't lose your title, Mango," I said, the words smooth against the rasp and annoying squeak of my newly teenage voice.

The sly glint in his golden eyes grew as did my temptation to compare his head to a mango aloud again. His head, in fact, did appear in the shape of a mango. Maybe not his head, but rather his hair completing the similarity wholly. But his eyes did shine like the sweet inside of the fruit... and that just sounds weird.

"But you will, you orange juice-hating fiend," Morgan retorted.

"It ain't my fault this tastes like..." I grasped for a strong enough wording, my steady walking pace speaking nothing on the matter. "Like an alcohol wipe. No, a used alcohol wipe."

Morgan stared at me, steadily like he was attempting to pry my non-existent thought process from my brain. He furrowed his dark brows. "Did you just say that because those are inedible?"

In all reality, I didn't know why I said anything, why I felt the compulsion to say a word. Perhaps, my love of oranges overpowered the notion of beneficial silence at a time like this or the need to annex the drilling rhythm of my heart. I would bury the latter if I could, like some legume, hoping it would sprout again, better than before.

"I don't know." I shrugged.

He heaved a dramatic sigh, head tilted back and right hand hovering above his forehead as if he were pretending to faint, or something. "Oren, you're such a buzzkill!"

"If you say so..."

I drew my attention away from Morgan's grinning face, a bright glow setting into his ebony complexion, not unlike mine... or Mathew's.

Mathew. The name darted back and forth between my brain cells. Nothing else mattered but the sound, not Morgan's obnoxious chatter or Dad's occasional—kind of concerned-looking—glance my way. I would be hearing the name more often now. Perhaps Dad would utter the address upon our departure, his apprehension displayed through his tone, encased far beyond any emotion he could showcase through any twitch or tense of a muscle.

"Attention passengers on SkyLink Airway flight 789 to Atlanta, your boarding is open at gate S14. Please proceed to the gate for departure. Thank you." The announcement clicked on and off in the blink of an eye.