Being home alone really isn’t as fun as it seems. It’s only been about 3 hours since they’ve left and I already have to make diner. I can’t even put together a simple sandwich for me and Simone. No, I have to make a meal for four people all because of that stupid trust assignment. One thing I know for sure, the only person I trust or even will trust after next week in this house is Simone, and I didn’t need that stupid project to know it.
I’m not exactly complaining, since I love to cook. I just wish I was alone, that’s the point right? Being home alone is supposed to mean exactly that, being home alone. I kind of wish Noah and Nilou were here right now. They would find a way to make this interesting.
I found myself subconsciously stirring the boiling spaghetti. How am I supposed to get my work done with four house guests? But even more than I felt sorry for myself, I felt sorry for Simone. Jane wasn’t exactly a piece of cake. I’m surprised she didn’t manage to convince my stubborn best friend to go to her mansion instead of coming here.
I should stop. Smile, I told myself. Smile for the cameras. Maybe next week, you won’t be on display every waking moment of our life. I told myself that over and over. I mean, after all, I was Lyna, right? I could make any situation sunny, or at least I thought.
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“So, do you have any good movies? Or a comfortable couch for that matter.” Jane spat out. Um, I thought our couch was comfortable. It was black leather, très chic and had lots of room to sink into. I wonder what types of couches were in Jane’s house. I decided I shouldn’t answer that.
“Don’t you have on demand cable? Or a foot massager? Anything?” I wish she would stop.
Pause.
“How about a maid? Let me tell you, if those plates are not picked up from in front of us fast, I think I might-”
“You might what, Jane?” He said. I saw Jane turn beat red. “I’d really like to see it.” He continued menacingly.
She didn’t say anything after that.
We were all doing trying to do our own things. It was all really awkward, and claustrophobic. At least I was sitting beside Simone. Sitting on the ground of our living room – the couches apparently aren’t comfortable enough – I think I caught the boy with the black hair and green eyes gazing out the window. I couldn’t help but look at him for a few minutes, and then store the information in the back of my brain as soon as Simone elbowed me in the back. “Stay away from him.”
Then, I understood what she meant. She didn’t mean stay away from him physically. No, she didn’t care whether we were in the same hallway on Monday or not. That wasn’t what she had told me to do. She meant for me to stay away from him mentally, emotionally, in any way that mattered. But how could I not notice the little things he did, like open doors for or smile at random strangers and gaze out of windows when I was at his side, day and night. My mental realizations hadn’t been in my hand for the last day and wouldn’t be for the rest of the week, obviously. It wasn’t my fault he did literally everything I did, minus the whole self-confidence issue. Trust me, he had a lot of that. Self confidence, I mean.
“Tell Ms. Golicci.” I whispered back, although knowing fully that wasn’t what she meant.
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This is what I wrote for my full page report at 11:00 pm when everyone finally left:
My partner, whose name continues to remain a mystery, is a self-worshiping irritant. In society, he would be considered a pest, however, in Martin Van Buren, he is considered a student. His physical appearance is quite charming, but as a whole person, he is repulsive. My partner never fails to do ‘the witty thing’, and of course, this is due to his miraculous self confidence.
