16-year-old Ever Sonnet is a born Hufflepuff who's finally written a story she wants to pursue. She's a valuable member of Greenwoods High's swim team with loving parents, best friends who make her days colourful, and her brother;
17-year-old Trevor...
I take out a crumpled 'List of Careers' brochure that's been sitting on the bottom of my bag for weeks. I grab a pen, bite the cap off, and scratch out Architect. I don't know how that even made it this far. I'm not proficient in numbers or wood or... concrete? I hold in a sigh. I've contemplated each of these career options as much as I can without letting my head burst.
Doctor: being around people in pain gives me goosebumps. The bad kind.
Lawyer: I can't even tell someone they've got food in their teeth without my stomach turning to knots. Confrontation and competition in front of a crowd? I'll probably pass out.
Pharmacist: Chemistry and I have a rich history of bad blood.
And the list goes on.
I almost wish my parents trusted me a little less when it comes to my post-high-school life. They don't push. Never do. They didn't have to with my older brother Trevor and he's got his life sorted for graduation this December. I'm barely halfway through my junior year, but if I hear my parents' loving "she's still figuring it out" defence in front of strangers one more time, I'll crumble with guilt.
My eyes land on the final option: vet.
We had a guinea pig called Mrs. Sparkles when I was little. I shared half a Starburst with her and she collapsed within minutes.
I scribble 'Writer' on the brochure's edge. Six alphabets that make my shoulders tense with its weight of uncertainty. Before I can scratch that option too, I hear Trevor calling out his goodbyes. I shove the shiny paper hastily into my bag.
"Ever. You okay?" he asks as he closes our front door behind us.
"Yeah. Ready to go?" I stand on the porch and dust the snow off of my pants.
He nods.
We walk side-by-side.
Our quaint neighbourhood is slowly waking up too. People getting into their snow-coated cars to get to work, elderlies enjoying mugs of hot coco on their porches, young kids skipping, and teenagers begrudgingly heading to school. I glance at the orange sun hanging modestly atop the row of houses with faded paint. A mass of thick clouds slowly cover it, followed by a gust of chilly wind.
Trevor notices my involuntary shiver and takes off his red scarf.
"Trev,-"
"I'm not that cold," he smiles, looping the wooly fabric around my neck.
It's a lot warmer because he's worn it. Smells like gravy and fabric softener.
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- Trevor Sonnet -
"Thanks," I smile back. "What took you so long in there?"
"Dad couldn't find one of his shirts. You know, the white tee with a drawing on it?"
"Vague."
He purses his lips and raises his hands like: right?
