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3.14 Day Eight: Parker

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At this point, it'd be amazing if I had any fingerprints left. Over the weekend, I knocked out a couple of the ensemble costumes, which were just refurbished gowns from last year's spring production of Phantom of the Opera and an older production of Othello. This morning, I took what I had completed to the drama room so I could do fittings with the cast later. Ian helped me grab the stuff from my dad's car.

I could've asked Lizzie.

But I didn't want to ask her for anything while she was miserable. Something about manual labor usually made me feel worse. I had taken all weekend trying to come up with a bit of encouragement or even a solution to Lizzie's problem. I just couldn't think of anything good enough to soothe the ache or the kind of words that would lay like the band-aid over her wound. By now in my typical relationship, I would've frozen, and ghosted my girlfriend, but this wasn't any girlfriend. This was Lizzie. Lizzie was unlike any girl or boy I had ever dated in the past.

This time it was going to take a little more than iced coffee to make things better.

Camille might know what I should do.

Or I should just ask Lizzie. This was the point of the trial, after all. How could I improve myself the next time I needed to console my girlfriend...? More than anything, I really didn't want Lizzie to be upset with me. I should've been there and taken the blame from Lizzie. It was my idea to begin with and I'm the one that egged her on. Hell, I'm the one who held the pair of scissors. What was wrong with me?

"Are you quitting the trial?" Camille asked me at lunch, staring at me with her thick black eyeliner rimmed eyes. I nearly choked on my milk. She didn't flinch. "Because don't forget, if you forfeit, you'll have to t-ping your house-"

"I'm not quitting," I said in between coughing up a lung. "I was just busy this weekend."

"You mean," Camille leaned in closer, "things got a little too real for you and you well, choked." She motioned to my current state while I beat the middle of my chest. "Not every conversation is an easy one, Parker."

"I know," I grumbled, despite the queasy feeling in my stomach.

Camille's eyes could really see right through me. My mom and I haven't spoken about the separation, not the reason or why. Nothing. I avoided talking to my dad about most things by hiding away in my room. If he dared to enter my room, his eye always drifted to my last, unpacked suitcase in my closet and we never talked about that either.

When he asked about the costumes, I didn't tell him anything more than "It's just a school project." If I told him about the play, he wouldn't get it. Just like when I was a kid. Whenever I had any theater-related things to do, he always pawned it off on someone else. He never took it seriously.

"Is this leading up to something?" I asked as Camille looked behind her shoulder for the hundredth time. "Is Lizzie coming or something?" My face reddened, my heart stretching before it started running a million miles per hour. "I thought she had lunch next period-"

Camille rolled her eyes. "You know there are other people in my life than you and Lizzie."

"Yeah, you've got Billy Bob. Are you still dating? You haven't talked about him-"

"Other friends, which I hung out with all weekend because you and Lizzie wouldn't let me in on your hair salon day-"

"You wanted to come?" I blinked. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."

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