The Donut Shop ✔️

'H' Stands for 'Harrowing Experiences'

When Ethan awoke the next morning, the whole dynamic of the house felt off. Hana bustled around silently, slamming cabinet doors as she gathered the supplies she needed to fix herself oatmeal. Their mother prepped everyone's lunches in bright-colored sacks, waltzing around the kitchen and giving their father a quick peck on his cheek once he entered.

Ethan's dad nodded to him once, and he nodded back, his neck stiff from his discomfort. Hana saw this exchange and seemed to grow more livid, her face burning with a renewed red hue. She stalked past both of them and set her bowl down on the table with a big thud that reverberated on the hollow wood. What was with her?

Shrugging, Ethan grabbed a red ceramic bowl from the cupboard and poured some sugar-filled oats, listening to the dull drone of a newscaster on the morning broadcast of Ridgecrest 25 in the living room. While Ethan was looking for milk in the fridge, Hana plopped the container back onto the glass shelf, ignoring Ethan's outstretched hand. So it appeared that Hana was mad at everyone. 

"M-ma, we're almost out of m-milk," she said to their mother, who thanked her and scribbled on the shopping list. Well, everyone except their mother.

"Wow, thanks," Ethan muttered and plucked the white milk carton with printed red labels from the clear shelf. Hana turned to glare at him and picked up her bowl, retreating to her bedroom. Confused, Ethan shared a look with his parents, set the bowl down, and went to talk with her.

"Hana?" he called out, rapping softly on her bedroom door. He stared at his shadow that dulled the vibrant white paint while waiting for her to respond. She flung it open, her eyes flashing with anger upon seeing him, and she scowled.

"W-what do you w-want?" she asked, stammering against her own will. Ethan knew she was trying to be as serious as possible, and she must have been worried her tone didn't come off as such because of her stutter.

"Can I come in?" he asked her, making sure to keep his tone even, and, with a sigh, she moved to let him in. Graciously, Ethan walked in and sat on her desk chair, which didn't swivel like his and was a soft green color.

The rest of Hana's room was coated with sugary pastels. In the places that weren't covered with boy-band posters, her walls were slathered with a creamy pale yellow. Her bedspread was a cotton-candy pink, contrasting with the storm cloud in the center of the room with a scowl on her face and her arms folded.

"What's the matter? You seem a bit..."

"A-angry?" 

Ethan nodded, his fingers digging into the green plastic of the chair in fear of being mauled. His sister might look weak, but she had good aim like their mother and strong legs from countless hours of training in her dance studio.

"You would b-be too if y-you were me-e," she coldly said and continued packing away her school supplies, which were sprawled out on her duvet.

"Why?" Ethan asked with a frown. Dramatically, Hana set down the box of half-used colored pencils she was holding and turned to face Ethan.

"B-because you're with your f-friends, and you d-don't get in trouble. Because I like d-dancing, and that's a pr-problem. Because I'm not as s-smart as you," Hana finished, her voice cracking as she sat on the edge of her bed, burying her face in her hands.

"Hana, I-"

"Don't. T-there's nothing you can-n do to explain that we're l-loved the same," Hana said. Ethan was shocked—he never knew his sister felt this way. He knew that she felt that she wasn't as intelligent as he was, but feeling like she was an unwanted child? That was a whole different battle. 

He had no idea what to say. It was like all of the words were in his brain, but he couldn't find a way to articulate them.

"I didn't know you thought this way," Ethan admitted and sat next to Hana on the bed, putting his arm around her in an embrace.