My eyes burn from how long I've been staring at the blank digital canvas.
I've tried looking for inspiration on Pinterest like I usually do, but nothing has sparked an idea. Not any good ideas anyway. All my ingenuity has been directed towards my art class at school, and even then I have a hard time being creative.
I set down my light pink 'pen' when my phone buzzes. Multiple times. I pick it up and read the most recent texts in my friend group's groupchat.
Losers
Layla Du Pont: is anyone going to hoco?
Layla Du Pont: cuz if not, i was thinking...
Layla Du Pont: maybe we could ditch the dance together?
Layla Du Pont: we could to the mall
Layla Du Pont: and get food
Layla Du Pont: and go to the theaters
One thing about Layla is that she has to send her thoughts as they come to her. She can never send one long text. It's always a stream of conscience that blows up everyone's phones.
As I'm typing, someone else replies.
Lihn Chau: Yes to the movies!!!!
Lihn Chau: I still havent seen barbie or oppenheimer. Barbenheimer, anyone?
I've already seen Barbie five times. Another watch wouldn't hurt. In fact, one last girl's night is just what I need before my bi-annual disappearance from the world.
Me: Count me in.
Right after hitting send, I hear the door open downstairs. That's my cue.
I leave my phone in my room and make my way down into the living room where my dad and Lucas are now entering.
Ezra isn't with them.
"Did you guys lose?" I ask.
"Nope," Lucas says, pride coating his voice. "We won by four points."
My eyebrows pinch together in confusion. "Where's Ezra?"
They typically hang out on Fridays if they win their games. That's the only reason I'm asking. Though, there is a part of me that's curious due to the fact that Ezra and I haven't spoken much since Atlanta.
"He went to his house real quick," my brother replies as he walks past me and towards the stairs.
Dad is holding two fast food bags in his hands, trying not to drop them as Honey paws at his legs. "I see you, boy," he says to the dog. "Just let me– Honey! Out of the way."
"Here, I can grab them," I say, walking closer.
"Thanks."
I take the bags with me into the kitchen, setting them down on the island.
The smell of my favorite fries ever invades my nose, causing my stomach to rumble. I bring my carton of chicken nuggets, a packet of honey mustard, and a medium thing of fries with me over to the dining table.
"Dad!" I shout. "Did you get any drinks?"
"No! We have juice and water in the refrigerator."
A scowl forms on my face, but I quickly wipe it off when the guilt hits me a second later. There's people in this world without half the things that I have and I know I should be grateful. Although, I really wish I had a Dr. Pepper right now.
I sit down at the table and dig into my food without hesitation.
Eventually, my dad sits down with his food, eating while I tell him about my day. It's not until I'm all the way done with my fries and beginning to eat my chicken nuggets that there's a knock on the door.
"It's unlocked!" Dad shouts.
Yes, we are expecting Ezra, but anyone could be at that door. I wonder what would happen if it's an intruder on the other side.
Then again, that's not likely since the house is fenced in with a lock that only select people know the combination of.
A couple seconds later, Ezra is in the kitchen, getting his food out of the bag. He sits in the seat that is usually mine when he's not around and wearily eyes his meal.
"Are you okay?" I ask him.
Pink splotches form on his cheeks as he gives me a half smile. "Your dad and brother insisted I inject this poison into my digestive system, so...not really." His tone is only half-humorous.
A laugh gets caught in my throat. "That is so..." The smile on my face dims even more when I fully process his words. He doesn't have a normal way of viewing food, but I don't want to put him on the spot by pointing it out when someone else is here. "Cynical," I finish my thought. "How was the game tonight?"
Relief visibly floods through him as his grin gains a more realistic hint to it. "They let Lucas pitch for a good portion of the game."
"Really?"
He nods and I feel the tension in our conversation lift.
Things between us are just fine, and this is the exact reassurance that I've needed all week.
✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧
My gaze catches on the candle lit on my window sill again as I wonder how my friends are doing.
They're throwing the album listening 'party' that we discussed a while ago, but I had to cancel. I got C's on multiple Trigonometry quizzes this week so I've decided to hole myself up in my room until I'm able to retake and ace them.
Only, Trigonometry is hard. Really hard. And after a certain point, my brain truly hurts.
I bring a hand up to my face, lightly scratching my jawline. My attention hones in on how dry the skin is.
A quiet groan slips out of me, the sound muffled under the instrumental music currently playing from my computer's speaker.
I swivel my desk chair around and get up to leave my room.
When I pull my door open, a wretched sound comes from my brother's bathroom. I have to walk further into the hall to understand what it is.
Once I do, I instantly block my ears with my hands, staring at the closed door with wide eyes.
Someone is throwing up.
I'm not an emetophobe, but that doesn't make listening to someone puke any more pleasant. The only reason I don't move is because my bathroom is right next to Lucas's where the sound is currently coming from.
After a few moments pass, the door does finally open, revealing a pale-faced Ezra.
I pull my hands down as he looks over at me, stopping in his tracks. "Indigo."
"Clancy," my voice sounds much more breathy than I intend it to. "Are you okay?"
He gives me a small grin, but it doesn't hide the slightly fatigued look in his eyes. "I'm good. Are you?"
I nod, unsure of how to approach the impending conversation. "I'm fine, but you sounded...sick."
His throat contracts as he swallows. "Oh, that?" An obviously fake laugh leaves his throat. "Just what happens when I eat fast food right after a game. Nothing to worry about."
It's not as convincing as he probably wants it to be. "Is there something I can get you?"
He shakes his head, the faint grin not leaving his lips. "Thanks. I should probably get back now."
"Right," I say.
He's frozen for a few seconds before disappearing into my brother's room.
Concern plants itself into the growing weeds of anxiety entangled in my mind. Is he making himself throw up?
More than the concern, though, my heart feels heavy with sorrow for him. If he does have eating problems, he obviously thinks they're normal–just blames it on his diet.
I just wish there was a way I could help him.
I almost forget why I came out here in the first place until I rub a nervous hand along my jaw.
With my best effort, I attempt to wipe away the uneasiness as I enter my bathroom and apply moisturizer to my face.