I'm pulled from sleep by a booming voice that breaks through my consciousness.
"Wake up." It tells me before light reaches through my closed eyelids making me squint. "Don't want to be late."
"Thanks dad." I croak out, voice thick with sleep and I know he's gonna hover in my doorway until I sit up.
So even though I feel exhausted and my body is still heavy with sleep, I prop myself up on my elbow groping for the barely visible blurry object on the small bedside table beside me. My fingers skim the black frames and I clutch them in my grasp, glancing at my phone and the five minutes I still have before my alarm goes off.
"Up and at 'em." He's way too perky in the morning but knowing my dad he's already been up for a good hour with at least two cups of coffee coursing through his veins.
Letting out a sigh, I unfold my glasses and slip them on, my world coming into focus. All of my covers are in a heap on the floor and I let out a discontented sigh as I pull myself up and start to make my bed.
I make sure to pull the corners taught, lining them up perfectly on the mattress and folding pristine hospital corners on the top sheet before I smooth out my beige comforter on top. My pillow gets fixed at the very top just like I was taught and then I grab the stack of perfectly folded clothes that I pick out every night and place on my dresser.
Heading for the shower, I make short work of it, leisure is not apart of my home life and I don't try to slip it in.
I know better.
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I don't have OCD but I might as well have it because I know that if I don't stick to the routine it will cause a disaster. A real one not a fake one. And even though it's a pain, I do it out of love.
So exactly at 7:15 am I pull my wagon into my best friend's driveway and twist the volume knob. I don't have to honk, I don't have to get out, I barely have time to shift my car into park because Wes is a man of routine, among other things.
And just like every other day of the week, the front door swings open and Wes steps out, closing the door behind him. He checks that the door is in fact locked four times because things need to be even and then he heads for my car. I can usually tell if it's going to be a good day based on if he tics before he makes it to my car or not and if he does which one it is.
It's a good day so far.
My passenger side door swings open, his bag entering first where he places it at his feet. I know better than to shift my car into reverse, giving Wes the time to buckle.
"Hey." He says and then there it is, his normal set of tics, his shoulder lurches, neck twists to the left never the right, inhale loud through his nose just before his hand grazes the tip of it.
"Hey." I greet back and then I start out the driveway while he adjusts the dials in my car.
I never change them, except the volume one. I was sick of hearing Wes apologize for constantly turning them even though they were still set the way he had put them the last time he was in. So I started to turn the volume knob so that he at least had to reset something.
If Wes isn't in the car I don't even have the radio on. I prefer the quiet.
"How'd dinner with your mom's new boyfriend go?" I ask him. "Ryan?"
"Good, actually." He whistles just after he turns the last knob on the dash back to where it always is, the fan in my car momentarily ramping up before slowing back down. "He gave me a vintage Nirvana shirt."
"For real?"
For as musical as my mother is, there's a list of genres I've never been allowed to listen to. Obviously I have. My parents don't know. Nirvana is on that list.
"Yeah, I'll show you whe-(he tics again) when we get to school." Wes is into safety, which is fine. "But he seems nice. My mom likes him."
I laugh, nudging him with my elbow that shares the console with his. "I'd hope Grace likes him."
He laughs too, a heart stopping grin on his face. "Shut up."
I know it's a heart stopping grin because even though it doesn't completely stop my heart anymore, it still makes it sputter a little. My chest inflating with a bubble of happiness, like someone just gave me a million dollars for no damn reason. I can't help it really, Wes has always been so-so Wes. It was easy to fall in love with him.
The problem there lies within the fact that Wes is absolutely straight. Not that he's ever clarified but sometimes you just know something about someone. And I know Wes likes girls.
And it's fine, my crush passed, just like every crush does. Almost.
I mean Wes is the reason I know I'm not straight. Isn't there like some rule on how your first crush never really leaves you. Or something.
Whatever.
The thing is Wes doesn't know that I ever had a crush on him and I plan to keep it that way. He might be my best friend but there's just some things best friends don't ever need to know.
And I think that's at the top of the list.
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Happy Monday! I was going to wait until tomorrow. Rensk3N informed me it is national literacy day tomorrow but I just couldn't wait. I've missed you and these characters.
Also sorry this took longer than normal. Life happened and things got a little crazy. They're still crazy but a little less chaotic and I have time to write again so we're back in business.