Paper Boats

~Isabella LeVan

Chapter Thirty - No Nudity Is Being Showcased

A scream. That was all I could remember.

And this time, it didn't blend with the crowd.

"Kids, stay here," Dad said.

I gripped my phone. Mom.

I called her, but she didn't answer.

I called her again. Twice. Thrice. I filled myself thinking fourth time's a charm.

Perhaps charms turn off sometimes.

I don't know. I sat there between my sisters, both in a world of their own. Violet with her leg bouncing, fast and impatient, all the while Lavender stared off into a space in front of her and not quite there.

I wanted to do something.

No, I had to do something. They were already scared and I can't leave them be like that.

"Hey," My booming voice against the rasp of the crowd caught their attention. Lightly flicking Lavender's nose and patting Violet's hair, I conjured up my best smile. "Don't worry too much. Xavier's not gonna die."

"But he might never walk again," Violet butted in. She meant it as a whisper, but I read the words out of her lips.

"Is he going to be okay?" Lavender leaned in from the other side of me, placing her hands on my thighs and eyes looking at Violet and me.

It was in moments like this that I noticed how they relied on me, their older sister, to assure and be assured. It scared me. How do people rely on me, when even I don't trust myself. What if I end up doing something wrong? Will they rely on me still?

My moment of panic seeped through the seconds. Cold. Unwanted.

Suddenly my skin was too tight to be my own, the world much too crowded. I was sweating from the cold and freezing through the heat. The game still continued, both sides battling for victory, giving little attention to the accident that had just occurred.

I bit my tongue. They were playing as if nothing happened. Nothing at all. I faintly pinched the bridge of my nose, breathing out a ragged breath. Of course, they have to, they have a game.

I knew that. But it doesn't make me less anxious.

Thank God for the doofus who got sick of seating on his designated seat and got up, retching his hoodie and placing it on the small space of a floor in front of us three.

Ashton sat and turned to me, placing his sharp chin at the edge of my thighs. He straightened the fabric of my skirt there and eyed the twins with gleaming curiosity. "Jeez, who taught you to worry like that?"

Two fingers pointed at me.

He gave them a blank look. "It's not the end of the world,"

"It could be," Violet replied, Lavender nodding in agreement.

"Who taught you that?"

"Nevaeh."

Ashton looked at me. "Give them three years and they'll learn to block all of my famous jokes."

"Then use the insignificant ones." I quickly lifted the heels of my up, grinning when he rubbed his chin.

"Too bad all of them are significant."

"Then why can't I remember ones that are."

"How dare you speak to me like that, peasant." He narrowed his eyes mockingly and pointed a finger at me.

I twisted his ear. "Ow, ow. Okay." Then he spoke quickly, "You're not a peasant. Just a girl in a village doing alright then you became a princess overnight-"

We continued our banter. The twins sat idly, thoroughly entertained. Our problems and panic calmed down like water beneath the surface, the heavy tides of worry roaring above us. Yet we weren't affected.

Aiden poked my shoulder, signaling to the side. It took me some time to find out what he was pointing at, but as I saw my father and his shoelace untied, I knew something bad happened.

The next few moments passed a blur. The stuffy air, that one candy that got stuck in my shoe, and the parking lot pavement I used to rub it off. Lavender's small hand and Violet's lack of ten-year-old energy induced marathon around the park. The click of seatbelts, the crowded space in the car.

Xavier's absence.

Only did when we stopped in front of the traffic lights that I remembered something.

We didn't get our milk teas.

"I can't pull this off."

"Good thing you're gonna wear it, then."

"Very funny," I told Mariane. Curtains, the shade of pearl surrounded us both, a naked single bed folded up and placed on the wall to make space for us while I desperately tried and prayed I won't rip the seams of the top she's shimmying me in.

"I'm starting to resemble a pastry. There are barely three days before regionals and I can't remember half my lines. I wanna resign. Backout. I'm going away, holy hell it's almost here. "

I squeaked when something tightened over my waist. I looked down to see Mariane focused on tying the cloth, undeterred by my words.

I tried it again. "I look like a clown."

"At least you aren't funny as one." River poked his hand in first and made a wave.

"The coast is clear, no nudity is being showcased," Mariane announced, making him step into the small space.

"Pfft." He laughed at the sight, curly hair tied in a bun and sporting an olive green vest with a dress shirt underneath, a gold heart necklace glinting on his collar bones. He looked regal and handsome.

Even Mariane thought of that too as she straightened to her full height and looked at him. Zoom-on-his-face-stare-longer-than-necessary look at him. "Wow."

She avoided his eyes, absentmindedly patting my sleeves as if checking something when I knew there wasn't even anything that needed to be checked there.

I rolled my eyes at him.

He casted a questioning look. "What?"

"She's having an internal crisis because of you," I said, stealing a glance at her face keeping a scream at bay. "I hadn't read anything about you being in a man bun in the script. Did they change it again?"

He pulled at it, shooting me a look. "After Ms. Dallowny smiled after reading it, not a chance. I tied it because it kept getting in the way."

His green eyes met mine. "Oh, and what do I do about this?" He held up a deathtrap women in the past had to live with.

Nope. Nope. Not today. Not ever. "Nothing."

"Give it to me," Mariane held out a hand and opened the curtains. Several faces greeted my sight, all looking very busy and occupied in their own spots. Worried frowns decorated the majority of their faces.

Ara, along with Glowhin, who both specialize in make-up and hairstyling, sat at the corner chatting and pointing at a notebook between their thighs. Edwin rubbed his hands together while talking to Olivia, a pair of gloves clutched tightly at his hip. He was an actor too. And a highly talented one at it. His ability to improvise and subtly get the act on course still has me believing he was the scriptwriter who has a hundred deleted prompts hidden away in his laptop somewhere.

It was concerningly chaotic.

Necks drowned by scarfs and uniforms covered with the thickest wools ever standing out against the glitter and swirls of the ballgowns. Glitter was all over the floor because of the props and that one dress that I swear was fifty percent glitter designed like it was a fairy magic play we were doing rather than the early nineties one.

The curtain closed again.

"Get out," Mariane pointed away.

River looked offended. "Why?"

"She's going to try out the corset."

"Corsets are a pain." I pointed out, retying my hair into a bun because the air feels too tight and I'm sweating.

Let's add the fact it's a hundred Fahrenheit below zero and I don't know if I'm freezing because of the heat or sweating because of the cold. I am the definition of a love-hate relationship between polar opposite temperatures who enjoy hugging every matter.

"Well, pain is beauty."

"I'm a pain in the ass. I'm already beautiful to begin with."

"Says who?"

"Says my grandma,"

"That's sad."

"Not really," I flashed her the brightest smile. "It's a comfort to know someone finds me beautiful."

River looked at me weirdly. "How many cups of coffee did you drink this morning? You look pale. Did you even sleep?"

No. I didn't.

And somehow, someway, by the power of some deity, I'm still alive.

That was when a shout came. "Nevaeh! Someone wants to see you."

I grabbed the end of the curtain and pulled it open, the loud clink of metal against metal making me wince. I signaled to wait, palm open in a forward motion. Pushing River and Mariane outside, I stripped and changed my clothes to a hoodie. Then I shivered and wore another one, this one was thick and wooly.

It was also the ugliest sweater I ever owned but the odds against hypothermia transformed me into the chubbiest rainbow-barfed Lamma that could ever exist. Mom didn't seem to mind when she shoved it in my bag and drove us to school this morning.

I caught my reflection on the steel pole.

I wonder if it's secured enough to have people dance to it.

Yep, definitely sleep-deprived.

And hideous.

I knew I was ten percent down the attractiveness scale but man do I look like a ball experimented by kindergarten kids.

I pulled the two fabrics over my head and switched their places so that my hideousness turned into ugly. And that's as good as it gets.

I looked at the pole again and was satisfied. Better a green balloon than a party carpet.

Gathering my hard—due to the cold— and long hair, I flipped it on my right shoulder, rolling it around my palm and tucking it inside the back of my hood. I stepped out of the little space, walking towards the open door held by Louis, I think. He was another actor for the play.

He nodded when he spotted me, walking away while rubbing his hands together. The door closed at his lack of presence making me reach out to grab the doorknob, flinching as I did so. Holy frick that's cold.

I yanked it open.

"Blake," I tried to hide the surprise in my voice. "Hi,"

"Hey," He replied. That small, lopsided smile made me feel things. He was holding a bunch of paper and canvases.

The door creaked, and before I knew it, his foot shot out to block it. It's all good until gravity decided to make its presence by making him lose balance, pushing his body backward. I managed to grab the front of his shirt, getting him back to his feet with a cherry coat on his cheeks.

I laughed, gently pulling him along as we made our way outside in the hallways. "My hero," I drawled out.

"My hero," he drawled back, still letting me lead him. He didn't seem to mind that a girl was pulling him by his neckline.

"That makes me a superhero,"

"Super delusional sounds better with you."

"Yet you're making a super delusional person drag you like this,"

I heard him scoff, "I've been with you for a while now, and I can say that you pass the test for having a privilege in activities such as dragging me." Laughter was evident in his voice, the bright sound followed by the warmth of his skin landing on my hand. My hand was warm beneath his curled fingertips.

I stopped walking, facing him with my body slightly tilted to the side. Only a few students strayed around us. Other than that the hallway was deserted. I threw him a look, nose scrunched up in a way that I know was unappealing and eyebrows furrowed. "We're not that close."

"Would you mind if we were?"

Amidst the thousandth internal panic crisis that happened to my mind, I managed out a response.

"No," I said, looking directly into his eyes. "I don't think I would,"

"Great," he grinned, "Great." I tried not to stare at the way his tongue ran over his upper lip, or how his fist tightened around mine.

What would happen if I pulled my hand, just a little. Will he let me do it? Watch idly by as I caress the side of his head where a little blonde lock curled affront his ears, caress my hand against his cheek. Or will he move?

Suddenly the air around us changed. Clouded thoughts settled above me, raining an abundant amount of outcomes of our short encounter.

I knew he was looking at me before I even raised my head up. My skin was always familiar with his blistering gaze, prickling whenever he laid eyes on me like it knew something I didn't.

Good. I didn't want to know.

I found myself opening my palm and when my eyes landed on his charcoal-stained hands, I grabbed it and opened it in between us. I raised an eyebrow at him.

"Now I know why you held my hand. You just wanted to scrub it on me, didn't you." I chastised.

"Idiot," I mumbled, smiling sadly at the floor. ]

Why do I suddenly feel the need to cry?

A moment. Then, as if resisting to say something, he shrugged and sighed.

Reaching towards his pocket, I stared horrified at the folded piece of paper he held up. It rested between his pointer and middle finger, raising it up with a light in his eyes. He opened it, proceeding to flick the stash of pages.

I probably wouldn't have an issue if it weren't the way he folded it. Random corners wrinkled, paper bent at odd angles.

He saw the look on my face and stopped. "Is something wrong?"

I stared him down, which was ironic since I'm the shorter one.

"Is something wrong? Is something wrong, oh yeah because-," I paused, unable to keep my hands from making gestures.

Too bad strangling is a crime.

I snatched the papers from his hand and lifted my leg, trying my best to straighten it while ultimately wishing I had been born with more balance than a newborn cow. "The next time I see you do this I will kick, punch and pinch you a hundred times. Then I'll turn back time and do it all over again. Understand?"

I spared him a glance.

And oh boy, he looked scared as hell.

"Noted." He squeaked, shoulders tensing and eyes widening behind his glasses.

I caught myself, "I'm sorry." My shoulders drooped, shoe sliding against the tiled floor until I'm in a weird half-split pose. "My emotions are everywhere right now."

"Clearly,"

"I hate you, you know." I handed him the paper back, rolling my eyes when he regarded me cautiously.

He took it. "I hate me too."

"You should say you hate me."

"I don't, though."

After a few flips, his hand pulled out a piece and handed it to me. "This is your math quiz from last week. Your teacher saw me and told me to hand it to everyone in your class. Ignoring all my crushed rights of saying no, yours was the only one I recognized."

He added, "You have the messiest handwriting, by the way."

I raised my hand and he laughed as he avoided my sloppy slap.

I stared at the page in front of me.

A big F stared right back.

For the first time since I had the courage to talk to him, I couldn't comprehend the words coming out of Blake's mouth. All I could stare at was the roughness of the sheet in my hand, the dozens of red circles growing bigger and bigger as I looked at it.

It's fine, Nevaeh. It's just a single test, not eternal doom. Chill the fuck out.

I chanted the words in my head.

It's fine. I'm fine. It's fine. I'm fine. It's okay.

"Cloudy?"

I snapped out of my thoughts and smiled at Blake, the instinctive curl of my lips taking shape. "Hm?"

"Oh so now you listen."

I rolled my eyes, willing my tears not to fall. Damn it Nevaeh pull yourself together.

Crying won't do you any good, it's already done, there's nothing you can do about it.

The familiar words hit something inside of me. Like an uninvited key turning, opening an abandoned chest with hinges barely holding on.

"Hey," A soft voice. "I'm here if you ever need anything, you know." I watched as his pale hands traveled upwards, awkwardly touching the part where my fist was once pressed against.

Then click. The hinges opened.

It came slowly at first, I didn't even realize I was crying until I found myself sniffing suddenly.

Fuck you tears. I will never forget this betrayal.

Blake only stood there, patiently waiting. When the fact that I probably looked like a moron here, crying suddenly without a reason to, and most likely making him uncomfortable, I wiped my tears using the sleeve of my hoodie. The wet patch looked like it wanted to stay awhile.

I looked at him directly in the eyes, ignoring my red ones. "I know, I know. I look like a fool."

I expected a laugh. After all, it would be the reaction I would have if someone suddenly started crying in front of me. So it surprised me when I didn't hear anything.

Instead, he bent down and I heard him whisper, "You need a hug."

It wasn't a question, but a statement.

I nodded, "Yeah, I do, but I don't see you offering."

I was red, with puffy eyes and hair that looked too much like a ball, but he didn't seem to mind.

He hugged me with the warmest intentions ever, hands circling around my midriff. The weight of his chin on my head made me feel so much that I wanted to cry one more time.

"I didn't know you care much about your grades."

I remained quiet, burying my face in his chest and carving a part of my heart out to replace it with this stolen memory in time.

We stayed like that for a while. The only clue I had as to whether we were both breathing and thinking straight was the synchronous beat of our hearts, thudding loudly as if shouting something our human ears couldn't hear, even if they tried.

"Patchy?" I remembered Cybella's nickname for him, my lchuckle came out muffled through the thickness of his clothes.

"Yes?"

"When I said I hated you, I lied. I don't hate you." I tiptoed, placing my face at the tip of his neck, where the curve of his shoulder met his neck. I don't want to stare at his face while saying something as cringy as this.

A smile threatened to bloom in his face, and I found myself continuing. "I hate how you make me feel vulnerable. I hate how you give me too much hope,"

It sounded like a confession of some sort, and I knew I screwed up. If Blake ever noticed it, he didn't pay mind.

"Everyone is fragile." He let out a breathy laugh, "We just choose to not acknowledge it."

And I knew. Even after we graduate, despite how old I would grow, where I would be, I made a promise to never forget how warm and loved I was at this moment.

I would never forget the loving arms that made me believe in happy endings.

The curtain rod was bent at an absurd angle. And it wasn't my fault.

I swear.

The sun and its annoying rays shooting at my face were at fault. I grumbled, my tear-stained cheeks and red nose staring back at me through my window.

A soft knock resonated throughout the room. "Nevaeh," Mom peeked in as I made my way to her, the test score I had yesterday flashing dangerously in my mind like a siren. "Good, you're awake. I'm going to work early today to sort out my papers."

She shook her wrist, the coat slipping off to reveal the golden shine of her watch. "Your brother needs to take his medicine at...seven-thirty, just before you go to school. Don't forget to remind him."

I nodded, still in a daze.

She suddenly stopped, bringing a hand up to cup my cheek.

I flinched, not expecting the gesture. She grew quiet, and I felt the pads of her calloused fingers as her thumb ran along the area under my eyes.

I froze, feeling uneasy. "Mom?" I squeaked.

No doubt she knew I cried. Her peculiar eyes stared at me squarely. I waited for the scolding, the threat of me being irrational, of how she would ban me from gadgets.

So when she let go and calmly searched my face I knew something must be wrong.

The next few moments consisted of vivid images. How her hand felt when she felt my forehead, checking if I have a fever, of how her palm skimmed across my face, saying something about how I had more acne than normal, her cheerfully saying she saw a new soap advertisement and how she would buy some afterward.

And the most shocking of all.

A kiss on the cheek.

"Bye honey," She waved, stepping farther and farther away from me.

She held the door open. "Breakfast is ready by the way. Butter is on the freezer, cheese on the shelf, and don't forget to close the refrigerator." Then she was gone.

Confusion and surprise anchored me at my spot, one hand holding the doorknob and the other on the spot she kissed. Why-How-Who?

The lack of scolding and the presence of her tenderness left me aghast, too overwhelmed to do anything.

That wasn't my mother. The mom I knew never kisses as a parting sentiment. She never suggests something as buying a product for me, or how she spends time checking the weariness on her children's faces.

Her hands.

They felt so warm.

I dropped my hand and tightened it to a fist. I wanted to cry.

Pushing my hair back, I took a deep breath and worked on making my bed. I cleaned my bag, washed my face, and even got so far as to wake dad up.

When I understood that my method wouldn't work, I made my parent's bed my personal trampoline, running away and laughing as a pillow almost hit me.

"Guys!" I slammed the door to my sisters' room open, climbing onto Violet's bed to hug her, effectively waking her up.

That's right, I'm going to be cheerful today. Who needs crying anyway.

After managing to drag the two out for breakfast, I padded towards Xavier's room. I knocked, and when no one answered I proceeded to slam my hand harder.

There was no noise at the other side of the door, so I grabbed the emergency keys outside, the noisy jingle of metal under the flower pot startling the neighbor's cat Sally.

Sally was a round cat with fur shedding and growing too fast for a cat. Her white body and green eyes that glowed late at night and early at day made her every asthmatic person's nightmare.

I raced back to my brother's room, grabbing a fork and stabbing a pancake as I crossed the kitchen.

Lavender warned me. "It's gonna fall."

"No, it's not," I replied back, biting back an accusation at the mysterious disappearance of my other two pancakes.

I ate the pancake, trying my best to eat faster since, by the looks of it, it's not going to last a minute or two. Shuffling the keys in my other hand, I inserted it in the doorknob and twisted the door open only to be greeted by the presence of total darkness.

I marched across the room and threw open the maroon curtains, opening the windows and then closing them again due to the cold. I stood beside his bed, silently eating the pancake and reaching out to grab a pillow from the other side.,

Just as I expected my brother's shirt was pulled up, stopping a few inches above his chest.

I shook my head. He was like that ever since we were little, I thought as I stared in envy at his toned stomach.

"Xavier wake up. I know you don't have classes but I'm waking up early so you should too."

I crashed the pillow to his face.

"Bvrdgbsg," He startled awake.

He grabbed the pillow off him and glared at me, hand reaching out to grab me but I stepped back and grinned.

"Good morning my dear brother."

"Good morning witch,"

"Ah," I nodded, swallowing the last piece. "We're in the same mood today. Happy, cheerful-,"

"Murder,"

"But I already murdered a pancake. You should too."

I crossed the room and went to his table to find his medicine. I handed it to him, taking a peek at his foot. There are a hundred questions I've been meaning to ask him. Why did he catch her? How did he catch her? Did he actually watch her all this time?

I winced. Is my family really full of love-shot weirdos?

"Does it hurt?" I asked quietly, grabbing a water bottle.

He shrugged, blonde hair turning a reddish-brown due to the light passing through the curtains. "As long as I don't apply pressure I'll be fine. The doctor said it would take six weeks to heal. Nothing new."

It was true.

Xav suffered worse injuries than this one. He played sports with a passion after all. The worst was when he had to have the bones in his fingers replaced with metal. "Still, it scares me."

"Scare you or make you happy." He gulped down the capsule, shuddering after.

"I'm not that bad of a person," I said.

He flung a pillow at me. "Say that before you slam a pillow in my head and step away to take advantage of my current state."

I caught the pillow. "I'm not that bad of a person," I repeated, laughing as I tossed it towards his head and proving a point.

After a ten-minute bicker and a lot of accidental misses which lead to several things clattering to the ground, we both decided to make it quits and I helped him make his way to the kitchen.

On the way there, he stopped to examine his face in a mirror. "I look horrible."

"You look fine. Now let's go, by the time we get there the only thing greeting us would be empty plates."

"I don't want to look fine."

"If it makes you happy you look hideous to me."

He barked a laugh and continued to look at himself in the mirror. I didn't have enough time to punch him, because as I found myself staring at the mirror, the previous events of the morning came on full force.

Her lips landed on the apple of my cheeks, red petals serving as a remembrance.

So, like, I know, I know, it's too dramatic right. And cringy, definitely. Nevaeh's a crybaby and you're so irritated by her behavior and how she reacts to Blake. But the simple truth is many of us feel like this. I have met people who cried when I gave them simple bracelets, or by the mere act of placing my head on their shoulder when I am tired. It doesn't even need to be romantic, not everything does. I just wanted to try and show just how desperate Nevaeh is to be loved. She is touch-deprived, she craves attention. The kind that makes you feel understood (Guess because of who). I don't know if I managed to show it in this chapter, I probably didn't.

Lmao, I'm too emotional to be writing right now.

I accidentally clicked the book that tore my heart into pieces, (it's my favorite btw) and now I want to cry my heart out because their love was too pure.

Oh, and did I mention Six of Crows, Crooked Kingdom, and The Song of Achilles?

I didn't?

Well, you totally should not check it out it if you're too afraid to read amazing works that ruin a heart then sculpt it together again with a piece of magnificent gay hands.

I did my part. Now I can cry again.

-your dearly detested writer, Lara.