"Jordan?" I said, entering his room. He appeared to be sleeping, wrapped under his blankets and his face turned away from me toward the window.

"Jordan," I made my voice softer, in case he was already asleep. "You awake?"

The sheets began to move and my brother popped his head out. What I saw took me aback—although he was raising his eyebrows in impatience, his eyes were really dark, almost entirely red like his nose, which could mean only one thing. He'd been crying but was trying to appear as if he wasn't.

"Is...is everything alright?" I faltered.

I hadn't seen him like this in years. The last time I saw him cry was when our parents were still alive—you might have thought he cried at their funeral, but he was in so much shock at that time he didn't shed a single tear.

When he was twelve, Jordan had gotten his knee scraped after falling on the rough cemented pathway in our garden while we were chasing each other around the house. He'd always been a cry-baby then. He'd cry at little things and I would bring him a chocolate every time he did, to console him. For a second, I wondered if that trick would work now.

He quickly wiped his eyes with his sleeve and started speaking, "I'm... " But his voice came out hoarse and he sniffled and cleared his throat before continuing in his normal gruff tone, "I'm fine. What do you want?"

Sensing that this wasn't the appropriate time for discussing Grandma's proposal, I made up an excuse. "Umm... I... did you order dinner or should I make it?"

He closed his eyes for a moment, saying nothing, then brought himself to a sitting position and wrapped his blanket closely around himself. "Forget it. I'll make dinner tonight, just give me a few minutes, will you?"

Wow. What had come over Jordan? All these years not once had we made an exception to the rule of cooking meals on alternate days—so why was he being so nice today? And I had an inkling he was trying to hide something under his blanket.

"You sure?"

"Yes, now will you just go away?"

"Were you crying?" I asked before I could overthink.

He tried to fake a laugh. Come on! He was my brother; how could he forget that he couldn't fool me?

"Who said anything like that?"

"Your nose is red." I pointed out.

"It's cold. I just came from a walk outside, thanks to you forgetting to pick up the mail." He narrowed his eyes, like he was stating the obvious and I was being stupid as usual.

I gave up. He didn't seem to be in the mood to come clean—but then, in the last five years, when had he ever opened up to his own sister? "Fine. I'm in my room, call me down when dinner's ready." I said and left him alone.

It was possible he'd read the letter first, I mused, although he would never admit that. It would explain the re-glued seal, and his weird behaviour—he may be missing the Grands, or, well, our parents. Perhaps it was a picture of them he was hiding under the blanket. Anyway, the reply to the letter would have to wait for tomorrow.

Dinner was a silent affair. My brother made us some soupy noodles, and did I ever say how good a cook he is? I literally wouldn't even smirk if he wore the BEST COOK IN THE WORLD apron, all caps, everywhere he went.

Seriously, I don't know where he learnt all that cooking and baking, but he does it like a pro, and meals cooked by him aren't to be missed no matter what! Me, on the other hand—I'm an average cook, despite the best efforts of the Grands. I can learn new recipes easily, but they don't always turn out perfect. At least food prepared by me isn't inedible...it's enough for survival. I think.

So anyway, we both had our supper quietly and then he went to wash the dishes while I returned to my room, hoping to find some creative ideas on my laptop for the Art Exhibition. As the Club In-charge, or CI, it was my responsibility to finalize and announce the theme, which was actually weird because even the works in my portfolio weren't connected by any sort of common theme. I just like to draw whatever I feel, whenever I feel it and in whichever style that suits me in the moment! Every artist has his or her own specialty, and mine, I guess, is spontaneity.

I browsed for about half an hour but nothing seemed doable enough. Tired, I lay on my bed, instantly falling asleep.

"I smell burgers today... " Charmaine said, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath as soon as we entered the cafeteria the next morning.

The two of them, on my request, had met me at the school lockers twenty minutes before classes started. I planned to discuss the exhibition theme with them so I could be ready with some ideas to share at the next Club meeting, which was this afternoon.

"And here she goes again..." Ingrid sighed.

"What?" Char asked innocently.

"I just spent ten minutes listening to soccer talk to distract you from thoughts of food! Do you realize how much energy I need to keep my eyes open in the morning? Was it all for nothing?" she crossed her arms.

I stifled a laugh. "Char, let's order breakfast then, shall we?"

Ingrid's mouth fell open.

"What? I'm hungry, you need your energy, and some food in our stomachs would only make our brains function fast and better, right?" I grinned.

"Absolutely!" Charmaine's eyes lit up.

Once we had ordered, we headed for a table. "So, you guys got any ideas?" Ingrid enquired.

"No success yet."

"I was thinking...how about modern art?" Charmaine suggested helpfully.

"No, not that...it's too overrated a topic now. Which exhibition these days doesn't have specimens of modern art? I want to try something completely new," I opposed.

"Or retro, you mean. That will be something new," Ingrid thoughtfully tapped her pencil against her chin, leaning her elbow on the cafe table.

"Uh, not exactly. I don't know."

"Grid, you have any ideas yourself?" asked Char.

"Yes, I think so. We could do installations...I mean, I know even they're not uncommon these days but then they're always fun to do. As for the theme...I was thinking something along the lines of history."

"Cool! But the history of what?" Char said, and I nodded.

"Not sure—maybe the world, or something like music, sculptures, monuments, theatre. And why not art itself?"

"Hmm...it's actually a good idea! We could work on it for the time being. Let's suggest it today to everyone in the Club," I said, excited already. "Although I'll have to miss lunch for research."

"Miss club in-charge, you forget that the Club isn't meeting before next week. Remember, Ms. Olivia said last Monday that she'd not be able to meet us this week today onwards, because she was flying to London for a family event?" Char reminded me.

"Oh god...that completely slipped off my mind! And to think I'd been worrying about it since yesterday," I groaned.

Both of them grinned and I sighed. "I really am stupid."

"Well, at least we already did today what we'd anyway have to do sooner or later," Grid, always the sensible one, pointed out.

"You're right, but still..." I was cut short by the call for our order being ready, which prompted Charmaine to go up to the counter and retrieve it.

As soon as we were finished, the bell for the first class of the day rang and sent us rushing to our classes.

At the end of school, I was walking out into the lobby, deep in some thought that got knocked right out of my mind when someone crashed into me headlong. "I'm so sorry! I didn't see—Ms. Olivia?" I exclaimed in surprise.

"Oh, it's you, Ms. Cole! It's okay, it was my fault, too." She smiled, massaging her forehead.

I returned her smile, sheepishly. The next moment, I frowned. "You're here... so does that mean the club is meeting today?" I was not at all pleased with the possibility—I was supposed to address the next meeting, and I wasn't prepared in the least!

"No, of course not! I just came to campus today to wrap up some work before heading to London," she explained.

"Oh, alright." I heaved an internal sigh of relief. "Have a safe trip!"

"Thanks, Megan. See you!"

I watched her walk past me to the administration section, and then I exited the building.

Reaching the almost-empty parking lot, I removed the lock from my bicycle and waited for Grid and Char. It was Tuesday, and their last class was Chemistry, which meant they were stuck cleaning up their lab spots after the practical class. I dumped my bag in the bike's basket, took out a book to read, and settled on the ground in a space between the bikes, leaning on the low boundary wall.

I looked up when I heard a car engine start, and was shocked to find it was the exact car I had spotted in front of my home the previous day, now backing out from its space. As it turned toward the exit, the driver lowered the black tinted windows.

It was Ms. Olivia.

The revelation raised a lot of questions, but the only source of answers had driven out of the parking lot, and out of sight.