—Chapter One—
✦ A R I A N A ✦
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I huffed, blowing a strand of hair distractedly from my eyes. "No, Rixton, I'm pretty sure it's twenty-one," I told him matter-of-factly. We were discussing our Algebra homework, and Rixton was doubting my answer to a problem, as per usual.

"Hmm, that's almost exactly what you said last time with our History assignment," he reminded me. "And guess what we ended up getting?" I grimaced as he spoke, biting my lip as I shuffled around to lean against my bed frame, finishing his sentence. "I know, an F. Can you let it go already?"

"No, I can't!" Rixton snapped. "That nearly threw our whole entire grade into the trash! It took two weeks of doing extra credit and staying behind in class to bring it up!"

I shrugged helplessly, then realized he couldn't see me, so I replied, "Oh, please, it's an A now, isn't it? Everything is fine, so just forget about it."

Rixton mimicked me, prompting a scowl to brace my lips. He could be a jerk sometimes. Stretching out my legs, I changed the subject. "Anyway, what did you do in gym?"

"It's called P.E., Ariana," Rixton corrected me, and I rolled my eyes. "Oh my God, it means the same freaking thing!" I exclaimed, exasperated. "Why are you so snooty today?"

Rixton let out a grumble and answered angrily, "I am not being snooty—"

"Whatever," I interrupted, not wanting to get into another pointless argument. "Just. . . What did you do in g—P.E.?"

"Played some stupid bonding game," he answered, clearly uninterested with the subject. "What did you do?"

I pushed my glasses distractedly up the bridge of my nose and answered, "The same thing. I actually enjoyed it, believe it or not."

"Enjoy gym?" Rixton echoed, then cursed as I cried out in triumph. "Ha! You called it gym! It's P.E., Rixton!" I chided him smugly.

"Okay, okay, good grief. So who was in your group?" Rixton asked, but I knew it was only to distract me. Still, I didn't necessarily mind. "Umm, Erin Reeds, and, er—I forget who else."

"Really? Wasn't the whole thing supposed to be about getting closer to people?" Rixton demanded, and I scowled in indignation. "Alright, then you list off everyone on your team," I challenged, to which Rixton felt silent.

"Stop picking battles you can't win," I told him, struggling to stifle my contempt. "But yeah, I really liked the exercise. So did Erin."

"You keep mentioning Erin, so I'm assuming she's important," Rixton stated, and I stared at my feet, absently wiggling my toes. "I don't know," I confessed. "She could just be a possible friend, is all. Plus, her name was easiest to remember."

"Sure," Rixton mumbled, and I pursed my lips into a thin line. Just then, my mother called me down for dinner. Surprisingly relieved, I said quickly, "Got to go. The food is ready."

"Such explicit grammar," Rixton teased, and I smiled. You smiled again today, with Rixton. "Anyway, I'll let you go. Enjoy your meal." I snorted at his formal attitude. You snorted, which is close to laughter. Again with Rixton.

"Bye," I said, and he gave a short reply before I hung up. I set my phone down on my bedside table and hurried towards the door. "Coming, Mom!" I yelled, nearly scrambling out into the hallway and down the stairs.

The tantalizing scent of baked potatoes and chicken met my nostrils, and I slid into my usual seat at the table, politely saying "thank you" as my mother passed me my plate and drink.

My father was already there, reading something on his phone. He had just gotten a recent update, and now he was dead-set on learning how to properly use his device. Luckily, he mostly turned to my mother for questions, since he didn't want to go to me due to his pride.

"So, how was your day?" My mom asked as she smacked my dad's hand, forcing him to set down his phone. It was like he was the teenager here. "It was good," I replied, shoveling food into my mouth ravenously.

"Manners," my mother chided, passing me a napkin. I used it to wipe my face before setting it down, swallowing.

"How was your day?" I inquired in turn, examining her closely. Her eyes had grown more tired, worn-down increasingly with each passing day. When she came home from work, her hair was frazzled beyond belief and she was short-tempered.

"Great!" She answered immediately, grinning. I didn't voice my inner thoughts, but I assumed it was fake. Nevertheless, I kept eating, not wanting to openly confront her. Yet.

My father was staring at his plate, shuffling his potatoes around mindlessly. He was becoming a little irritating, if I was being honest. He hardly spoke to us anymore, and if he did, it was in short replies, questions, and sentences. I understood that he was stressed, but everyone was. So what was the use of him shutting everyone out?

I remembered distant days where he'd laugh easily, smile over everything, even have a paint-fight with Mom. Now. . . I couldn't picture him doing any of those things. Death changed people, I assumed.

But Suzan was my best friend, practically my sister. I could get him being distraught, horrified, grief-stricken. She was around us for so long and so often, she became like a part of our family. But if I could manage to keep myself together, couldn't he? I knew these were most likely horrible thoughts. Clearly something was wrong with my dad, and I was annoyed with him. That wasn't normal, was it?

Brushing strands of hair from my face, I took another bite. Crippling silence gripped the table, and I hated it. Thankfully, it wasn't long before my mom broke the quiet. "It's getting kinda chilly outside, isn't it?"

"Yeah. I guess I don't really mind it," I answered. "I'm praying for a snow day later on."

My mother laughed. "Who knows, you'll probably get one eventually," she assured me, then paused as she consumed more chicken.

About ten more minutes passed, with exchanged conversation between my mom and me. However hard we tried to include my father, he didn't jump in to anything. Finally, I couldn't take it any longer. I was finished, anyway. "I'm all done. May I be excused?" I asked, the words dry on my tongue. My mom dismissed me with a small wave of her hand and I swiftly stood up, pushed my chair in, and dumped my plate into the sink, rinsing it and squirting on some soap. When I had completed that task, I instantly hurried upstairs.

I entered my room, trying my best not to slam the door in frustration. Instead I merely closed it before collapsing onto my bed. I reached for my phone and earbuds, plugging them in and fastening them into my ears. I turned on some music and leaned back, letting out a soft breath.

The words, so familiar to me, rang through my brain. I mouthed them rather than verbally singing them. The lyrics brought comfort to my heart, provided me with a message. Wait for it. Everything will be okay. Just wait for it. You have to be willing to wait for it.

I let my eyes slide shut and pressed the volume up a bit louder. The song was on loop, and I knew I'd have it stuck in my head for at least a few days, but I didn't care nor mind. I wanted it to keep replaying through my thought-process.

I was so engrossed I didn't notice my mother entering my room until she cleared her throat. I shot up, quickly pausing the song and taking out my earbuds. "Yes?" I questioned, trying not to get impatient.

"I thought it was time we talked," my mother began, and I stifled a groan. Our 'talks' didn't really go well. It was mostly stuff I already knew, and she just felt the need to repeat them.

"Go ahead," I mumbled, resisting the strong urge to answer with, we already are.

She took a seat beside me, and I stared at her expectantly, just wanting it all to be over with. . . .

Then she started to speak again.