The following Saturday, Orenda's honey voice drifted through my closed window at 1PM, and that resulted in me opening the window and actually helping her over the window sill (which wasn't something that happened very often) because she claimed that she was tired from listening to me all the time. That made lots of sense since I hadn't talked to her since Monday.

But prior to that, Egan had called me bright and early in the morning (6:14AM, to be precise), and I ran into the kitchen for the phone before my parents could wake up and start complaining about my choice in friendships.

"Hey Finn," Egan said, sounding very awake.

"What?" I grumbled.

"Wanna go for a run together?"

"Are you... are you crazy."

"No," he replied, still sounding awake.

"That wasn't a question," I said, deadpan.

"Come on! Let's go!" He practically shouted and I scratched the nape of my neck, frustrated.

"Why?"

"We had friends over for Good Friday yesterday. So, I had a big dinner, and I just thought I'd call you to come with me."

"Egg, you're very fit. Good night." I hung up, and the phone rang again, almost immediately. 

I picked it up.

"Okay, what's with you and hanging up on people?" Egan joked. "Let's just go! I'm coming to your house in two minutes, see you."

"I have a haircut appointment today," I negotiated.

"When? 7 o'clock in the morning?"

"No, eleven," I mumbled.

"You wimp. I'm coming and you'd better be ready."

"I'm not a wimp. I'll be ready." 

He hung up.

I quickly changed into some running-appropriate clothing, grabbed my white cane, and put on my glasses; by the time I was slowly putting on my shoes, Egan rang the doorbell about a million times and I unlocked the door, shushing him in the process.

"You're going to wake up my parents!" I spat at him.

"Sorry, man. Cool kicks."

"Thanks. I really like the colour."

He groaned and we slipped out of the house so quietly it was as if we had stolen something. Egan handed me a nutrition bar of some sort and a bottle of water whilst explaining why I should eat bigger meals after a workout to minimize muscle pain and etc, etc. He had always been much too on top of things - workout wise. It was kind of sad for the reason he started working out and going to the gym and stuff, and that was because all the kids in his middle school would make fun of him for being overweight. Obviously 'fat jokes' with racial slurs combined by sixth graders could've beaten a little kid to the ground just by hearing it once, and the way Egan explained it to be, it happened almost everyday. So one day he ate less, and less, and less; and started running and running and running.

When Egan started running I sort of ran with him, even though it was really hard for me to do (blind-wise). But I still did try, and there was a point in my life when we would race each other from one end of the neighbourhood to another over and over again (plus ab and arm workouts). Needless to say, during that time I felt pretty good.

We ate at the porch steps, and I almost fell asleep right then and there. I had began to become extremely sleep deprived ever since St. Hemling, since I had a whole lot of homework and studying, much more that when Barry was my tutor. School was utterly boring and half of the reason was because Marybeth and I hadn't been talking much, since we literally only had one class together, even though I ate lunch with her occasionally. The other times I ate alone in the echoed hallway, which didn't bother me much knowing that no one could see me all by myself.

"Is school as terrible as Barry?" Egan said, mouth full of granola. I heard him unscrew his bottle cap and take a sip of water.

"Worse," I said, my mouth full of granola as well. I finished and stuffed the wrapper in my hoodie pocket.

"Oh. Have you talked to Orenda lately?"

"No. Why?"

"Aren't you guys, like, a thing?"

I scoffed. "You mean dating? No, I don't think so. Honestly, she's really confusing. It's like she doesn't like me but she feels like I'm the last choice."

"Dang. And you like her?"

"You think!?"

"Sorry." Egan said sorry a whole lot.

"Okay, let's run!" I suggested, so that the conversation would end quickly and hopefully be erased from my memory.

We ran around the block a few times for my sake, because I knew the path so I wouldn't need to be helped around corners by Egan. The whole time we ran Egan reminded me to take small sips of water to avoid cramps, which I responded to with, "yeah okay! Okay! Okay (x10)!" I started to get a little bit hot so I took off my hoodie and Egan threw it onto my driveway when we passed our house, hopefully. It seemed a little strange to me to be up so early, and especially because a lot of people were already bustling around and mowing the lawn, driving their cars, and shouting at their children - with their children responding back in cries. 

We slowed down to a jog after about ten or a hundred laps around the block, and I felt pretty much dead. Egan actually had to take more breaks than me because he was having a hard time breathing because of his asthma. He also claiming that was because his pollen allergy pills weren't 'working like the box said' and I just agreed with him to save his masculinity or whatever.

"What time is it?" I asked, breathless. I sat down and Egan told me it's better to walk around after a run, so I stood up again, my legs burning.

"7:11," he panted.

"Good."

"I'm going to go home before I faint. I think I need my inhaler."

"You going to be okay?" I asked. He had already started walking away.

"Yeah! Good luck with the Orenda May Castellano!" He shouted.

"She's just Orenda!" I called over. I heard him laugh and the door shut.

It took me only 30 seconds to walk back to my house, and I knew I had gotten there because my foot had gotten caught on a very dirt covered hoodie that felt quite familiar.

My mom woke up around an hour after I came back, and she appeared to be completely oblivious about me waking up early and actually doing something good like going for a run. She made me a really good breakfast I can't remember and my dad joked about how the eggs my mom had fried looked like, well, boobs. I don't think my dad's jokes ever ran out of juice.

We talked about how Barry had been discharged from the hospital in ding dang diddly shape and was going to come over on Sunday for dinner, and my dad repeatedly made heart puns (such as, "do you think he'll have the heart to take Finny back for tutoring?" and "my heart goes out to him" and "well, I sure am glad that his heart will be beating 'heart'er now!") 

After that I hopped on the car with my mom and we drove to an old little barber shop on Main Street where a very old lady with a very thick accent complimented me on the "luscious hair on you head!!!!" And my mom was basically on her knees begging the very old lady with a very thick accent to cut it all off. 

"What you want?" The lady yelled into my ear. I flinched.

"Um..."

"You want movie star? Wrestler? All off? Undercut?"

"Um..."

My mom suddenly appeared beside me and put her hand on my shoulder. "Finnegan, honey, just say you want it to look nice."

"Um..."

"ALL OFF?" She demanded.

"NO!" I cleared my throat. "No. Just, the one you do the most for the, uh, men. You know, just make it look nice."

My mom pat my shoulder and went back to her magazine.

"Okay. I improvise." The very old lady with a very thick accent said, unsure. I had to put a lot of trust I didn't have to her.

Anyway, after all that, I got home with a slightly less heavy weight resting on my shoulders and a very happy and bubbly mom, who kept telling me how it was a good idea that I start to care about my image. 

"I went for a run with Egan this morning, as well," I added onto her speech.

She squealed and kissed my cheek, "Finnegan, I'm so proud!"

"Thanks mom," I wiped her lipstick off my cheek and trudged inside the house, kicking my shoes to the side. My mom said that she was proud again and then went off to vacuum, so I went to my room, shutting the door tight so that the droning sound of the vacuum wouldn't drive me crazy. 

Almost immediately, I heard a small peep of Orenda's voice and I ran to my window, pulled up the blinds, opened the window, and took off the screen.

"Wow, you're getting good at this," Orenda said. I just sighed and stood back, ready for her to tumble in.

"Can you help me?" She asked. 

"Me? Help you go through my window?"

"Yeah. I'm a little tired from listening to you. Please?"

I reached out my hand and her freezing cold hands grabbed it, and then I pulled her in as quietly as I could. Our feet pattered quietly on the floor and I told her to tiptoe.

"Wow," she suddenly said in awe, as if she we looking at some sort of monument.

"What?"

"Your hair! You cut it!"

"Um, yeah. You uh, you like it?" I asked cautiously.

"It looks really good. Um, like a mix of Leonardo DiCaprio, early season Joey Tribbiani, and the alive James Dean."

"Thanks, I heard they're cool. So... where we going today?"

"My house?" Orenda blurted out.

"Orenda... I just got home," I drawled.

"Fine! Then we're painting at your house. I brought my bag and everything." Immediately her stuff was flying into my hands, and I was doubled over with painting supplies, paper, and maybe even an easel. No wonder she was tired.

"Orenda!" I hissed.

"Oh, shut up. This is for school."

I set all the stuff she had thrown onto me on my bed, and adjusted my glasses. "You want me to help you with your homework?"

"Sort of, actually. I have to paint a portrait of someone that I spend a lot of time with, in order to capture familiarity and stuff. And well, you're photogenic, and easy to paint, and you sit still a lot of the time so..."

"You want to paint me? Why don't you paint your mom or something?"

"Um," she said, then laughed.

"What?"

"I don't want to sound insensitive." Orenda muttered.

"Just say it."

"I'm not very good at drawing eyes," she confessed. I actually wasn't offended at all and found it almost kind of cute that she picked me for that reason. I think it was because I knew she would've picked me even if I did have eyes.

So, I just laughed and let her position me on my chair as I sat up very straight, and she adjusted every single detail of my face - my hair, my glasses, the way my chin was facing - and smoothed out my shirt collar and shoulder. 

"Done?" I asked. She yelped and fixed my hair again, which had a single strand that flopped onto my forehead during the brief moment I spoke.

I just sat in the same position as I listened to her scramble around and set things up, turn the light switch on and off again a million times, and adjust my chin position once again. I had never been painted but I was very aware that people in the middle ages had to sit like this just for a tiny picture that probably meant nothing, and I found myself having a lot of sympathy for them.

I heard Orenda slide the window shut and adjust the blinds, as they clanked against the window sill and my lilac that may or may not be alive. She giggled quietly so I just assumed that the flower was indeed, still going strong.

"Finn, can you smile? I just want to see which one would look better in a portrait."

I smiled.

"Okay, now don't."

I did as she said.

"Hmm. Smile, again."

I smiled, again.

"Huh. Do you want a cramped up face?"

Eventually we ended up with me not smiling, and just having some sort of a neutral face. 

I sat still for what felt like an eternity, and after listening to Orenda scratch at the surface of her canvas for so long, I realized that I had never actually been with Orenda when she was painting seriously. Usually when we painted together we made jokes and talked about how I was doing and how she was doing, but this time everything was utterly different just because neither of us were talking. For instance, I realized that Orenda would sigh on a regular basis, and I eventually found out that it was because something hadn't blended well or whatever she likes to call those things. And then when something turned out the way she wanted it to, she would inhale sharply, like her hand had been dunked into cold water on a hot summer day. Then she would exhale very slowly, probably with a smile plastered onto her face.

I couldn't help but wonder what Orenda looked like. I knew what everybody else around me looked like - vaguely, at least - but just not Orenda. In St. Hemling the kids would feel each other's faces to know the basic structure of their peers, and I remember feeling Marybeth's face for the first time and it was weird, yes, but I felt like I knew exactly what she looked like. Marybeth had plump lips, soft cheeks with strong cheekbones, long curly eyelashes, and a puff of insanely curly hair. I knew what Egan looked like too - semi-curled hair, sharp features, and well, I didn't go touching his eyes and lips. And I knew what my parents looked like (older versions of myself). Barry, I didn't, although I knew for a fact that he was as wrinkly as a crumpled dress shirt (as he put it).

"Finn, you're going to need to tilt your chin up if you don't want me to draw in a double chin for you," Orenda said.

"Sorry, um, here, uh, is this good?" I tilted my chin up.

"Great! Thanks."

"Do you want to talk about something, or?" I paused. She didn't seem to be listening. "Orenda?"

"Yuh huh?"

"Want to talk about something?" I was starting to hate the silence.

"Sure. What is it?"

"Well, I don't know. What are you working on right now?"

"Your hair and lips. I'm painting them sort of a maroon colour, I hope you don't mind. It's not exactly supposed to be realistic, but I'm trying to make it like, half realistic at least."

"Oh," I trailed off. I had never heard of the colour maroon and it kind of did bother me, so I quickly said, "describe maroon to me!"

"Chin up, look straight," Orenda mumbled.

"That's a horrible depiction of a colour I don't know," I joked.

Orenda groaned and set her paintbrush down with a clack, then laughed. "Ok fine. Let's see, maroon. It's a hard colour to describe, to be honest." She stood up, pushing my rolling chair back, the wheels scratching gracefully against the floor until it bumped into my desk, I presumed. I held my breath, hoping my parents didn't hear that. 

"Maroon... did you know that it takes it's name after the French word 'marron', meaning chestnut?"

"That's cool. So it's the colour of a chestnut."

"Uh, yeah. Okay. Well, it's really quite an unnerving colour if I have to be honest. It's like trudging through a puddle of mud, or, oh! Have you ever gone to a hotel where the blankets are tucked into the side of the bed too tight and when you get under them you feel like you're in some sort of a cocoon? And then you have to wiggle around inside the cocoon as if you can't breathe. Maroon can also be pretty, if it's in a settling kind of way. When you walk through leaves on a fall day, right after it rained, and the leaves are all soggy but the air is extremely crisp - or almost as if you're sleeping on a tree. In fall, though. Or, Finny, have you ever sat in a coffee shop or any shop that has an abundance of wood furniture and smells? Imagine sitting there with some coffee and a good book and the quiet sounds of rain outside the window, and add on some cabin comfort and a small fire. That's the perfect maroon colour. I never really thought about it, actually, how something so dark and suffocating can be so peaceful and clear. I guess that's what it's like with every single thing in the world, huh? I think maroon is a good representation for lips, perfect even. So much darkness inside can give you so much comfort."

"I loved that," I said honestly. She laughed and just shrugged off my compliment.

"Sit still, I'm not done yet," Orenda giggled and continued swiping her paintbrush.

It dawned on me that I felt really... maroon. The room was cold, daunting, and much too humid for a pretty spring day. Everything inside my room seemed to be utterly maroon, just sickly and a crappy trudge through life. But despite all that, I felt a certain comfort within me, knowing that my room was maroon. I'm not sure what it was. Just the smell of the paint and the silence was flipped over with maroon - but the good, coffee shop kind. Warmth, I think. I think it was warmth.

I didn't ask her to talk again, because I had grown to love just being there with her. I can't really describe it, honestly. Maybe the paintbrush against the canvas said more than we could both mutter.

-----/////-----

A/N

Hey guys!

Happy New Year and I hope you didn't have an existential crisis like I did!!!

I'll give you guys a short author's note today because I've realized that I updated on a good schedule and I'll let you guys take some time to congratulate me yay

Question:

What are your hobbies?

How did you celebrate New Years (or if you did)? I spent my new years writing the first half of this chapter like the anti-social person I am!!!

(also now I want to paint my nails maroon.)

I LOVE YOU ALL HAVE A GREAT DAY HAVE A GREAT LIFE GOD BLESS

also, I'm praying for all of you who are going back to school - like me - I hope your skin is smooth and your outfit is WOWZA and your friends all give you their food and the food makes you ace everything!