༺ THIRTY - FIVE ༻

Time is going fast. Before I know it, we're seven weeks later, about a week before Christmas.

Unfortunately, Thomas is going on vacation with his parents and grandparents for Christmas. Some house in the mountains, where the snow is even thicker.

I love it for him, because I'm sure it'll be fun even though he's just with adults, but there was a part of me that had hoped Newt invited him over to try our British meal on Christmas Eve or that he would be there when we open our presents.

And yes, we still haven't told Newt. We were just very busy alright? We'll tell him someday.

His birthday went smoothly. No one's head got pushed in the cake. Minho and Winston maybe drank a little too much, but it was nice.

And then the thing that I'm not sure what to think about.

The play has moved a few weeks forward because the theatre where we're doing it needs to be repaired, and not every dancer seems to dance it perfectly yet.

I guess it gives me more time to lose weight. But the weeks of practicing the same things over and over again are getting annoying. I could dream the steps by now.

So yay, Thomas is not in town and neither is Teresa since she's going somewhere too.

With a sigh, I flush the toilet. And I'm washing my hands again, then my mouth.

My diet's been fine. Sometimes I couldn't get away with it and was forced to eat a small meal without having my laxatives or being able to go to the toilet straight after, but the numbers are lowering super fast.

I stare into the mirror. Yeah, my skin for sure is a million shades paler than my coffee, which keeps getting darker. My hair has thinned, but there's no bald spots or anything, luckily. And it's winter, so way easier to wear big hoodies to make sure no one stares again.

They do that sometimes, at ballet. It's not really mean or personal, but I can sense their eyes taking my body in as I dance with Aris, which has been two weeks ago already. Janson figured that we could practice with each other less, since we both know the dance.

I pass Sonya in the hallway, and her face lights up. "There you are! Come on, we're waiting for you to try the cookies, too!"

Before I know it, I've been pulled into the kitchen with a plate full of the most sugary cookies I've seen all year.

I can't— before I will even manage to get to the bathroom, calories will already lock their place in my body. A simple salad Thomas sometimes makes, or a sandwich with healthy things are doable, but I can't just... no.

Then, the doorbell rings and I bless whoever that was.

Newt opens up, and boom, definitely blessed because it's my bloody boyfriend. Guess he's saying goodbye before he leaves for two weeks.

Ugh.

Two weeks is way too long.

Oh, and there Minho is, too.

"Ahw, you baked us cookies!" They both reach out to take one, but Sonya slaps their hands away.

"I thought those were for us!"

Sonya glares at Minho. "And I thought I baked them and I decide who eats 'em."

"Come on!" Minho crosses his arms. Looks down at them, and back up at Sonya with a grin. "See that? One cookie won't ruin these pretty ladies."

Thomas squints an eye. "You did not just call muscles ladies—"

"At least I have ladies," he spats.

I choke on my water, but it's so soundless that barely anyone notices, even when my face gets bright red.

"I have—" Thomas tries to step forward, but I take his wrist just on time. "—no ladies indeed," he finishes, nodding heavily. "None. Not one. Not even a single girlfriend, and not even a boyfriend. Nada, noppes, no—"

I pull his wrist, and he's silenced.

Newt gives him a glare before he hands the two a cookie, finally satisfying them.

Sonya sighs. She gives up and holds the plate in front of my eyes. "Here."

"I already had one while these twats bickered," I say. "They were great. Very sweet, though."

Minho picks another one when Sonya isn't looking. "They're really good. Even for a dumb blonde like you."

She softly smashes her elbow in his side. "Thank you, idiot."
He smiles.

Thomas squeezes my hand, which he's been holding as long as no one looked. "I'm going to the toilet," he says. His expression says enough.

I wait until the three in front of me have forgotten Thomas left, then mutter something about grabbing my ballet stuff.

I meet Thomas in the hallway, take him upstairs in case someone will see, and sit down on my bed.

He does the same, crossing his legs so he's in the exact same position as me, just facing each other.

"What'd you want to say?"

"Bye before I leave." Thomas gives me a small smile. "Chuck's coming with us, too. That'll save me from being around the adults."

I smile at the thought. He and Chuck are five years apart, but they still have a bond like this. It's awesome. "Have fun," I encourage. "I'm sure it'll be great."

"Yeah." His smile gets a little brighter. "But I hate leaving you here with that shucking idiotic rat, knowing he might do something."

"He won't until the play," I say. "But I'm afraid he's going to hurt you. He said he knew a way to stop you from interfering with their cases, Thomas."

"I'll be alright," he assures. "And you'll be safe."

"True, because I don't have ballet the following two weeks. Vacation, you know?"

"Awesome. Then just... stay safe. We'll call a lot while I'm gone."

"For sure." I nod heavily, intertwining our fingers. I look down at them, noticing once again how small my hands are compared to his. No, they've gotten smaller for sure. Thinner, at least.

And his are still so... well, amazing.

"You will keep eating between ballet and work, right?" His eyebrows get a small curve. "Luca really won't mind making you something, in case you've got no motivation to do it yourself."

I nod. But I know it's a lie, and my stomach twists in disgust at myself.

He kisses my cheek. "Good. I'm proud of you."

He shouldn't be. I swallow, nodding again. "Will you be alright? How have the panic attacks been?"

Thomas shrugs. "I don't have them very often anymore. Sometimes at the rink, sometimes in the car after skating, and sometimes when I wake up from a nightmare, but I'll manage. Got my pills."

"Good," I say. "I'm proud of you, too."

I truly am. Yet I still want to help him. His coach, Jorge, obviously doesn't have enough time to help him get through it all, and I don't think his teammates take it very seriously. Because Thomas never mentions how bad he actually feels about the accident.

I wrap my arms around him. Immediately, I'm pulled closer and we just sit there for a while, eyes closed as I feel his steady breaths against my neck. I decide these kind of hugs are one of my new favorite things.

"We have to go back," he whispers. "They'll get suspicious."

Slowly, I let go of him, my pulse fastening as I do. I don't want to let go of him just yet. But we don't have much of a choice, unfortunately.

He kisses my forehead. I've noticed it, he's always giving my face quick pecks like that. "Let's go."

✵

"So what's Janson gonna do now?" I ask.

Aris and I met up in a cafe. I figured that if I want friends, I have to keep the relationships up, and Aris didn't hesitate when I texted him.

He shrugs. "I don't know. I can't care much. He's a shitty teacher."

"Well..." I start.

Then I question my existence because everything has made it obvious that Janson is a shitty person and teacher. Especially after Thomas's discoveries.

"Yes," I say. "But you're not afraid he's going to tell your parents? Exclude you from the play?"

"If I tell my Mom what happened, she'll understand better than anyone. And I'll be fine without the play. It's just the dancing and letting go of thoughts that I like, not the play itself."

I tilt my head after giving a quick nod. "Okay. Thank you, by the way. I was... taken aback when it happened, so I'll thank you now. For standing up for me."

He nods back. Takes a sip of his drink. "You're welcome. He deserved it."

I finish my coffee with a sigh, my eyes falling on the plate with cookies in front of us. No one's eaten a thing so far. Not that I'm planning to.

He notices. "You should take one. I'm taking multiple. Mostly for my mom. She'll like 'em."

He's only talking about his mom. Not his dad. And I can't help asking, "Is it just your mom you live with?" 

Aris nods. "Yeah. My father left when I was young. Don't have a lot memory of him. I'm happy with Mom alone." He puts a few cookies in a plastic bag he randomly pulled out of his pocket, and puts them back in.

"You're always carrying plastic bags with you?" My eyebrows raise.

"Oh, yeah." He doesn't seem very bothered by it. Handles it normally. "She's got an eating disorder too. Well, used to. But she still isn't a big fan of the unhealthy food, yet she eats what I bring home, so I try to get as many things as possible. Said she didn't want to waste things either."

"That's really sweet of you," I compliment. "I'm sure she deserves that care."

"She does," he confirms.

We're silent for a while. His words repeat in my mind because it's a genuine kind thing, until it hits me.

"Too?" I look up, frowning.

Aris's face gets washed over with confusion. "Huh?"

"You said 'too'. She has an eating disorder too." A bad feeling fills my stomach. "Do you...?"

"No," he says fast. "Forget that."

I know what he means then.

Of course I do. But Aris can't know. I don't know how he knows because I sometimes eat in front of him, and there's no way he knows about my laxatives or anything.

I shake my head. Let go of it. "So, eh..." I start, biting my lip until I know what to say. "Have you seen Teresa lately?"

His eyes widen in alert. "Uh, a few times, yes," and his voice is more high-pitched.

Yup. They're smitten.

"Nice," I say. Slowly, the smile starts to grow back on my face. "And?"

He frowns. "And...?"

"If you like her!" I peep. "Do you?"

His whole face gets bright red, which says enough. Yet I let him stammer. "Well- I don't know, eh— you're going to snitch to her!"

"I won't," I promise. "But I guess I know enough now."

Aris's lets out some kind of yelp in defense. "But you like Thomas!"

I gasp. "No, I- yes, I do, but that's none of your business!"

"I knew it," he whisper-yells, almost fist pumping in the air. "And he likes you, too. One hundred percent. When do I set the first date?"

My face gets so red I can feel the heat burst through it. And I don't know what part of my face betrayed it, but Aris's mouth falls open in realization.

"You're already dating him?!"

I smack his arm so he won't attract any attention, my eyes widening. Denying won't work. I'm a terrible liar when it comes this far. When I'm unable to convince them unless I'm a master at lying. "You can't tell anyone!"

"What?" He leans closer. "It's true, oh my god! Why haven't you told anyone? Even Teresa didn't share that."

I bury my head in my hands. Man, I really thought Thomas would be the first one to betray us. "Because Thomas is Newt's best friend and I'm not sure how Newt will react to his sister dating his friend."

"How long have you been dating?" He's beaming by now. "Man, I'm the first one to know? I feel awesome."

"Eh." I scrunch my eyebrows. "Like three months."

"Three months?" His mouth drops further. "I should've seen that. Someone should've seen that."

I shrug. "No one did so far. So please don't tell anyone."

He holds up his pink. "I, Aris Jones, sincerely promise I won't betray Rosalind Isaacs and Thomas Edison until they've told Newton Isaacs."

I hook his pink with mine, chuckling at the formality. "Good."