Sunshine
No, I’m fine. Just tired.
Bullshit.
She’s not fine. I know Kenna too well. She’s trying to act like she’s okay, like she doesn’t need anything, but I know better. Iknowher. And I can’t just sit around and wait for her to snap out of whatever funk she’s in.
I stand up abruptly, the sound of the chair scraping against the floor echoing through the cafeteria. My friends look up at me in surprise, but I’m already walking away, barely registering the murmurs behind me. Kenna is the only thing on my mind.
I pass the vending machines without a glance, ignoring the security guard calling after me when I head toward the parking lot. I’m halfway to my car before I even register that I left my backpack on the table. Doesn’t matter. Nothing is right now.
I don’t waste any time. Leaving school, I go directly to my car and drive to the store, planning my shopping list. I already know what will make her feel better, and what she’ll like.
I grab a bouquet of hibiscus first. It’s something so simple, but every time I’ve handed her those flowers, there’s been this softness in her eyes. I know they’ll cheer her up.
Then, I grab a jar of cookie butter and a box of saltines. I can’thelp but think it’s a weird combination, but it’s something Kenna always swears by when she’s feeling under the weather. I’ve seen her eat it countless times—sitting on her couch in that old hoodie of hers, eating the cookie butter with a spoon and dunking the saltines in it. It’s comforting to her, and if it makes her feel better, then I’m getting it.
I can’t resist grabbing the latest One Direction album. Kenna’s had a soft spot for them for as long as I’ve known her. I know she still listens to their music, even though she’d never admit it to anyone else. It’s a small thing, but just thinking about it makes me smile.
On the way to checkout, I spot a tiny stuffed keychain. It is a little sun with a goofy smiling face. It’s dumb, probably too cutesy, but it reminds me of her. Sunshine. My Sunshine. Maybe it’ll make her smile, even just a little.
When I get home, my mind’s still running a mile a minute. I walk through the door and see my mom at the counter, chopping vegetables for dinner. She’s wearing her apron, humming to herself. The second she sees me standing there in the middle of a school day, her expression shifts.
Her brows knit together. “Cole?” She glances at the clock on the microwave. “What are you doing home? It’s not even sixth period yet.”
I hesitate, the shopping bags awkward in my hands. “I left school,” I say, not even trying to sugarcoat it. “Kenna’s sick. I picked up some stuff for her.”
“You left?” Her voice rises slightly. “As in…you just walked out of school? Without telling anyone?” She sets the knife down, wiping her hands on a towel. “Cole, you can’t just disappear like that! What if the office calls me? What am I supposed to say?”
I drop the bags on the counter a little harder than I mean to. “Tell them I don’t care.”
“Excuse me?”
I meet her eyes. The words come out before I can stop them. “Kenna’s not okay. I don’t care about school right now, Mom.She’s sick, and something’s wrong, and no one’s paying attention to it but me.”
For a second, everything goes quiet. The only sound is the faint ticking of the wall clock.
Her eyes soften, but her voice stays firm. “I get you care about her, honey. I do. But you can’t just skip school every time someone’s having a rough day??—”
“No,” I cut in, sharper than I mean. “This isn’t a rough day. It’s not just a headache or a cold. I know her, Mom. I know when she says she’s fine but isn’t. And right now? She’s not fine. She didn’t show up, she didn’t text, she lied and said she’s tired—she only does that when she’s hiding something.”
Mom exhales slowly, her frustration melting into genuine concern. “You really think it’s serious.”
I nod. “I know it is.”
She pauses, then walks over and gently places a hand on my shoulder. “Okay. So what did you get her?”
I walk to the counter and start unpacking the bags. “Hibiscus, cookie butter, saltines…and the new One Direction album.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Still into them, huh?”
I almost smile. “She’ll deny it, but yeah. I don’t think she ever stopped.”
She chuckles under her breath. “Of course you got her the album. You’re lucky she didn’t have a full-blown boy band obsession before you met her, or you might’ve had some competition.”
I roll my eyes, but the tension in the room eases a bit. She helps me arrange everything into a little wicker basket, adding tissue paper from the cabinet to make it look nicer. When I move to steep the tea, she watches, quiet and warm.
“You’ve always been good to her, Cole,” she says, her voice soft but smiling. “Even after being together for a few years, you still make her feel special.”
