“Hey,” she murmurs sleepily. “You okay? You didn’t come home last night. I was a little worried because my mum said we need to look out for each other, and I thought maybe you’d been kidnapped or something or… But you’re here. When did you get in?”
Her messy bed hair is adorable in a loose bun, and her eyes look even bluer without her glasses. I shuffle further under the covers. “This morning.”
“Wanna talk about whatever has you all…” she asks, tucking her hands under her cheek, her eyes scanning my face. “I don’t know. You look wrong.”
“I look wrong?”
She gestures vaguely towards me, circling her finger in the air. “Like your face.”
“Thanks,” I huff a laugh.
She sits up, shaking her head. “No. I mean you look like there’s something wrong. Like when something is just off with someone, but you can’t put your finger on what it is. Like that.”
Her words and their meaning hit me in the face like a snapped guitar string. “Wait… You can see that there is something off with me?”
“Yep.” She nods once, firmly.
Speechless, I blink at her. This feeling, theofffeeling, is invisible, I thought. It has to be. It has to be because it has gone unnoticed by the people who love me the most. Gone completely unnoticed to the point I didn’t believe it was an actual feeling.
“I’m a good listener,” she adds.
Given our previous conversations, with her yapping and me smiling awkwardly, that statement seems funny. “I’m sure you are, Elise.”
She gives me a sad half-smile. “Is it about a boy?”
It’s about two.
Sighing, I roll onto my back, facing the foreign white ceiling. And I’m silent for too long apparently, because she doesn’t wait for a reply. “Well, I’m here if you ever need me,” she says adamantly. “Wanna go to the showers together?”
I look at her without moving my head. She is pulling back her pink sheets and moving across the room. I watch her collect her toiletries, the way her shoulders slump slightly as she arranges them and grabs a towel.
Her eyes flick towards me, then away, like she’s imagining us dancing around the room in pyjamas, sharing secrets about crushes between midnight snacks. The kind of friendship that exists in coming-of-age movies. The kind I have never had because I was never allowed to go to sleepovers or host sleepovers. I wish I had it in me to be that girl for her.
Maybe I do.
Maybe I can.
Sitting up in bed, I push my blue cotton blanket down to my thighs and rub my face back to life with both palms. I haven’t slept at all. I glance down at my kitten-print nightgown, tracing the patterns with my fingertip. I was in such a daze this morning that I don’t even remember putting it on.
My dad always tells me I dress younger than is customary for my age. My excuse is that I’ve been denied a fair amount of fashion development, so my defining trend is yet to be established. The truth is, we had little money while I was growing up, and I already felt like I should take less. Less than what was offered. Less than what was in front of me. So, Ishopped at second-hand clothing stores. I got quite good at finding gems, really.
Elise suddenly stops by the door, bending to pick something up off the floor. “Blesk,”she gasps. “There’s something here for you!”
“What’s it say?” I slide off the bed and wander over to her, my cheeks heating up as I read the note over her shoulder.
Blesk,
I hope I didn’t get you into too much treble.
Good news is, the bar is so low now, Erik just guaranteed you at least a distinction.
All you have to do is show up, and I’ll be imp??
And, hey, now I know a harmonica player that I like.
K
My heart swells.
