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“So insipid means not having any flavor?”

“Yup, or, more precisely, boring.”

The first time I heard -sipid is after I checked out the vocabulary section in my SAT textbook. How I’m supposed to figure out it has anything to do with taste buds or dullness, I’m not entirely sure.

“Ohoh, Atè,” I say. I swallow my embarrassment, cheeks flaming red as I look down, then quickly look back up. Someone as successful as my Atè will always keep her head up.

We practice a few more rounds, but as I work my way through orthodox, supercilious, and tout, my mind snags on what happened at Star Lakes. I scrunch my hands into fists, remembering Sandra and Aaliyah taking their photos at the bridge, and I scrunch them harder remembering I couldn’t speak up for myself or just take my photo at the bridge anyway. My eyes dart to my closed blinds, the sunlight no longer saturating them. I wish I were back in Star Lakes, taking my friendship photo and hanging out with Nora. I’m glad Aprilette can’t read my mind. She would not be happy that I’d rather be hanging out with Nora.

Aprilette and Nora don’t exactly hate each other, but they don’t get along well, either. They just see things differently. While Nora thinks the weekends are dedicated to playing video games and watching American Horror Story, Aprilette thinks they’re perfect for extra studying and working. Aprilette believes the best kind of fun is staying indoors to read Sylvia Plath or watch Filipino dramas. Nora, on the other hand, thinks the best kind, aside from video games, is going outdoors to camp or swim. Nora likes being in rooms with lots of people, lots of noise. Aprilette likes being in rooms with fewer people, lots of silence.

Thinking this over, though, I wonder what I like to do on the weekends.

“Great job, Emi,” Aprilette says. “Be sure to go over the ones you missed.”

“Siggi, Atè,” I say.

Aprilette straightens her posture on her leather throne. “So, how’s volunteering at WCH going?”

Horrible. “Busy,” I reply instead.

“No surprise there.”

Aprilette never told me about her time volunteering at WCH. Whenever she came back home, her thick hair frizzy and tangled, she’d yawn and tell me a few details here and there, a lot having to do with how much work she did. From cleaning monitors and cuffs to transporting patients in wheelchairs out of the hospital. Nothing about Grace or any of the volunteers or patients. But maybe our experiences are similar.

“Any stories about WCH, Atè?”

“It was exhausting,” she replies, and a little bit of relief settles in my chest. “But I got used to it. Learned a lot, too.”

“What were the first few weeks like?”

“Ugh, the worst.”

Phew. I’m not alone. Even my Atè had a rough start. “Must’ve been hard, huh?”

“Not really,” she says easily. The relief that was settling in my chest is now dissipating, and again, it feels like I’m the only one who’s done every task wrong. I probably should’ve expected this response, especially from my Atè, but it doesn’t stop me from wanting to cry. She continues, “It’s just a lot of work. We’re in there forever, and it’s always freezing, which is annoying since it’s always a billion degrees Fahrenheit in Sunlight. So I was feeling either really cold or really hot. Never in between.”

I stitch a smile across my face and, as best as I can, chuckle, the sound coming out muffled behind my mouth. “Right.”

“I had to start bringing a jacket, which is ridiculous in Sunlight, especially during the summer. You know what I mean?” I nod at the one thing I can relate to. “Anyway, all the other volunteers and I joked and said how our jackets were the only things keeping us from looking like clones.” She laughs recalling this. I try to laugh with her, but only half of my mouth curves upward.

Should I tell my Atè that I wasn’t able to lead a family member to the waiting room, and someone else had to help instead? I could ask her if she ever made any mistakes, or if anyone got annoyed with her, but the more she reminisces about her good old days at WCH, bonding with the other volunteers and getting praised by the nurses, the more I seal my mouth shut. I may be talking to my Atè, but I still feel so alone, like I can’t tell her that I did something wrong.

“What about you?” Aprilette asks. “Any new friends? Cute guys?”

“No and no.” At this last part, my stomach sinks. She’s expecting me to look for someone who isn’t Jase. I don’t know why, but I feel irritated she wants me to already find another guy. Not that I know Jase well or anything. But pink tickles my cheeks when I remember what he asked me. How were you able to answer that question with so much ... detail? It’s the kind of question someone would only ask Aprilette, or even Chloe Kensington.

“Oh, Emi, branch out a little. Everyone there is so nice.”

If Grace is usually nice, then I must be so useless that she’s only mean to me. Talking to anyone at WCH sounds easy coming from my Atè, who has the guts to tell our parents they’re wrong, even if it gets her in trouble. Sometimes I think my life would be a lot easier if I could start a conversation or easily join one. Just say anything without thinking too much.

“I’ll try.”

“So, what do you do there?” Aprilette asks.

I was dreading this question. “Pass out cups of water to guests in the waiting room.” I’m not sure what’s more painful. Actually doing said task or telling my Atè about it.

She raises an eyebrow, and I only flush. “That’s all?” I confirm with an embarrassed nod. “Wow, you have it easy. I had to do a lot.”