Monday
4:02 pm

School goes by extremely slowly.  Nobody really talks to me most of the day, which is good, I guess.  Basketball practice is about to start.
“Hey, Maisie!  Are you ready for this week’s game on Wednesday?” Raisa asks me when I enter the gym.
I nod, “Yeah, I guess so.  This should take my mind off of the stupid dance this week.  I don’t even want to go.  It’s not worth it.”
“Why don’t you want to go to the dance?  I’m going, and I’m probably not even going to get asked to go.  It’ll just be us,” she asks.
I sigh, “Yeah, but I just know that someone’s still going to ask me to dance with them.  It’ll be easier if I don’t go.”
Raisa tugs at her uniform.  “Well, that’s true.  It stinks that you have to deal with that all the time.”
I have to look on the bright side of this.  I’m not pessimistic.  “It’s okay.  I’m used to it now.” I smile at her.
She nods.  “Yeah, I guess you are.  That’s pretty awful.”
I’m about to respond to her, but the coach announces that practice will begin shortly and she orders us to the bleachers.
I don’t really like playing basketball very much, but I’ll occasionally watch it on television.  Raisa asked me to try out for the team at the beginning of the school year.  It’s always been her favorite sport and I wanted to be there for her during games, and the only way my brother would ever give me a ride is if I’m on the team.
Technically, the season doesn’t start until later, but our school has basketball going all year so we can practice as much as we can for the real season.  I think it might be cheating, but I don’t really care.  All of our games at the beginning of the year are against the boys’ basketball team.  Today will be our first practice game.  It’ll be half the time of a regular game, and it will give us a feel of how the guys play.
The coach begins talking about how we are going to be playing the game, and the things we can’t do.  The rules are pretty obvious, like no pushing or shoving, no foul language, no insults, stuff like that.  We play like normal, so what she’s saying is pretty pointless.  I notice that I’ve been twirling my hair and tapping my foot the whole time, and I don’t pay much attention to her at all.  I just imagine little rainbows forming around her head and a little moustache being etched across her face as she’s talking.  I laugh quietly, but I guess it isn’t as quiet as I thought.
“Ms. Maisie Aura, is there something humorous about the game of basketball?  Would you like to share with us what you find so hilarious?” the coach asks.
All eyes turn on me.  I feel my face heat and my fingers and foot become completely still.  I look at Raisa, but she is avoiding my gaze.  I try to stumble my way out of this.  “Oh, I’m sorry, Coach.  I was just thinking about how funny it would be if someone were to get hurt because they did something you were telling them not to.  It would be all their fault, and it would be funny because they were acting as if they knew everything.  Don’t you think that would be funny?”
The coach’s glare softens.  “Of course, Maisie.  Just think about that while I’m not talking next time.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I’m glad I got out of that.  I would’ve been in huge trouble if the coach found out that I was daydreaming.  I’d much rather be in my room at home with all of my paintings and drawings strewn across the walls.  The colors make me forget about my worries of the guys who are always being obnoxious and my brother who never cares about me.  My thoughts and feelings always flow so easily on a piece of paper or canvas.  I’ve always been told my artwork is amazing, but I’ve never wanted to show many people what I’ve been working on.  It feels like what I do is so personal and just for me.  I don’t want anyone insulting anything I do because they don’t know why I do it.
I hide my pain in colors.  All of my clothing is one of the brightest colors I can find in the store.  I don’t own a thing that’s black, white, or brown.  Everything is pink and purple and blue and green and yellow and any other happy color you could possibly think of, I probably have that in a shirt or pants or socks or all three.  My hair is a bright red, the deep cherry that pops out so brightly, you have to look twice to make sure you saw it correctly.  It’s thick and springy with curls.  I don’t try to do this so guys will look at me.  I hate that.  I do it so people don’t suspect my past. 
The bright red makes people think that I have the happiest home life with happily married parents and a nice, clean house.  In reality, I have the opposite.  No parents, and a run-down house that needs everything fixed.  The plumbing is awful, we don’t have air conditioning or heat, the roof has five cracks in it, the windows all have a huge gaping hole we cover with plastic, and our only furniture is plastic chairs and tables.
Another thing is the way I act.  I’m always trying to make people smile, making the biggest grins myself, and just acting upbeat and happy all the time.  I won’t say I hate acting happy, but it is all an act, so I feel like I’m lying to everyone I’ve ever talked to.  The only one who knows the real me is Raisa, and it took her years to figure out what was going on at home.  It wasn’t until I invited her over for a school project last year that she knew.
Raisa pokes my shoulder and I stop my recollections of my past.  “Maisie, practice is starting,” she whispers.
I look around the gym.  Almost everyone is standing up, stretching to get ready for practice.  I get up and tug on my shorts.  The gym is cold and the breeze from the vent above me drifts along my bare legs, which sends goose bumps along my skin.  I cross my arms to try to warm up.
Right now I’m on the bench.  I’m not the best player on the team, so I usually end up watching most of the game.  I hardly get to play.  Raisa’s the best one on our team, so she always plays.  I get to watch her play every practice, and that’s why I started playing on the team anyway.  I only joined to support my friend, so it can’t be that bad if I always sit out.
I never actually am called into the game today, but I do enjoy myself.  It was a tight game.  Our team only won by a couple of points.  The boys’ team must be getting better.  Every week we beat them by a whole lot more.
Raisa comes over to me once it’s over.  “Well, that was fun.  Sorry you couldn’t play too.”
I shrug.  “It’s fine.  I enjoy watching.”
We’re about to leave the gym when one of the guys in my class stops Raisa and me at the doorway.
“Hey, um, Maisie, could I ask you something?” he asks.
I pray that he’s not asking me to the dance like that other guy.  I look to him and nod.
“Good, so you know that assignment we have in biology this week?  I don’t have a partner at the moment, so I was wondering if you could be my partner.  Would that fine?” he asks, his face red.  I can’t tell if it’s from practice or that he’s so nervous to talk to me.
I don’t like hurting people’s feelings, but Raisa’s my partner right now.  I don’t want to say yes to him.  “Uh…” I close my eyes.  “I can’t.  Raisa is my partner already and I don’t want to bail on her.  Maybe a different time.  We should have more assignments later on this semester.”
I open my eyes and he nods with understanding.  “Okay.  You’re right.  Thanks anyway.”
When he leaves and Raisa and I begin walking again, she says, “Wow, you’re pretty good at this.  How is it so easy to say no?”
I shrug.  “I have to all the time.  I’ve gotten good at it.  So, are you going to meet me later, then?”
“Yeah.  Just call and we can figure out a meeting spot,” she says, and she takes off in the other direction.
I make my way through the halls of the empty school until I get to the locker room.  I get my bag out of the locker and turn my phone on to check if I got any new messages.  The only thing I see is this little icon in the corner of the screen.  I tap on it.  I’ve never seen the icon before.  It looks like a little clock with a heart in the middle.  When the new screen pops up, I notice that it isn’t anything I had before.  Across the top of the screen is the word Countdown in big bold letters.  Underneath, it says Days: 1, Hours: 14, Minutes: 30, Seconds: 28.  I stare at the screen as I try to figure out what this “countdown” is for.  There isn’t anything I’m waiting for that’s happening in one day.  In fact, I don’t even remember downloading this.
I decide to ignore it.  It’s probably nothing important if I don’t remember seeing it.  I shove my phone in my bag and walk outside to my bike.  I have to take it pretty much everywhere and I’m surprised that it hasn’t broken from the wear and tear I’ve put on it. 

At home, when I enter the house, I yell, “Weston! I’m home!  Not that you really care.  I’m meeting Raisa later!”
I hear a groan from the living room.  “Whatever.”
I enter the living room and see a girl probably a year or two older than me sitting on the couch next to my brother.  She has her head laid on his shoulder and she’s sitting too close for comfort.
I scoff in disgust at my brother’s habits.  “Weston, don’t you realize that she goes to my school?  She’s in my Spanish class.”
The girl my brother has brought home today looks at him and smiles.  “Don’t listen to her.  I have no idea who she is.  She couldn’t possibly be at my school.”  The girl puts her arms around my brother’s neck and kisses him.
I roll my eyes and say, “Weston, you’re ridiculous!”
None of that is new to me.  I’m just sick of it happening every week.
I throw my bag against the wall and I plop on my bed.  I pull my drawing notebook from my drawer and begin working on my drawing.  I started it a couple days ago, but it’s still just a bunch of random lines trying to form a picture of a girl.  The drawing is supposed to be me in the future as a successful artist.  I am wearing my paint splattered apron staring at the masterpiece I have created that is hanging up in a museum.  This has always been my dream, ever since I was four years old.  My dad gave me my first easel and painting set.  I painted pictures all the time, and I still do.  That’s the only thing I thank my father for.  My love for art is from him.
The lines of my drawing just flow across the page so easily, I hardly have to think about what I’m doing.  I know that I probably won’t finish it today, but it puts my mind at ease if I’m working on some kind of art. 
As I’m working on this drawing, I feel the worries from today wash over me.  My jerk of a brother, the annoying guys who won’t leave me alone, the basketball game on Wednesday, and the strange icon that appeared on my phone without warning.
Weston comes in my room, but I don’t realize that he’s standing there until he is leaning over me and I can feel him breathing on my neck.
“Agh!  Weston!  What are you doing?” I yell, lifting my head up so I’m yelling directly in his face.
“Aren’t you meeting your friend soon, Princess?” he says, the smell of cigarettes and alcohol wafting through the air, tickling my nose and making me want to vomit.
“Yeah, but I don’t meet her for another hour.  Go away.  I thought you had company.”  I direct my attention toward my drawing.
He shrugs.  “Whatever.  I was going to drive you, but I guess you’re too stubborn.”
I look up at him and raise an eyebrow.  He never offers to drive me anywhere.  “No, you never mentioned it before now.  I’ll take your offer.”
He smirks.  “I thought so.  Let’s go.”

Weston’s car smells like a bar.  It’s the worst thing my nose has ever had to endure.  The girl he brought home is sitting in the front seat, and it seems that she doesn’t have the ability to smell.  She’s smiling and happy and holding my brother’s hand.  She’s got to be drunk.
“So, Princess, I’m dropping you off here, right?” Weston asks as we pull up to the mall’s parking lot.
“Yeah.  Raisa is bringing me home.  See you tonight,” I say as I get out of the car, glad that the fresh air around me is bringing my nausea level down.
Instead of waving to me, Weston rolls up the windows and stomps on the gas, making to the tires screech and make the air smell like burning rubber.
I cough.  “I’m surprised he’s not dead yet,” I mumble.  I turn to the doors behind me.  It’s no surprise that the traffic the mall gets on a typical weekend is down to a couple of stragglers, mostly women around forty years old.  I pull the doors open and head to Raisa and my meeting place.  It’s a little bench outside the movie theatre that we sit and talk at.
I find it quickly and I see that Raisa is already there, waiting for me.  There’s a guy I recognize from school talking to her, so I stay a distance away until he leaves.
“Hey, Maisie!” Raisa says as soon as she realizes that I’m standing by a garbage can across the aisle from the bench.
“Oh, hi, Raisa.”  I sit next to her on the bench and she smiles at me.  Then her nose crinkles in disgust.
“Why do you smell like a pack of cigarettes?” she says, plugging her nose.
“Weston gave me a ride.  Apparently the smell doesn’t go away.”
She makes a noise of agreement.  “I wouldn’t be surprised if the seats in that car have lice.”
I squeal.  “Don’t say that!  Then I’ll never get a ride anywhere.  My bike isn’t going to make it through the winter.  I’ll definitely need to get Weston to take me in his car, no matter how awful it is.”
“Yeah.  Oh, I wanted to tell you something!  Did you see that guy who was talking to me earlier?” she says almost too excitedly for my taste.
“I saw him.  What was that about?”
She grins.  “That’s what I’m getting to.  He was asking me if you could do the banners and all of the posters for the dance on Friday!  Isn’t that cool?”
I guess it is.  But that just gives everyone one more thing to compliment me on.  It would be on something I enjoy, but I usually do my artwork to get my emotions out.  This would be different for me.
“Yeah, that’s cool.  When would I be doing that?” I ask.
“After school on Wednesday.  You’d miss the game that day, but that’s just one sacrifice.  I told the guy that you’d probably be okay with it, but I wanted to make sure.  I’ll tell him for you,” she says, looking satisfied with what she’s done for me.
“Thanks.  I’m looking forward to that.  It’ll be really cool to use my abilities for other people,” I say, smiling at her.  I really am excited for this opportunity, and it’ll get me out of sitting at the game, just waiting for my name that will never be called.
“So, do you want to get something to eat and go see that new movie?” Raisa suggests.
“Yeah.  Sounds like fun!” 

After the movie, Raisa takes me home and I lay down in bed.  Today was a long day, I hope that tomorrow will be better.  I check the strange app.  It’s down to 23 hours, 56 minutes, and 7 seconds.  Whatever is happening in the next twenty-four hours better be good.

Tuesday
6:35 am
Manhattan, New York

“Paxton!  It’s time to get ready for school!” Mom yells from the kitchen.  I hear the clanging of dishes as she tries to prepare breakfast.
I get up and look at the mirror in front of my bed.  My hair is a mess, but I don’t really care.  I slide my glasses into place and head to the kitchen.
My little sister, Kellie, is sitting at the table, a glass of orange juice in her hand, her little legs swinging playfully under the table.  She looks at me with big brown eyes and gives me the biggest smile.
“Morning, Brother!” she says.
“Paxton, get ready, I need to get to work early this morning, so you’ll have to take Kellie to school today,” Mom tells me as she slides a plate in front of Kellie.
“Okay,” I say.
“What’s wrong?  Are you feeling okay?” Mom asks, putting a hand to my forehead.
I nod.  “I’m fine, Mom.  I feel the same as I did yesterday.”
She’s hesitant, but takes her hand away and turns to the stove.  She moves the pan that’s sitting on the stovetop back and forth, and she splashes the substance that is inside the pan on herself.  She yelps and turns the heat off.
“Okay, I guess you’re having cereal, then,” she says, her face red and her mouth turned in a frown.
I pull a bowl from the cabinet and get my breakfast ready.
This often happens in the morning.  Mom attempts breakfast, fails, and then I have to clean her mess when she leaves for work and I’m stuck with cereal.  Kellie usually gets the good breakfast because she only likes eggs, the only thing that Mom can actually make without creating a huge disaster out of it.  If I request bacon or pancakes, I might as well give up and go to school without breakfast.
I sit down at the table across from Kellie.  She smiles at me and pokes at her plate.
I eat, and Mom gets ready for work.  She is running around, her hair pins falling out and her heels clinking on the tile floor.  She pulls her coat on, slings her bag over her shoulder and runs down the stairs, yelling her goodbyes.
Kellie looks at me.  “Brother, why does Mom rush so much?”
I don’t know how to answer her.  It’s one of those out-of-the-blue questions that I don’t have time to prepare for.  “Um, she’s always running late, and with Dad not here, she has a hard time staying calm and knowing what she needs to do.  She always does this because she’s not sure what she’s doing all the time, and she’s nervous that she isn’t going to do something right.”
Kellie stares at me in confusion.  “What?”
I know that I gave her a complex answer and none of it made sense to her.  “Never mind.  Go get ready for school.”
Kellie reluctantly stands up from her spot at the table and heads to her room.
I put my head in my hands.  Yesterday was awful.  I felt awful and nothing good happened.  I was made fun of, again, for the hundredth time this month, and we’ve only been in school for a month.  How much could people possibly make fun of in that short period of time?  There’s nothing huge about me, nothing big to make fun of.  They just say these stupid insults that make practically no impact on me, but when ten people all team up together and take their anger out on me, it makes a bigger impact.
So, they say things about my glasses, my clothes, my hair, my necklace I always wear, my music, my dad, my mom, my house, my everything that makes me myself.  There’s not a thing about me someone hasn’t said something rotten about.
I hate school.  The only thing good about it is my friend, Luca.  He’s the only person who isn’t a complete jerk. 
Kellie comes back into the kitchen and asks, “I’m ready.  Aren’t you going to change out of your pajamas?”
I look down at my clothes.  “Um, I guess will.  Thank you.”
I head to my room and pull a dark forest green button up shirt from my closet and slip it on.  I slide my necklace over my head and finger the cross at the bottom of the chain.  I run my fingers through my hair and grab my backpack. 
“Kellie, let’s go!” I say and grab the keys from the hook by the door.

Ever since I turned sixteen, I’ve had to drive my little sister everywhere.  I don’t really mind it, but I do mind it when my mom is asking me to go somewhere every ten minutes I’m home.  She makes me get groceries, do her errands for her (trust me, it’s weird going to the Laundromat with baskets full of my mom’s clothes and my sister’s dresses), and take my sister to her activities.  Shouldn’t that be my mom’s job to do that kind of stuff?
Anyway, I drop Kellie off at her school, and then I take my time going to my own school.  I’m not looking forward to seeing everyone there.
The city is busy this morning, as it always is, and I have a hard time getting through the busiest parts.  I don’t live directly in Manhattan, but I do have to pass through the little bits of the big city to get to school.
I get to school and I see the group of girls who were giggling about how lonely I am yesterday.  I immediately go around the front of the school and head to the back entrance.  Luca is waiting there for me.
“Hey,” Luca says when he sees me.
I’d describe my friend as exotic.  He’s from Italy, and he moved here when we were in seventh grade.  I became friends with him that year, and for a while I was his only friend along with him being my only friend.  After seventh grade, he became friends with other kids, and since then, he’s been the master at making friends.  I, on the other hand, am absolutely horrible at being social.  Orientation for ninth grade was a living nightmare.  They put us in groups of ten kids, and we did this stupid activity where you said your name, and three facts about yourself.  I remember exactly what I said, and the reaction of the group of kids in front of me.
“I’m Paxton Hodges,” I remember saying, “and I like comic books, I want to be a professional guitar player, and my favorite pastime is reading.”
You can imagine the outburst of laughter.  A kid, entering ninth-grade, who likes to read and writes his own music?  It was unheard of, apparently.  I’ve regretted saying that since the day I said it.  I wouldn’t really think that it would be a strange thing, but my classmates certainly thought so.
Thinking back on it, I really should’ve skipped orientation and just sat in the corner during class.  None of this would’ve happened if I would’ve kept my mouth shut like I usually do. 
“Paxton?  You okay?” Luca asks, waving his hand in front of my face.
I shake myself out of my daze.  “Huh?  Oh, yeah, I’m fine.   Class should be starting soon, so do you want to head inside?”
“Yeah.  You had me worried for a second.”
“I was just thinking, nothing major.”
He nods and we head inside to face another awful school day.

During homeroom, we don’t do anything, but someone comes in to talk about the dance on Saturday.
“Hey, Paxton, who’re you asking to the dance?” Luca asks.
“Nobody.  I’m not going.  It’s stupid,” I say, completely tired of all of the commotion about that event.
“Really?  Why not?  I’m asking Apryl, but I don’t know if she’ll even look at me,” Luca says, his face getting red.
“Have you seen anyone who likes to talk to me except you?  Did you see what happened yesterday, and Friday, and Thursday, and every other day before that?” I ask, getting mad.
“No, man.  I don’t know.  What happened?”
I pause to glare at him.  How could he be so clueless to not realize what has been going on all month?  “Haven’t you heard everything everyone has been saying about me?  They say lies about everything about me?  I can’t even talk to anyone without them spreading some stupid rumor about me!  You’re the one who talks to everyone else, how could you not hear them?”
He blinks.  “No.  I had no idea.  So, the answer is, you haven’t decided who you’re asking, then?  Cause, if you wanted to ask someone, we could go together.”
I feel like I want to pull my hair out.  “No!  I don’t want to go to the dance!  You’re such an idiot!”
Luca just stares at me.  He gets up and leaves me, sitting here alone.
I have all of this anger swirling inside of me.  I don’t know who exactly I’m angry at, but I know that I don’t want to talk to Luca.  If he isn’t enough of a friend to at least understand what I’m going through, then I don’t know why I even talk to him.  But, if I lose him as a friend, I won’t have a friend at all.
I don’t want to blame myself for getting so upset at Luca, but I know that it was my fault.  I shouldn’t have assumed that he knew, but I mean, it’s been spread all around school, so you can’t blame me for thinking that he knew.
Class starts, and Luca sends me a glare from across the room.  He’s sitting next to Apryl, so I’m guessing that he asked her. 
To be honest, I don’t care if my friend has a girlfriend and I don’t.  I know most guys would be all weird about it, and not want to talk to their friend’s girlfriend, but I honestly don’t care.  If she hates me, it won’t be anything new to me.  It’s not like I’ll be dating her.
Now I feel like I’ve made a mistake even bringing up what’s been going on.  I should’ve gone along with what Luca was saying.

11:24 am
During lunch, I sit by myself.  It doesn’t bother me, I’m used to being alone.  In fact, I actually enjoy being by myself.  It comes naturally to me.  I never had a single friend until the seventh grade, so I’ve gotten used to being alone.
When I finish my lunch, there’s still twenty minutes left of our free period.  I decide to check out the band room.  I’ve never been there before, I’ve never had a need.  But I’m working on this new song and I want to practice it after school on Friday.  Our house doesn’t have a garage, and I don’t want to practice inside the house, especially with Mom being so busy all the time.
I have to ask someone for directions, lucky me.  Luca probably doesn’t know where it is anyway, so I’m stuck asking another classmate.
I find a table in the corner with one girl sitting by herself.  She has her nose in a thick novel, and I feel bad interrupting her.  I know I hate it when people interrupt my reading, but I need to kill twenty minutes.
“Um, excuse me?  Do you know where the band room is?” I ask her, tapping her shoulder gently.
She looks up at me.  She smiles for a second, then begins laughing.  “You’re Paxton, aren’t you!  Ha!  Wait, so you’re a band geek, too?  Seriously?” she yells so practically the whole cafeteria can hear her.
“Uh, so do you know where it is?  I’m asking a simple question here,” I ask again.
She just continues her laughing fit.  Tears trickle from the corners of her eyes and I know it was pointless to even try asking.  “Yeah, I know where it is, but this is too good!”
I just turn and walk away.  A girl is standing directly behind me, so I run into her.  She’s glaring at me with accusing eyes and her shirt is cut way too low for comfort.  I have trouble even looking at her.  I have to back up.
“Where’re you heading?  I bet you’re too stupid to know where anything is, am I right?  You’ve only been here for a year.  You’re dead daddy probably can’t help you now, can he?  Even if you do think he’s living in that stupid cross hanging around your neck.  You should just go back to your home country, alien,” the girl says in a snarky tone.
Every word she’s said is a lie.  My dad isn’t dead, I’m not stupid in any way, I don’t think my dad’s living in a necklace (who knows where they came up with that one), and I’m fully American.
“What’re you talking about?  I’m just asking where the band room is.  I don’t see why that’s such a big deal!” I tell her.  I begin to back up, ready to run if I have to.
She smirks.  “It wouldn’t be such a big deal if you didn’t tell everyone every deep secret you have.”
“But none of those are true.  How can you prove that they’re true?  I won’t believe that you really think I told someone all that until you give me proof that I said those things,” I tell her.
She stops advancing on me.  “Uh, I don’t have proof.  I just know it’s true!  My best friend told me!”
I nod.  “Hmm.  Looks like you’ve been listening to rumors.  Don’t you know that people only make those up to get a rise out of the victim?  Do you see me getting upset?”
She’s speechless.  I’ve stumped her.  “I don’t believe you!” she screeches and stomps away, her heels clinking along the floor.
I turn from the encounter and head outside.  On my way, I hit my leg against a table and I shock of pain rushes up my leg.  That’s going to be a bruise later.
I guess I’ll just find my own way to the band room.  I don’t need anyone else’s help.  Especially not someone who’ll laugh in my face every time I say a word.
The things the girl was saying doesn’t make much sense to me.  Except the thing about my dad.  Everyone knows that my dad doesn’t live with me, but they don’t know why.  It isn’t because he’s dead.  He wasn’t abusive or anything awful.  I know I’m making it sound like he was an awful person, but I really miss my dad.
He just doesn’t live with me because him and my mom got divorced a couple years ago.  He still lives nearby, but he lives in Brooklyn.  My younger brother and older sister live with him.  I’ve never really talked to my ten-year-old brother, but my older sister, Breanna, and I were really close until my parents decided to split up.  My sister just happened to move with my dad and younger brother.
I’m sorry for my little sob story, I know I don’t have an awful past, but everything that happened during the time my parents were fighting has changed me.  I started to wear darker clothing than I did before, and I became very distant from my parents.  I never wanted to talk to people anymore, not that I was much of a talker before.  I became very involved in writing music and reading comics and books.  I never came out of my room anymore, and I drowned out the yelling with loud music blaring in my ears.  I haven’t changed much since.  The separation between my parents has had a lasting impact on the way I act now.
I’ve been called many names since I began acting this way.  I’ve been called “emo,” “nerd,” “depressed,” “anti-social,” “loner,” and many others.  You get the picture.
The truth is, I do consider myself as that “nerdy-type” or whatever you call it, but I’m not any of that other stuff.  I’m not depressed, I do, in fact, have a friend, so the anti-social loner is out of the picture.  I wouldn’t ever consider the way I act “emo” or anything like that, so that’s a no.  Either these people don’t understand why I act the way I do, or they just don’t have the right definitions of those words.
I continue on to the courtyard, where I pass by Luca and his friends.  He’s talking to that girl, Apryl, and they seem to be happy.  I’m glad for him.

Tuesday
3:05 pm


I’m about to climb into my car to drive home, but my sister pulls up to the curb and rolls the window down.

“Breanna! Why’re you here?” I ask, incredibly excited and happy that my sister is here.

“I’m taking you to dinner tonight. I thought I’d surprise you. You’re welcome!” she says as she gets out of the car to meet me.

She hugs me, and I realize how long it’s been since someone has hugged me. I’ve forgotten what that feels like. It’s so great to see my sister here after not seeing her for so long.

“So, are you ready to go? Dad’s going to pick you up tomorrow so you can get your car back. That’s all set, and I thought you’d worry if you weren’t getting it back tonight. Kellie is being picked up by Mom, so don’t worry. I just want to spend time with my younger brother,” Breanna says, heading to her car.

“Good. I wasn’t going to come if I had to pick Kellie up or if I couldn’t get a ride to school tomorrow. Thank you for sorting that out.”

She starts the car and I look out the window as we pull away from my high school. I wish I could transfer somewhere else, but I highly doubt they’d think anything different of me there. I have to accept the fact that people are always going to be awful to me, no matter how nice I am to them.

“So,” Breanna says, breaking the silence. “How’s school going for you? Do you have any new friends?”

I shake my head. “Luca’s still the only one. Everyone else is pretty awful. I can barely speak to them without them bursting out in laughter.”

She looks at me in disbelief. “I think you’re just overreacting. They can’t be that bad.”

“I’m serious. Today I was only asking for directions to the band room, and the girl I asked started laughing instead of helping me. Then this other idiotic girl said all of these lies about me and tried to convince me that I was the one telling all the lies. She was trying to say that Dad is dead, and that I’m some alien from another country, and that I believe that someone lives inside of my necklace. It was all so ridiculous and all I wanted was directions to the band room,” I explain.

She looks shocked. “Someone said all that? Where did they come up with it?”

I shrug. “She said that her friend told her. She also said that I told someone all of that, and I know that’s a lie because it isn’t true at all.”

“Oh, wow, it seems like you’re having a tough time. Are your grades okay at least?” she asks, clearly trying to change the subject.

“They’re great. I’m not having problems with that.”

“That’s good. Dad misses having you around, you know. He wishes that you would’ve come to live with us too, but I know Kellie looks up to you, a lot. It wouldn’t have been right if you couldn’t see her anymore. It would break her heart,” Breanna says, her tone touched with sadness.

“Yeah, I know. I want to live with Dad too. Mom needs my help, though. She needs me to drive Kellie places and if I’m not there, she wouldn’t be able to do any of the fun things she loves to do. I’m happy with Mom, but I do wish her and Dad would’ve stayed together. We could still be the family we once were,” I say, sadness rushing over me.

She looks at me and smiles. With one hand, she ruffles my hair and says, “You’ve grown up, Paxton. What happened to the little brother I once knew?”

I shrug. “I don’t know.”

“Speaking of growing up, and all that, when’s your school’s dance, then? I bet you have one coming up, right?” she says, changing the subject to a more uncomfortable topic for me.

“Uh, it’s on Saturday. I’m not going though. I wouldn’t have any fun there,” I say.

“Are you sure? I bet there’s some special girl you want to take, right?” she asks, giving me a teasing smile.

I feel angry at her, but I don’t want to be. “No. There isn’t. All of them are obnoxious and rude.”

She looks shocked. She probably meant to be an embarrassing big sister, but that didn’t work out for her. “Oh. I see. I bet you’ll feel differently at some point.”

Now she’s being ridiculous. Does she not hear the words coming out of my mouth? “No, I probably won’t. I don’t think that’s ever going to happen. All of the girls my age are annoying and I never want to talk to them.”

“Don’t say that. They just don’t know the real you. They’re bogged down by the lies everyone else is telling them and don’t understand that you aren’t anything like what they say. I do, in fact, know who you really are, so don’t worry. You’ll be fine.”

“Breanna, are you seriously trying to get me to start dating or something? That’s what it sounds like,” I ask, which sounds like a completely reasonable question.

“No, I’m just saying that those people you are talking about are blinded by the rumors and all that fun stuff. Just, never mind. This is starting to sound like one of those cliché motivational movies.”

I laugh. It’s the first time in weeks that someone has been able to make me laugh.

During dinner, we have a surprise guest. It’s one of Breanna’s ex-boyfriends, and yes I said one of.

“What’re you doing here?” she asks him. He gives her a revolting smile, and I realize that I’m glad nobody likes me. If they did, they’d give me some pleading grin that would have no effect whatsoever.

They begin arguing about something, I don’t know what, but I know that I’m ready to leave now. I’m finished eating, so I can just take a bus back home, or at least back to the school.

“Um, Breanna, I have homework I have to do, and if this guy is going to be here a while, I’m just going to take a bus. I have some money. Thanks for picking me up, though,” I tell her through the yelling of her and the guy.

“Okay, I’ll see you again soon. Bye.” She gives me a smile before the guy grabs her arm and begins to argue with her again.

I want to call someone about this, but I decide to just tell one of the employees at the restaurant. They should be able to kick the guy out of the restaurant.

I get home and I quickly tell my mom that I’m home. Kellie tries to talk to me as I head to my room and slam the door.

Homework. That’s why I’m in here. That’s my excuse to get out of that loud restaurant. It’s hard to remember that I have to actually work at school when most of the time I’m being prodded at like a toy.

I pull headphones from the drawer on my desk and plug them into my phone. The music starts up, and I slip away from reality. I can focus on the homework I have to do now.

Listening to music is often my escape from the real world. When I’m having a hard time with things, I usually go to music. With e writing my own music, it’s good for me to listen to what other people have accomplished.

The events of today fade away from my memory, but only for a couple of minutes. The troubles I talked about with Breanna come back to me, and I can’t quite shake them away. The things I said to Luca also come back to me and I regret everything that I said. I need to call him to apologize for the way I acted this morning.

I am about to push the button to call him, but something else appears on the screen that catches my attention. A notification pops up that I’ve never seen before. It looks kind of like a stopwatch, and numbers on it are counting down. It says Days: 0, Hours: 12, Minutes: 45, Seconds: 13.

I might just be paranoid, but I have this feeling in my gut that something awful is going to happen when all of those numbers reach zero. I feel that it’s going to be something like my phone exploding or imploding on itself or something else that would be fatal for me and everyone else it my house.

It’s a pretty ridiculous thought, but it doesn’t stop me from thinking that something insane or awful is going to happen.

Wait, what was I doing before I got distracted? Oh, yeah, I was calling Luca.

I call him, and I apologize for what I said. He doesn’t seem as mad I thought he would be. He forgives me almost immediately after he picks up the phone. I hang up, and the weight that’s been pushing me down all day has finally been lifted off my chest.

I can go back to my homework without feeling guilty about school.

I shouldn’t have even thought that. Mom comes bursting through my door looking exhausted, but also excited for something. She’s yelling about something, but I can’t understand a word she’s saying as she rushes into my room.

“Mom, what’s wrong?” I ask.

She’s still chattering to herself and she’s talking so quickly I have no idea what she’s going on about. I only hear a couple of words. I hear “boss,” “daughter,” “like you,” “dance,” and “it would be sweet.” After hearing those couple of words, I’m scared to hear what she’s actually talking about.

“Mom? Are you okay? What’re you talking about?” I ask again, trying to raise my voice to possibly get her attention.

She stops her flurry of words that were swirling around in the air, not sticking to my ears at all. She looks at me, pausing her rant. “Did I disrupt you? Do you need me to leave?”

I shrug. “Well, I was doing my homework, but now since you started talking about stuff I’m assuming you’re telling me, I kind of want to know what you’re freaking out about.”

She takes a seat on my bed and folds her hands. “Well, I know that you’ve been unsure about the dance this week, and you still have time to sign up if you want to go. I know you’re problem has been that your friend is going with someone and he has more friends than you, and you’d feel like you don’t belong…”

“Mom, what’s the point of this?” I ask, sighing.

“My boss has a daughter your age, and I think she’d like you if you’d just talk to her,” my mom says.

“No. I don’t want to go. And I don’t want to take some girl I’d only know for a couple of days. I’m set on my decision, Mom, I’m not going,” I tell her. Why does everybody want me to go to this stupid thing, anyway? It’s honestly not a necessary event I need to go to.

She sighs, “I’d like you to at least try to make a friend. You didn’t even try to make Luca your friend, he just fell in your lap,” she says, and I can tell that she’s not going to give up. She’s going to try everything to get her way.

“Mom, I’m fine. I don’t like parties anyway.”

“Paxton, you can’t just shoo people away all the time. You need to have more friends than just the one. What’re you going to do when you have to work with people you don’t want to talk to?”

“I deal with people I don’t like every day. They don’t like me either, that’s why I don’t have any friends. They just aren’t interested in being friends with me,” I tell me. It’s occurred to me that I hadn’t really told anyone about what’s been going on until today. Yesterday, I just told my mom that I didn’t feel good when she asked me what was wrong.

“What? Why wouldn’t they want to be friends with you? Are they not talking to you?”

“Oh, they’re talking to me, but they don’t have a single nice thing to say to me. Do you understand why I don’t want to go to the dance now?”

Tears come to my mom’s eyes. I can just tell what she’s thinking, But why would kids not like my son? What is wrong with those kids? They don’t know him like I do.

“Mom, I’m fine. You don’t have to do this. I already said I’m not going to the dance, so I had this figured out in advance.”

She just continues to cry into her hands. “I know, I just don’t want you to have to deal with this all the time. You’ve never said anything about this before. Why wouldn’t you say anything?”

“I didn’t want you to worry about me. I know that I can deal with whatever they throw at me. You didn’t need to get involved, and I wanted to keep it that way. Promise me you’ll still stay out of this,” I plead.

She nods. “Okay. I won’t say anything. I won’t promise that I won’t still worry or check up on you. I don’t want you getting hurt,” she says, and gets up to hug me.

Well, I guess people are just being more affectionate than usual today. I’ve gotten two hugs within a couple of hours. I generally don’t get any in an entire day.

“Mom, can I get back to my homework now? I do still have to go to school tomorrow,” I tell her. It was just a nice way of saying that she was squeezing the life out of me.

“Okay, I’ll let you get back to what you were doing. Just don’t forget about my offer. You can still go if you’d talk to this girl. She’s really nice and…”

“Mom! Go!” I tell her, pointing toward the door.

“Fine, fine, I’ll go,” she says, smiling as she closes the door behind her.

In a way, my mom is a lot like my little sister, Kellie, when it comes to knowing my personal life and my well-being. A lot of the time, I have to tell my mom when she needs to calm down or leave me alone. It’s pretty funny how similar they are.

Before I go to bed, I check the strange app that’s on my phone. Only about ten hours until whatever it is that’s going to happen happens. I guess I’ll figure it out in the morning.