ELIAS

"I'VE BEEN WAITING all day!" Cannon nagged like a child whining for a toy, a little too loud for my liking. "Tell me about it all now."

I shook my head. Not in a disapproving way, but in a chill, playful way. "Quiet down, Cannon," I hissed while looking at our surroundings. "Everyone else is going to hear our conversation. 

We were at Taco Fiesta eating enchiladas and burritos over lemonade. All day at school today, I refused to tell my best friend about everything that happened between Rylie and I last night. Not because I didn't want to, but because he'd get too excited. Leaving him hanging, however, was probably the worst thing I could possibly do. All because Cannon has been a little too loud, we've gotten a few dirty looks from strangers sitting at booths near us—but it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. They were all complete strangers after all, some I've seen at school and such. 

Taco Fiesta was gaining a couple of customers, more than usual. The restaurant wasn't completely full, but it wasn't empty either. Mr. Mercado was thankful for that and decided to treat Cannon and I to whatever we wanted. We told him it wasn't necessary, but he went out of his way to treat us, alongside Nora, Rylie, and Adrienne to a free meal. It was nice of him to do so, but in the end, all that mattered was the restaurant's doors being open. 

I took a small sip of lemonade from my small-sized cup and looked up, only to find Cannon staring at me with a smirk. "I know, I know. I'll try to keep it down, but you need to tell me all the details about your little date, or whatever you want to call it," he insisted.

I began to explain from when my father embarrassed me by calling Rylie my girlfriend to her complimenting my room. I told him about my cringe-worthy, yet cheesy response to that and when we watched Mean Girls. She ended up leaning on my shoulder when we were like, fifteen minutes through the movie, so I was half convinced that she was bored. 

Cannon insisted that watching movies can be kind of tiring. It made sense, so I nodded and continued informing him about yesterday. It was a success, really. My parents ended up liking Rylie, and she ended up liking them, so it was a win-win. Maybe I shouldn't be too focused on that, but I just want them to approve of her. However, what stuck out most to Cannon—and myself, if that counts most was when Rylie and I called each other sweet and when she gave me a hug. 

The hug was cuddly and warm, as if I was hugging a stuffed toy. It only lasted a few moments, but anything that could possibly happen in a few moments can be significant, like a gem. The moment I called her sweet and she said it back was memorable, as well. I could've went on and on, but my mom called us down for dinner at that time. These two moments felt so special and new to me. 

"Eeek! That sounds so cute," Cannon squealed like a helpless fangirl as he set down his half-eaten burrito. I pointed down towards the table, signalizing that he should lower down the volume. "When y'all called each other sweet, you were totally flirting. Too bad you couldn't continue."

"I mean, it's okay," I said after taking another sip of my lemonade. It would've been nice to continue, but it's fine. "Anyway, what's been happening with you lately?" 

"Well, a lot, actually. It's just the usual things, though," Cannon sighed as he dabbed the corner of his mouth with a napkin. "Over the last few weeks, I've met a few cool guys in class, one of them I actually liked. I found out that he was bi, but alas," he grimaced, "he has eyes for someone else."

"Aww," I said with sympathy. "You'll find someone one of these days." 

"Yeah, I guess," he tried to lighten up by smiling. "I can't wait for Thanksgiving break in like, three weeks. My brother will be coming home for dinner this year."

"Wow, that's cool. Most of my family don't live around here, so we might as well come over as well," I said, which made him ecstatic. Cannon's brother is a college student. As far as I know, he only comes home at special occasions, like Christmas, Thanksgiving, and any other possible school break you could think of. I haven't seen him that much lately, nor do I know much about him. All I know is that he's my best friend's older brother, I guess.

When I got home from Taco Fiesta, I settled to my bedroom to work on my art contest entry. It'll be due in a little over a month, so I need to get everything done beforehand. My room was sort of messy, even if I cleaned it yesterday. My pajamas and a few T-shirts and all sorts of pants—from sweatpants to jeans—were scattered across the floor and my bed and my bed was unmade. My room typically looked like this, specifically on school mornings where there's a ninety-eight percent chance that I'm in a rush. The other two percent is where I be productive for once and decide to get up from bed the exact time my alarm clock rings. 

The house was silent. Both of my parents were out at work, so it was just me at the house. It'll be beneficial because I won't have as many distractions, so I found a random five-hour fireplace noise audio on YouTube and listened from my laptop. You may call me weird for that, but the crackling sounds of fire is soothing. 

So far, all I had left to do for my painting now was to simply paint it. Ms. Edwards was nice enough to loan me a few of her paints, so I had everything I needed. I spread a bit of each color onto a paper plate and placed it on my desk so I can have easy access to it from my easel. First, I began stroking my paintbrush on the hair area with a chocolate brown color. It was relaxing to feel it glide across the canvas as I painted it, careful of that the paint wouldn't go around or below the hair area. 

As I did this, my phone sang a brief noise. I gently put down my paintbrush to see what the notification was. "Rylie" flashed on the top of the screen. I clicked on it to see a text message from her. 

Rylie, 3:55 PM:
Hi! How are you? :)

This made me realize that we haven't talked much all day. I did see in her school, but we both didn't have the time to talk. I still had my collage to complete, so I had to stay productive. Not to mention that I decided to spend the rest of art to figure out colors to use for my contest entry. I wanted to at least get the hair done for my painting, so instead of texting her back, I FaceTimed her. 

Within the third ring, she answered. I placed my phone on a porcelain white phone stand I had on my desk so I could see her as I paint. It looked like she was in bed, but she was wearing a grey sweater with Homer Simpson across the middle. 

"Hey, I saw your text and I'm doing great," I finally managed to speak. "I figured that I call you instead since I'm actually painting right now." 

"Oh, in that case, I'm sorry for bothering you," she apologized in an instant. 

"No no, it's fine. I'll still get this done," I replied as I squirted some white paint on top of the brown so it could make a lighter hue. The bottle was nearly empty, so it ended up making an obnoxious fart sound, the same sound a bottle of shampoo would make when you're nearly finished with it. Rylie laughed a bit while I grimaced at what just happened, but I quickly covered it up with a smile. 

I opened my mouth, but no words came out. Come on, brain. Think of something, already. 

Before I could even think of anything, a muffled yell from a distance sounded from my phone. It was on Rylie's end, so she yelled something back. After, she turned back to me. "Sorry for that. My mom just got back home from work. She's literally always working," she rolled her eyes with a sheepish grin. 

"It's okay. Is she anything like you? Like, quiet or anything?" I questioned randomly as I dabbed my paintbrush in my new mixture of paint. The moment I said it, regret started to rush through my veins. Why did I have to be so random and awkward at the same time?

"Oh, we're not alike. Not anymore, at least," she blurted as she sat up from her bed. "I used to be quite outgoing like she was, but everything—from the divorce to my dad dying fucked things up. Since then, I just wanted to hide by not being social. I've gotten a bit better, but the pain is still in me."

I put down my paintbrush and took a seat on my fake black leather roller chair. I couldn't just continue painting. It didn't seem right, considering the direction the conversation was going. 

I never went through the tragic events she's been through, like having divorced parents or a dead parent. It sounded painful, and probably is more painful than it sounds. I could easily tell by the look on Rylie's face. She wiped a tear with the sleeve of her sweater as she sniffed.

"Out of all the people it could've happened to, it had to happen to me," she muttered. "I'm sorry about all of this—I really am. We can talk about something else if you want. You didn't have to stop painting because of me."

"No," I insisted. "My painting may be a priority to me, but that doesn't mean you aren't any less important." My face grew hot. "I don't know what all this feels like, but everything will be okay. Stepping out of your bubble won't be easy, but it takes one step at a time." 

"I don't know. I still feel bad about everything that's happened, even if it's been a few years. I miss my dad and my parents being together . . . I miss it so much," she sighed as she cracked open a water bottle, a click noise sounding from it. 

My hands trembled. This time, I didn't know what to say, and my brain wasn't being any help whatsoever. Again, I never experienced any of her pain, but I could feel it from the way she was talking. It was quiet, other than the sounds of fire crackling from my laptop. I paused the video and looked up at the ceiling in hopes that I'd figure out something to say. 

"I basically spent my entire time in high school trying to figure out things, but I think this school year was the year where I actually took a few baby steps," she continued. "I made new friends and believe it or not, you've helped me step out of my comfort zone." 

"I have?" I questioned, an eyebrow raised.

"Yes, you actually did. You know, all the times we . . . hung out. It was new to me," Rylie replied. "Thank you for everything."

"Rylie, it's no problem. I'm so sorry about everything that's happened, though," I said. "Seriously, if you ever want to talk about it, I'm here." 

"Thank you. It felt good to get some things off my chest, but it took up your time and I'm sorry. I'll leave now, I have to work on my English homework, anyway," she reasoned. 

"I still have plenty of time to finish my contest entry, so it's completely fine. I'll see you tomorrow at school," I said as I rose up from my roller chair, the bottom creaking a bit. 

"Bye," she murmured before she hung up.