✯ E V E L Y N ✯

"What's up?"

My eyes roll so far back into my head that I see stars for a split second. I'm grateful my back is turned to him so I won't have to show my red eyes. I'm sitting on my bed, throwing my bouncy-ball against the wall and catching it. It helps me de-stress, keep my thoughts at bay and drift from reality.

"The sky," I retort, counting my way up to six thousand and fifty-seven hits on the wall. My wrist hurts from going at it for four hours straight, but I persevere. "The ceiling. Crime rates in most countries. Death rates in poorer countries."

From the reflection of my floor-length mirror, I see Charlie's shoulders droop slightly, his tall frame leaning against the doorway. "The whole purpose of the question was for you to tell me how you're feeling or what you're doing. Not answer with a smart-ass remark," he tells me, but he doesn't sound the slightest bit mad.

"Well then, maybe you should have worded it differently." And I'm just full of smart-ass remarks. I'm such a smart-ass that I even failed to kill myself. I throw the ball against the wall one last time as I reach six thousand and ninety-ninety, and turn on my bed to face him. "Is there a reason why you came? I was kind of in the middle of something."

"Yeah, I could tell you were really busy banging on the wall for hours on end," Charlie replies, his light blue eyes filled with amusement. "Anyway, I just wanted to tell you I talked to your mother."

"About what?" I shoot him a skeptical look, turning the small ball around in my hands. "About how she treats me like a child? About how she has this obsession to need to know where I am, 24/7? About how dogs on leashes have more freedom than me?"

Charlie sighs heavily, rubbing the space between his eyebrows and pushes back his blond hair. There are strands of grey hair amongst the golden strands, courtesy of me. Honestly, I should just die already. I'm already causing enough stress, by the time I'm legal they'll look old enough to be my grandparents.

"Evelyn, you need to know that we're trying to do what we think is right," he pleads, his relaxed posture gone and replaced with the shell of the dad he used to be. I've never seen someone look so vulnerable in my whole life. "But . . . Eva and I agreed - well, more like I convinced her to see - that we're not giving you the space you need."

"No shit," I mutter as I recall what went down three days ago after I walked out on Dr. Paige.

I swore as I entered the Pacific Heights neighborhood and saw a police car in the driveway of house No. 32 in our - my parents' house. I shoved my hands into my pockets, hissing as a drizzle of rain threatened frizz up my hair. I could still taste the delicacies I ate with Lio.

I braced myself, side-stepping the police car that had its lights flashing but thankfully its sirens off, and walked into the house.

I could hear Charlie frantically talking, Eva crying about something that probably concerned me, and the rough voice of a third person. I was grateful, stepping into the house because it was freezing outside - almost minus, as Lio had said - and my arms were crawling with goosebumps.

As soon as I stepped into the sitting room, the source of where the voices were, there was silence as everyone turned and saw the girl in question.

Nobody spoke for a full three seconds until Eva rushed to me, engulfing me in a hug that almost shattered my ribs. Charlie's shoulders dropped with relief, and the redheaded, baby-faced officer tucked his pen and notebook back into his pocket.

It all happened so quickly. I couldn't hear anything because everyone was talking so quickly. Eva was screaming at me for running around the whole town, leaving everyone worried sick about me because they thought I was lying dead in a ditch; Charlie was trying to calm Eva down, telling her that 'she's here, everything's fine now'; and the cop was standing to the side, making eye contact with me every so often and giving me a weird look.

"Mom! Cut it out, okay? I'm here, I'm fine. I'm fucking fantastic, and I'm not dead," I finally yelled, distancing myself from everyone as I stood with my arms crossed. Eva looked at me in shock, the tears that had once been streaming down her ashen face now stopping. Charlie's face remained impassive, but that wasn't a surprise.

"Uh, miss, that's no way to talk to your mother," the redhead - who I found out was Officer Bradley after demanding for his ID - said, his bushy eyebrows drawn together.

"Piss off. You can leave, like, right now. See yourself out," I snapped, and I could tell I shocked everyone because they all stared at me. They didn't speak for a full minute until Officer Bradley cleared his throat, face flushed red.

"When you break the law, I'm going to make sure you get what you deserve, you emo little piece of shit," he growled in a low tone that only I could hear, before he raised his voice, "Now, the issue is resolved. She's back home safely. I'll be on my way, then, folks."

The Winters family stared at him silently as he nodded at us. "Y'all have a good day, now."

We all glared at the ground as the door closed shut. The engine of the cop car revved, and the sirens blared at a decibel that would have started another war with Japan.

"I'll be in my room," I muttered, turning on my heel to flee the scene.

"Not so fast." I winced at Eva's harsh voice but didn't turn around. "You can't disrespect me, disrespect the authority and then just disappear, like we weren't going crazy looking for you."

"Did you not hear Officer Bradley when he threatened me?" I whipped around, glaring at Eva, who looked mad. Really mad. Smoke-coming-out-of-her-ears mad. All-she-can-see-is-red mad. That type of mad.

"I don't care whatever you think he said to you! You had no right to speak to him that way, and the way you spoke to me? Like I was just someone beneath you? I cannot believe you, Evelyn Claudia Winters—"

"Ugh, not this again," I cut in with an angry sigh, folding my arms across my chest.

"Evelyn, do not interrupt your mother," Charlie said quietly. I shot him a glare.

"I'm not even angry at the fact that you trashed Yulia's office and stormed out without a word to anyone. What really upsets me, what really makes me mad enough to want to hit you, is the fact that you had your phone on you. You had it switched on. You saw my missed calls, and you chose to ignore them. You chose to ignore twenty calls from your father and I and just decided to let us run around the whole town, worried sick, and file a bloody missing person report," Eva ranted, face pale.

She glowered at the door like she couldn't bear the sight of me.

"You're overreacting. I'm here, I'm in one piece, would you please just drop it?" I hissed, and flinched when her bloodshot eyes swiveled to me.

"Oh, I should 'drop it'? I should just 'drop it'? Okay, Evelyn, I'll drop it. You want me to drop it, I'll drop it." Her angry, hysterical laugh made my skin crawl. "No, Evelyn, I am not going to drop it. I am not going to drop the fact that you disappeared for half the day out in the freezing cold. Do you know how worried we were?"

"Clearly Dad wasn't worried, otherwise he'd be the one yelling at me," I pointed out, gesturing towards Charlie, who just stood beside his wife, looking at the floorboards. "He knew I would come back. Didn't you?" His eyes flicked up at my question.

"Evelyn, this is about you, not me," he replied calmly.

I laughed at that, "About me? When is anything positive about me? Scratch that, when is anything about me? If shit was about me then maybe I wouldn't be feeling so fucking alone all the time." One hard blink made the tears disappear, and I glared at my parents. "Why can't you just let me be free?"

"Because every time we did, you tried to kill yourself!"

Everyone in the room froze. Eva didn't dare breathe. Charlie didn't dare blink. I didn't dare speak.

All I could manage was a slight nod and a stunned, hurt look aimed at my mother. And as I turned to leave, she launched into a ranted apology which I mostly shut out. ". . . didn't know where you were . . . never do that . . . love you so much—"

"Just stop." Eva was shedding angry tears, while Charlie silently stood and observed. My heart was throbbing and pulsing in my ears. I couldn't breathe for a moment, but then I looked Eva in the eyes, and said: "I hate you."

It was as if my words hadn't fazed her. Eva's chest was rising and falling rapidly, her eyes brimming with tears as she tried and failed to control her anger. "What do you want from us?" she screamed at me, her eyes burning into mine.

The tears fell sooner than I anticipated, and I hated myself for being so weak and emotional, but I couldn't take it. I just couldn't. "I want space! That's what I want!" I snapped, my voice breaking as I started crying. "I don't want someone monitoring me every second of the day and getting paranoid when I don't show up on time. I'm a teenager, goddammit, I need space to breathe!"

"No." Eva scrubbed at the tears on her cheeks furiously. "You're—you're suicidal, that's what you are. And you don't need space; y-you need support and your loving family to take care of you—"

"Where was my loving family when Evian died? Where was my loving family when I needed them the most?" I yelled back, my heart beating at an abnormal pace that made me nauseous.

"We were on the sidelines, watching you die and push yourself away from everyone," Charlie finally inputted, his voice harsher and louder than I'd ever heard it. I froze as I saw the tears fill his eyes, his irises turning to liquid as he gave me a haunted look. "We tried comforting you. We tried leaving you alone. We tried surrounding you with people that love you. We tried giving you space. We tried everything. Don't you see? We tried to give you everything but you threw it back in our faces and kept trying to die, Evelyn, dammit!"

Eva and I looked at him in shock, not expecting him to burst and cry. My hands were balled at my side, shaking, and I couldn't handle the crying and the tension and the yelling.

I just left. I fled the scene and ran up to my room.

And no one chased after me.

"Hey, Evelyn. Evie?" I look up at Charlie who watches me carefully, smiling slightly. "You sort of spaced out there for a moment."

"Sorry," I mumble, fiddling with my wrist. Charlie's eyes drop down my thread bracelet.

"Is that . . . Evian's?"

I nod, not missing the pained expression on his face that flies after he puts on his mask of impassivity and optimism. Charlie rubs the back of his neck, staring around my room distractedly. "I know you miss him. We all do, and what we wouldn't do to have him back . . . but, you can't keep pushing everyone away. I know you're not the best at expressing your emotions - I know you got that characteristic from me, but you just gotta try.

"And I'm sorry for everything I said on Wednesday. I meant what I said, but I know how I said it wasn't appropriate, and it was hurtful," Charlie admits, most likely seeing my tears and ignoring them as I stare at my feet. "So, will you forgive me?"

I nod. "Yeah." My voice is so quiet, almost a whisper.

"And will you start opening up to us?"

I can hear the hope in his voice, see the anticipation in every line in his face, and I smile a ghost smile. "I'll try."

But will I?

∞

Another day back at school and my stress levels have skyrocketed.

Currently in my fourth period, AP European History, and we're re-learning the Cold War through a documentary series on YouTube. Our substitute teacher Mr. Stewart seems to be really into it, seeing as he's fast asleep at his desk.

I continue reading my book, ignoring the gossiping from bitchy girls and obnoxious laughter from stereotypical jocks, hiding behind my curtain of hair. Thank Goodness I sit at the back of the classroom in each class, so I can just blend in and take a nap, or read, or listen to music during the free periods.

A scrunched up piece of paper hits my book and lands on my desk. I pause my reading and look around the classroom. Everyone seems occupied, either talking, sleeping, on their phones or reading. I glance back down at the ball of paper and slowly unfold it.

In the center of the page is scrawly, almost illegible writing that takes me a minute to decipher. You're cute, the note reads, and my eyebrows crinkle together in confusion. What is this? Is this for me?

I conclude that this isn't for me, seeing as no one talks to me, and look around the classroom again to see who threw it. People should seriously improve their aim, I inwardly roll my eyes as my they latch on the only person looking at me.

Jesse Garza.

Upon eye contact, my heart beats that tiny bit faster. Jesse is one of those extremely good-looking, allegedly self-centered yet utterly swoon-worthy fuckboy's that you hear about on a daily basis, but, because you've never been a target, you don't know whether to believe the rumors.

Fortunately, I've never been one of the girls that end up with a broken heart after multiple hookups, but even just making eye contact with him makes me nervous. Not so much that he's intimidating; he just has these dark gray eyes that look at you until you're so uncomfortable to the point of you leaving the room.

Instead of doing what I expect him to do, which is to sneer and talk about me in the worst way possible to his friends, he smiles.

He smiles.

He smiles.

I'm in shock.

It's a small but warm smile with his straight, white teeth, and that's what slightly unnerves me. I've never been smiled at by someone of his social status, and instantly I think the whole ordeal is suspicious.

I pick up the crumpled note, crumple it again and look him in the eyes as I score it in the wastepaper basket across the room. Jesse gives me a mock hurt look, a hand over his heart as he pretends to be wounded. I try not to focus on how his chestnut-brown hair looks so silky as he pushes it back and mentally shake my head at him, turning back to my book.

Less than a minute later, there's another note on my desk, and I cast him an annoyed look. Does he think this is a joke? That it's funny? He just gives me an innocent look, which irks me, and my gaze shifts to his friends who have dragged their chairs and pushed their tables to join one massive crowd of assholes and bimbos. They don't notice that the captain of the football team and king of the social hierarchy isn't joining in on the conversation.

I pry open the paper, curiosity burning inside me. What class do you have next? I squint at Jesse, wondering what he's playing at. I sigh, flipping the note over and quickly scribble my reply.

I crumple it up and throw it back at him, hoping he misses it. Instead, he catches it perfectly with one hand and I scowl, grabbing my book and holding it up to hide my face.

My mind is racing with all sorts of conspiracy theories and possible answers, my brain going into overdrive as I try to make sense of what is going on. After almost eighteen years of going to the same kindergarten,  middle and high school, now he decides to speak to me? After everything that has happened in the past week, he should be avoiding me. I'm that freak who didn't manage to kill herself, right? We shouldn't even be making eye contact.

And yet, when he throws back a reply saying he'll walk me to class, I smile a little, and then stop myself. What am I doing? I shake my head at myself and try to go back to reading my book but I can't. I can feel his eyes on me but every time I look up he's laughing along to a joke or talking, his back towards me.

I pull my earphones from the pocket of my baggy hoodie, plug them into my phone and let All-American Rejects drown out the noise.

∞

☾A L I Q U I S☽

"Hey, Evelyn!"

Her head turns a fraction at her name before she realizes who it is. Jesse. She continues walking, hoping he'll give up and get to his next class instead of walking her to hers.

He still manages to catch up and fall in step, his faint cologne and citrus shampoo wafting up her nose. The brunette keeps walking ahead, not looking at him or at the people that have noticed them walking together and are staring like complete morons.

"Surprised you even know my name, fuckboy," Evelyn says with a scowl, hugging the book that couldn't fit in her satchel tighter to her chest in a defensive position.

Beside her, Jesse is casually walking with a loping stride, almost making her have to pick up her walking pace because of his height and leg length, which is something that pisses her off.

Jesse just gives her a shocked look, a hand on his chest like she just shot him, which, to Evelyn, doesn't sound like a bad idea. "You don't even know me and you're already calling me a fuckboy? That hurt, birdie, right here," he pouts, and she shoots him a sidelong glare at the nickname before he bursts out laughing. "Lighten up, babe."

Evelyn ignores his words. "I know what I've heard, and they aren't necessarily good things," she replies, picking up her pace to speed-walking as she hurries to make it on time to her next class. She curses everyone in the school that her class is on the other side of the building, upstairs, meaning she's going to have to walk with him for at least two minutes.

Two minutes of torture.

An inquisitive smile settles on his lips, but it's gone as soon as a crowd of girls flood the hall, giggling. Jesse catches their eyes and smiles, and Evelyn swears one of the girls in the background faints. Rolling her eyes, Evelyn storms ahead, not in the mood to witness him basically undressing them with his eyes.

"Well, you know, I've actually heard rumors about you," Jesse finally says as he walks easily beside her, his gray eyes fixated solely on her. She tries not to squirm and begins to climb the stairs. "And they're definitely not so good."

"And let me guess, the reason why you're here is because you want to confirm if they're true or not." The words come out harsher than she thought they would. "Well, too bad, asshole, I'm not saying anything."

"That's not why I'm here." His face is honest when she sneaks a glance at him, and that's something that sets off alarms in her head.

"Then why are you here, walking with me?" She hates the way she sounds. Desperate, needy, sad.

He continues walking with her, silent, until he speaks in a low voice, "Because I want to." They're quiet from then on, her ignoring girls shooting her curious glances and glares, and him saying hi to his passing male friends that think with their genitals and not their brains, as girls hang off their shoulders.

They stop outside the English Literature room, and Evelyn finally turns to the Adonis. Some girls should be flattered, and she supposes she is, but she's also skeptical. They've been in the same schools their whole lives, and after twelve years of only saying hi to her once in kindergarten, he starts walking with her? It's . . . crazy, and strange, and it makes her heart hurt to think about it.

"Well, this is my stop," she announces awkwardly, hovering beside the open door as the tardy bell prepares to ring. Twenty seconds left . . .

Jesse shoves his hands into his pockets, briefly blinking at her Vans before looking up again and nodding. "I'll see you around, Eve," he laments, flashing her a smile that almost makes her knees weak.

"Have a nice life," Evelyn mutters more to herself than to him as he walks away to his next class, but she's sure he hears her because he laughs slightly. Either he heard me or he's laughing at me, Evelyn thinks, not surprised if it's the latter.