You stared at the white wall. The whole room was white. The door, the walls, even the floor. "Why did we come here anyway?"

"(y/n), your grades were dropping too much--"

"That's not the real reason, actually. You don't even care about my grades so why should I?"

"--And there are just some changes that have to be made." Your mom finished.

"Why isn't Dad here?" You asked.

"He's just busy. He'll be here. Maybe a month. . . Somewhere around there. I don't know." She sighed. "Any questions?"

"Can I paint the room? It's so. . . Blank."

"I don't know yet. Just leave it for now." She looked tired.

"Okay." You replied, pursing your lips.

"And, sweetie, cheer up please. You'll be doing yourself a favor. And me." She smiled.

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing."

"Mom, what--"

Your mom's phone rang. "Sorry, I have to get this." She answered it. "Hello?"

"It's me." You quietly said.

"What?" She whispered to you. "Oh, nothing! I was just talking to my daughter. Is everything okay?" A moment later, she sighed. "There's nothing you can do?" Silence. "Okay, I'll tell her. Bye." She hung up quickly.

You raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to speak.

Your mom sighed. "Your dad won't be here until next month. Maybe a bit more. He's certain."

"Oh." You replied, blinking. "I'm going to start unpacking."

"Okay. Bye." Your mom smiled sadly and closed the door, going out of the room.

You frowned, confused. "What did Mom mean? 'You'll be doing yourself a favor. . . And me.' Why would that be a favor for her? Not only that, but I have to start school tomorrow. And enroll."

You took your feet out of your converse. Your black, short socks touched the white wooden floor. You felt the air hit the bare skin of your foot -- the uncovered part. You grabbed your dark blue hoodie, putting your arms through the sleeves with a shiver. "When did it get so cold?"

You looked to your left and saw an opened window. You walked over to it and closed it, the wind in your face. You shut your eyes.

Walking down the stairs, you saw your Mom on the phone, looking upset. You walked back up the stairs. You slipped, grabbing onto the rail. You regained your balance and quickly went to your room.

Your phone rang. You answered it, "Hello?"

"(y/n)!" A voice exclaimed.

"Brendan! Hey!" You smiled.

"How are you doing?"

"I don't know. I mean, I have to start school tomorrow and my Dad won't be here until a month or more from today." You sighed.

Brendan was your friend from your old school. You met in 9th grade, your freshman year.

"That sucks. I'm sorry, (n/n)." Brendan said.

"It's fine. He hasn't been around much anyway." You said, holding the phone with your cheek/chin and shoulder. You took out your paintbrushes and placed them in your "painting container."

"Hopefully he can be there in a shorter amount of time." Brendan sighed.

"Yeah, right." You rolled your eyes. "I love my Dad, but. . . I don't think he cares. And if he doesn't care. . ."

"Your Mom doesn't care." He finished. "Just try to do good with your grades. You don't want to have to be in the school for an extra year."

"I don't know if you can convince me. You won't be there and you keep me in-line." You said.

"Just try, that's all I ask."

"Okay, I'll try--" I felt my phone vibrate. "I think my Dad is trying to call me."

"Be nice to him, (n/n). Bye."

"Bye." You hung up and answered your Dad. "Hi."

"(y/n), hello. How are you?" Your Dad sounded stressed.

"I could be a lot better. Wait, so, you won't be here for a month or maybe more?" You asked, holding your phone with your cheek/chin and shoulder again. You put more paint supplies into the "paint container."

Your Dad sighed. "Yes."

"Is it because of work?"

"No, (y/n). You wouldn't understand."

"An adult thing?"

"Yes. . . I have to go. Goodbye. I love you."

"Love you too. Bye, Dad." You hung up, sighing.

You knew tomorrow would be a long day.