"Alright home fries, get out your packets. We'll be continuing our labs today." Mrs. Casteel said, putting on her pink apron and goggles from behind her desk.

I stretched my hand across my desk to reach for my books, consumed by a nagging thought.

What was Detective Chapman trying to keep from me?

I stopped my reach midway.

An ant, the color of the sky, scurried on my desk, in the direction of my arm.

The wonder of it caught me by surprise. As if I were in a trance, I put my chin on the black surface of the desk and watched the ant do its disoriented dance. It stopped, and looked up at me. Our eyes met. My heart leaped with fascination.

"What are you doing?" My head jerked up from my arms. I hurriedly brushed the ant under some papers so Josh would not see it and potentially harm.

Do what he always does to little things below him to make himself feel powerful.

I grabbed my book and flipped it open. "Well hiya Josh." My voice overflowed with sarcasm. I hunched over my work.

"You looking at your little bugs, shrimp?"

I skimmed over the next lab of the day. "Josh, isn't your table on the other side of the room?"

Josh called over his shoulder. "Hey, Mrs. Casteel! This kindergartener shouldn't be allowed to participate in this lab. She could hurt herself."

Thanks for the observation, you dim witted twit—

"Shut up, Josh." Mrs. Casteel said, dead toned.

So this is what I get for skipping two grades?

Yaaaaaay.

Josh peered over my shoulder, staring down my purposefully mangled doodle of Josh's face on the front cover of my stapled lab packet.

"Nice drawing," he sneered. "Truly stunning."

I leaned away, gagging. "Really? It took me like three hours to finish the shading on your upper lip."

Josh's prickly blonde beard brushing against my cheek. "I hear you're going to college next year," he whispered, spit flying. His breath sent a chill down my spine. "You're dead meat."

He straightened, and walked away.

Despite my best efforts, I could not fight the urge. I turned toward him as he strolled to his seat.

"'Dead meat?!' Really? That's all you could come up with? You have nothing better? We're not in the '80s, Josh. Are you not at all relevant? If you're gonna intimidate me, do it—."

"Hush, Mary."

"Yes, Mrs. Casteel."

I spun back around. I groaned, and pushed my books away from me, then looked underneath the paper.

The little blue ant scurried out from underneath, and disappeared into the cracks of my desk.

"Goodbye, little ant." I murmured. My chin fell, my eyes falling on my hand. I eyed my ring on my finger, a wire twisted ring with a pink plastic pearl.

Stupid seniors.

* * *

"Hey, Mrs. Casteel?" I traipsed to her desk, hiding my chin behind my turtle neck.

The class was finally empty.

Mrs. Casteel spun around in her spiny chair, her brown shoulder length hair twirling. She adjusted her glasses. "Yes love buns?"

"Um, well," Sweat dripped from my forehead. "Do you consider yourself a creative person?"

"Nope. No. Not at all."

Well that was pretty straight forward.

"Zero creativity."

* * *

I stooped over my dresser, which doubled as a desk. My Luxo lamp was flipped on, my dream catcher dangling from its switch. A pencil lay blanketed between my fingers.

I stared at the blank piece of paper as it taunted me.

I tightened my grip on the pencil, and let it hover over the sheet, its point centimeters from the blank horizon. So much potential...

I yanked away. This is so stupid.

My hand made its way back over the paper. The tip of the pencil made contact on the paper, bits of lead crumbling off.

I pulled back yet again. A grey dot was all that was left on the paper.

I tapped the eraser of my pencil on my crooked teeth, then glimpsed down at the chipped magenta, pink, and black polish on my nails.

I glanced over my shoulder at my backpack leaning against the brown wallpaper wall, spilling with advanced pathway homework.

I turned back to my paper.

I let go of control.

My hand glided across the page. I felt my shoulders fall, as I flowed with the movement of my pencil.

Anger erupted within me, and my flow turned into scribbles over my lines. I crumpled up the paper and threw it over my shoulder. It bounced off the top of the already overflowing wastebasket.

Artistry.

Hah.

I feverishly ran my fingers through my hair. "I can't be creative. I'm a chemist!"

I looked down at the pearl ring on my finger, ignoring the scratches on it that I had convinced myself gave it character.

"Yes, chemistry is my future. Chemistry is my path."

I stood up from my chair, and got down on the floor.

I was in the middle of the downward dog position when Jackson burst through my bedroom doorway, slamming the door against the wall with a massive thud. "Mary!"

My three foot stack of hardback textbooks and bent paperback workbooks leaning against the wall toppled over into a heaping mess.

I snarled. "Ug! You just— now those were alphabetized!" My head fell between my shoulders. "What."

"Never mind that. What are you doing?" Jackson blew the deep brown curls out of his face.

I begrudgingly crawled to my feet. "Yoga."

"Ohhhh. You still do that?"

I massaged my temples. This six-year-old would be the death of me. "Jackson, what do you want? And do you know where Savannah is? She should be home by now."

"Oh! Right. Well, I just wanted to tell you before Busybody could that Savannah has left to get therapy."

"WHAT?!" I cried. "How is that even possible? Wasn't she still on her second strike?! She was doing so good! What did she do? And why so soon? She was only ten..."

"I don't know." That was his answer to all of my questions. "I think she got into another fight at school. Anyway, I just wanted to let you know before Mrs. Busybody could that this room will probably be to yourself for a while."

Savannah would get violent when she was angry.

She loved to throw the closest thing to her at people.

And they weren't always pillows.

One time it was a potted basil plant.

With such sudden news, my world came crashing down around me. "And she's gone?!"

"Yup. This morning."

There was that lump in my throat again. I shuddered, feeling like a bubbling, boiling, cracked porcelain teapot with steam seeping through the seal of the glued shut lid.

I turned away from Jackson and clutched the top of my desk's chair. She's gone. Savannah is gone. I didn't even get to say goodbye. Savannah is gone—

I wiped my eyes on the inside of my shirt.

She might as well have been my sister.

And she's gone.

I hide my face under the collar of my shirt, refusing to turn back and look at Jackson before I composed myself.

I didn't get the chance to. I felt his warm little hand rest on my wrist.

My head rolled to my shoulder.

"It's ok, Mary." Jackson squirmed, his voice cracking. Seeing me in such a weak state must have made him uncomfortable. "Maybe you can get help, too. Then you can see her again!"

Sweet kid.

I patted his little boy hand, his fingernails long and collecting dirt. "Thanks, Jackson."

He beamed back up at me, then turned, and walked out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

But as soon as he was gone, I leaped to my bottom bunk, face first into my pillow. I lied there, alone.

I didn't even get to say goodbye.

I did not cry though. I will not cry.

Do not get help. Do not get help.

No help. No help.