We had come full circle. It was funny to think about the lengths I'd gone to get Adrián to reveal himself, how hard I'd pushed to get a date with him, only to have it bite me in the ass and drop me at square one again: Communicating only behind screens.

I was homebound, and he was still grounded. The sole option we had was returning to our roots-sort of. Only this time, Adrián actually talked during our phone calls, and he didn't mind displaying his face whenever we used FaceTime, either.

He called me each day after school let out, and I got accustomed to seeing his room from whichever angle his phone was propped up to. It got to the point where I didn't have to remember that the painting next to the Van Gogh-the one I didn't recognise-was called The Kiss, made by Gustav Klimt, and that Adrián planned to use it as a study for his own painting. That he had a really old poster of the Arctic Monkeys on one wall, and that there were always half-empty cups and bottles of water lying around. That at some point, Jellybean would strut into his room and give me the stink eye when she realized I was the reason Adrián sat still at his desk. The reason didn't roll up with her when she meowed for his attention.

To think I was competing with a cat was outrageous. But I actually felt proud whenever she gave up and walked back out.

Aside from waiting on Adrián's calls, the rest of my day was spent ignoring alerts from Northwood High about the homework they emailed me, lurking in the Biology class group chat from school (which was still active) and, waiting for Jamie of all people to get back home.

It wasn't particularly because I looked forward to Jamie badgering me until he tired himself out, but more so to see Sam. Six days had passed since the incident, and she'd not so much glanced at me. Her picking Jamie up from Northwood Elementary was the only time she wasn't locked up in her room, shutting me and our parents out. It tore at me, knowing I caused her to back away. But I doubted my parents even noticed.

Staring up from where I lay in bed, I caught sight of the time on the clock that hung on the opposite wall. It was 2:58 PM, which meant Jamie and Sam would be home any minute.

The clock chimed a while later. I'd always hated it. It was old, bulky, and, frankly ugly, not at all fitting in with anything in my room. I supposed its out-of-placeness was why it was so eye-catching, and I couldn't really complain because not only did it tell the time like it should, it was also a handmade heirloom from a great grandparent; passed down to son after son. I was not a son, so I never understood why my dad insisted I kept it.

But if my dad had broken tradition and gave it to me, then there was no reason I couldn't give it to Jamie.

The hum of an engine echoed in the room, and I felt around for one souvenir I'd left the hospital with-one crutch. I hobbled out of bed, reaching the window that overlooked the front yard in time to see my siblings alight from the BMW. Jamie's feet hardly met the ground before he broke into a sprint, his backpack and lunch bag flailing behind him in the wind. Sam lingered, phone against her ear. Between her enthusiastic gestures as she spoke, she wore a smile, an expression I'd last seen when I mentioned I had a date.

Our eyes met when she rounded the car, and I froze. Suddenly, it felt like I was intruding, and the longer she held my gaze, the worse I felt. But Jamie's scream cut through the moment, and I was led to my bed by insistent pulls on my arm.

"Parker," he drew out my name, bouncing excitedly on the balls of his feet. A layer of sweat shone on his forehead; he was still donning his sweater, along with the sneakers he dragged in mud with. It shocked me he had dumped his bags in the doorway instead of on my bed.

"Hey, Jam--"

"Is it showing yet?" His grin was wide, displaying the hole two front teeth used to occupy. I thought he meant his missing teeth, but they'd been out for three weeks now.

"Is what showing?"

"The hair!"

I couldn't have been more confused. "The... hair?"

"You know my friend Mia? She said her brother broke his bones and got a cast too! And when they took it off, his arm was covered with hair. Like a werewolf!" He stared at my leg with a hunger in his eyes. Frankly, it unnerved me. "Can I see if you have werewolf hair yet?"

Before I could protest, Jamie was already on his knees. He pressed his cheek against my leg and squinted, shifting his head to try for the perfect position to look into the space between the cast and my leg.

"Jamie, I don't think you can see through that." I grabbed his arm, struggling to pry him off me. He didn't budge.

"You don't know that! You didn't even know you'd get cast hair." He squinted harder, but seeing his efforts were fruitless, tried to shove his pinky finger into the small space.

"Get up, come on."

"Jamie, go change. Now." It didn't take more than Sam's firm voice to get him reeling out.

I looked up to thank her, but she left before I could. The loud bang of her bedroom door that followed was expected.

Friday nights were the only time we had dinner together. It was a bit like playing pretend.

Charlotte Thompson would try to convince herself that she was killing the 'mom' game as much as she was succeeding in work. She would cook a recipe that was so strict, it made the food taste painfully flat, like the glossy pages of cookbooks she only opened once a week.

Adam Thompson made conversation, pretended to care about what his kids said, as if he didn't shove it out of his mind a second later to accommodate business plans.

Jamie was the over enthusiastic child who requested double servings (and dumped them)--to save the rest of us from having to eat leftovers the next day. I was the compliant one, nodding along to whatever absurd thing Samantha would come up with--making our parents break their roles and stare at us with raised eyebrows. Sam used to love it, she'd go along with all of it, and we'd cackle in her room about how ridiculous it all was. After she started college, though, she didn't even try anymore.

As much as I looked forward to sitting across from Sam tonight, I dreaded the recipe. All too soon, I was sitting at the dinner table, a napkin folded neatly in my lap, while I looked down at a plate of garlic escargot and a side of lumpy mashed potatoes.

Next to me, Jamie spooned the mashed potatoes into his mouth, swallowing everything without chewing. He leaned closer to me and whispered in the not-so-subtle way 7-year-olds did, saying, "You can't feel the hard stuff in it if you eat it like that."

Our father cleared his throat, and I knew the games were about to begin. "Jamie, how was school?"

"Good!" he answered with a wide grin, hoping it was large enough to overshadow what he was currently doing with his hands--shoving bits of food into a paper bag he hid under the table.

"And Parker? Your school said they'd see to it you cover all the lessons you're missing while you're still out. How's that going?"

"They sent me homework and lesson plans." I ended there, knowing I had done nothing else but let the homework sit and marinate.

I drank from my glass of water, waiting for a follow-up question. It never came.

Only an "Mm hmm. Good," while he ate. I could tell he wasn't swallowing either. In fact, the only person who seemed to eat with relish was Charlotte, scooping bite after bite between her lips, which were coated with shiny red lipstick.

Since Jamie and I had gotten our chance to shine during tonight's show, I waited for Samantha to get her time in the spotlight. But neither of our parents addressed her.

She noticed; the plea for attention seeping out in the taps of her fingernails on the table. The sound was irritating and sporadic, but neither Charlotte nor Adam told her to stop. Almost as if she was invisible.

"Mom, can you pass me the gravy?" Something flashed in her eyes-hope-but it disappeared as quickly as it came. Her jaw ticked as no one made a move, and she shut her eyes for a solid second. I couldn't tell whether my parents ignored her, or that they simply hadn't heard the too-small squeak.

I willed Sam to look at me, to meet my eyes so I could apologise for everything. Let her know I was sorry, and I'd do my best to make it right. She didn't.

So I reached across the table for the gravy, almost knocking over my glass of water. Before I could hand it to her, however, a chair scraped the floor loudly. But my parents didn't even flinch. Sam was gone.

It was an unspoken rule-to sit until dinner was over. But since our darling parents didn't seem to care for it today, I also stood, giving them a close-lipped smile as I walked away.

If they would not talk to Sam, they didn't have to talk to me either. I got myself hurt, but they put all the blame on her. Like they'd been doing for years.

They believed Sam had everything to do with me being nonbinary. That me sneaking into her room and trying on her dresses when I was 9 was because she allowed me to. That she'd planted the idea into my head by telling me it was okay to feel the way I felt, and there were others like me who didn't conform to gender roles.

Reassuring me seemed to have been her damnation. If that act was enough to cause the turmoil it had, then I hope my going after her would send the same message.

~~

Parker's family sounds... broken. Don't you think so? But we've officially met Jamie! How do y'all like him??
And looks like a lot's going on with Sam :,(

Anyway don't forget to leave your thoughts on this chapter here! =>