I bury my white sneakers unto the dried-up soil as I grip on the rusty chains of the swing I was sitting on. This is my first time to ever go out of the house ever since Chelsea's funeral. I went to the old playground just around the block, where Chelsea and I used to hang out late at night, eating chips and drinking Coke.

I remember how dad gets so frustrated because we always sneak out so late and he doesn't know where to find us. That started when we were in freshmen year. Chelsea always wanted to have some kind of "secret base" where we'll hang out every night and where mom and dad won't know about.

Our "secret base" soon became Chelsea's every friend's "secret base" as well. She organized this social club thing where we meet up every 9 pm at this playground and just talk about things. The requirement to join that club was to bring new food every time we meet up. The food should be something unique and new to her. If it wasn't, Chelsea didn't really mind at all, she's definitely not a woman of her words. She's Chelsea, the girl who accepts every person.

The parents of Chelsea's friends soon started noticing how their daughters disappear every night so they all found out about our social club thing. Mom and dad scolded Chelsea that one day but our social club didn't really fall apart just like that. Chelsea set up rules when to or not to go to our secret base. Just like that, our social club still went on until junior year.

Ever since Chelsea died, I never got in touch with our friends or more like, her friends. They tried to talk to me that time at the funeral, telling me that they want to do some kind of commemoration at this old playground, but I immediately rejected the invitation. I'm not sure if they went on with it or if they didn't, but, one thing's for sure, I kind of regretted rejecting the invitation.

As I remove my grip on the chains of the old swing, I can see how much rust got rubbed on to my palms. When I was wiping it off on my jeans, a guy's voice suddenly calls out. I look up to see who it was.

"Avery?" I say, my voice sounding so monotone.

"It's been a while, huh?" he says, sitting to the swing next to the one I was sitting on. He looks at me with a smile and I can't seem to give one back to him.

"Y-yeah," I say as I stand up to leave. I brushed away the back of my jeans just in case there was something that stuck to it.

"I really miss Chelsea," he suddenly blurts out.

My legs started shaking and my heart started beating like crazy. I tried to calm myself down but my body won't do so. I walk away slowly, trying to steady my wobbly legs.

"Are you leaving?" Avery asks. I can feel him catch up with me that I suddenly speed up. I tried to run away but then my legs failed me and I ended up falling on the ground.

"Amelia!" he calls out as he runs to help me stand up and regain my composure. "What's wrong?" he asks and I shake my head quickly.

I let go of his touch and start to walk away again. I didn't even bother thanking him or anything. I had one goal in my mind: to get out of this situation and go back to my house where I rightfully belong. Why did I even come out in the first place? I just made the worst decision in my entire life.

"At least let me walk you home," he offers as he jogs to keep up with me.

"I can walk by myself," I bitterly say and I can see in my periphery that he was offended.

"What if you—"

"No is a no."

He keeps silent but he doesn't stop walking along side with me. He just keeps silent as we arrive at my house. Before I can come inside, he stops me by holding my wrist.

"Just in case you're having a hard time because of what happened with Chelsea, you can always come to me. I'll listen to you, Amy," he says.

It has been a long time since I was called Amy. He was the only person who ever called me Amy and the only person I ever gave the permission to call me Amy.

"Thanks, but I'm not having a hard time," I lie, trying to sound convincing. I swallow nervously as he removes his grip around my wrist.

"If you say so," he says. He leaves after saying goodbye. I immediately run inside my house and see mom doing some embroidery.

"Where were you?" she asks without even looking up at me. Her eyes were glued to whatever she was doing with that needle and thread.

"Just around the block," I answer, stepping up the staircase.

"School starts tomorrow," she says suddenly. My feet suddenly stopped going up the stairs. Instead, I descend the stairs slowly, walk backwards, and face mom.

"About that," I start as mom adjusts her eyeglasses, looking up at me. "I still don't want to go to school."

Mom eyes me carefully, removing her eyeglasses and placing it on top of her head. She clears her throat and places the cloth she's embroidering next to her.

"Why?" she asks, her voice stern.

"I just don't want to, yet," I declare.

"If this is about Chelsea—"

"It's not about her," I immediately object. I really am such a liar.

"We have already sent in the payment for your tuition," she says.

"I know," I say and she looks at me with confused eyes. "You've cancelled Chelsea's enrollment, right? Then, maybe you could also cancel mine."

Mom looks at me with wide eyes and I can feel her anger rise.

"I don't think so, young woman," she says. "You're going to school tomorrow and that's final."

"But, mom," I start to reason out and she just sighs.

"You know what, let's talk about this with your dad over dinner," she says before I can say anything else. "Just go back to your room and wash your hands. Were you playing around mud?" She eyes my rusty hands and my white sneakers that were stained with dirt.

I didn't bother to answer her, I just went upstairs to my room and jumped on my bed with dirty hands and sneakers. Why should I even bother cleaning when Chelsea's not here to say that I'm disgusting?

When dad arrived from work, mom called me for dinner. I went downstairs right away and set up the table. I placed three plates around the table. This used to be four. I brush away the thought and grab utensils for us, too.

Mom finished cooking and we all gathered around the table. Dad led the prayer and mom started to give both of us some parts of her roasted chicken. She gave me the leg, the part Chelsea and I always wanted.

"We're lucky that a chicken has two legs," I remember how dad jokes about it. "Or else we might end up getting hated upon one of our twins."

Chelsea always found this joke funny even though she was already 17.

"If a chicken has only one leg, then, I'd rather that you give it to Amelia," Chelsea tells dad every time he jokes about it.

I remember how I felt so angry at her whenever she says that because I didn't want to be babied and feel like I'm the one who needed understanding and consideration.

"So, I heard from your mom," dad starts, slicing a part of his chicken thigh and popping it into his mouth. "This taste great, honey," he says even though he hasn't even started chewing it.

"Thank you, dear," mom says as she tries her own cooking. "Don't you think it kind of tastes bland?" she comments and dad shakes his head right away. I tried the chicken for myself and I do agree with mom that it tastes bland. This chicken needs a lot of seasoning but I didn't bother telling mom because I'm not that kind of daughter.

I was the silent one and Chelsea was always the one who comments on every single thing.

"What do you think, Amelia?" mom asks me and I just stick out a thumbs up.

"So, as I was saying. I heard from your mom that you didn't want to go to school?" dad repeats and I swallow the piece of chicken nervously. I grab some of the salad and pop it inside my mouth.

"Yet," I correct him and he nods at this slowly while chewing on some cabbage from the salad.

"Why?" he asks.

"I just don't feel like it," I answer and he places his fork down.

"Is this because of your sister's death?" he says and I feel like my whole body becomes rigid.

"It's not," I lie once again.

"Then what is it about?" he says, his voice starting to rise. I can really feel his anger building up.

"I promise to go back before midterms," I assure them and they both look at each other. Mom places her hand over dad's and gives it a light squeeze. Soon, dad calms down and faces me. Mom faces me as well.

"We know that it has been hard for you," dad says as mom rubs the top of his hand gently. "But we'd really appreciate it a lot if you talked to us more," he adds.

"You've been shutting us out ever since Chelsea's death and we think that it's ruining your health," mom chimes in.

"I told you, I'm fine," I say in a tone that sounds otherwise. "I really am," I add to sound more convincing. They both sigh.

"As long as you will come back before midterms," dad finally says. I can't help but feel relieved. My whole body relaxes for a while and that's when my brain suddenly reminded me that Chelsea is gone. My body soon returned to how it was before but I can still feel the relief somehow. At least I would be able to avoid social interaction for three months or so.

"Thank you," I simply say and they just look at me with concerned eyes.

I just really hope that Chelsea were here.