I can barely concentrate as I scrape the back of the card with my apartment key. When I'm done, I drop the card on the table. From the corner of my eye, I swear I see a weightless shadow move. My heart titters but not the way it usually does on caffeine. No- it hammers, thuds down like it's counting down to something. Like you're dying a mini death, until you're ready for the final one.

I have been a little paranoid since yesterday, I'll admit. It has been a quick development, one which hasn't been a favorable one at all. This is the thirteenth card that has drawn up blank. I count the cards in my desk drawer again. I'm mistaken, it was the twelfth one. I still have an unscratched thirteenth folded up in my wallet. I think I'll scratch it later. I'm not feeling particularly lucky at this hour.

"I can uh- try for Saturday," Michael says on the speaker. "I'm on my way home, are you sure you're busy today?"

I want to tell him he can come over like we had previously planned. We were going to go out and grab coffee and cake. Maybe a burrito for him because he always is hungrier than when we make these plans. But when he does come, he'll have to stay over because we're almost an hour away from each other. And I can't afford to lose time right now. I know he'll understand once I'm gone. I am doing this for him after all.

"I promise I'll make this up to you," I say, sliding the lottery card with my finger into the drawer where they all end up. "Just give me a couple of days to finish up on work."

"'kay."

"How was the bake sale today?" 

"Surprised that people actually liked the Reece's cupcakes," he cringes.

"I don't know why you hate them so much."

"I don't but ugh-" he pauses. "They're gross. Anyway, we sold all of them in the first hour and half. I left after that."

"That's really great."

"I didn't do much though, Mrs. Douglas made the cupcakes for me. I just took them to school."

   "Doesn't matter," I fidget with my nail. "It's cool you're taking part in things."

     It wasn't always like this. I don't think I ever bought anything from bake sales and I definitely never worked a stall. A few years ago, Michael didn't have a single friend in his class. When I hear him now, it's like he's two different people.

"How's school work going?"

"Umm," he breathes through his mouth. "It's going okay."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah," his voice glitches a bit. I can hear traffic from his side.

"What?" I miss what he said.

  "My-yy phon- is 'tuck," his voice is acting up again so I end the call and try him again.

   He picks up after a long time. 

"Is your phone still freezing up?" 

    "I think so. The screen goes black if I'm on it for too long."

"We can try showing it to someone," I propose.

   "Too expensive," he reminds me. "It's fine, I can hear you now."

I'm still not convinced. He's had his phone for almost five years now and no phone lasts that long, not anymore. I drop it though because I can't afford to get him a new phone. I wish he'd tell the Douglas', so they could get him a new one. But I guess we're both stubborn in the same ways.

"How is college? Did you make any new friends yet?"

I clear my throat a little, looking outside my bedroom window. There used to be a clear view of the business school from my last place. Now, there's a Krystal drive-thru and half put-up billboard, I can see a little further down the road.

"It's a remote class this semester," I tell him.

"That means you could've taken your classes from here too," he jigsaws together.

"I still have my assistant job I need to show up for," I remind him.

"Is it fun? Your job I mean."

"Depends on what you think is fun."

"It's so cool you get to experience it all, you got to study in London and even now, you're on your own," he blissfully says.

"You'll probably do way more than I did."

"I don't think Mrs. Douglas will want me to apply abroad," his voice lowers a little before returning to normal. "She says she would miss me too much."

I think Mrs. Douglas is full of shit but I don't comment on it. She has three other children of her own so I doubt she'll be missing him that much if he left. It doesn't sit right with me, her not wanting Michael to apply abroad. He should apply wherever the hell he wants.

"I know but if it's something you want to do, you should try anyway."

"Yeah," he's a little distant.

"I'll help you appl-" I stop myself from finishing that sentence but he already gets it so he responds.

"Thanks, I think I'll need help with all the essays and stuff."

"Yeah." This time, it's me who is distant.

"I should go but text me when you're done with work," he says and our call ends.

I'm a little shaky as I pick up my phone. I've put myself into a bad mood, making empty promises to Michael like that. Unless they have internet in purgatory, I will never be able to help Michael the way an older brother is supposed to.

I sit down on my office chair which spirals a little before stopping and I scroll on Instagram. I sieve through a few cringe videos before stopping on one with drone footage. Its quality puts all other videos to shame and I quickly click on the description. The hashtag reads Washington and I swipe up, closing the app and switching to google where I search for flights to Washington.

    My lips press together in subtle disappointment. It's out of my budget and unless I sleep in the forests, there's no affording a trip like that. At least not in my short life.

I open reddit and type stag mail. The most recent thread was replied to 3 hours ago. I click on it and scroll down. The discussion is pages long but I'm only interested in the last few messages.

'boringtaxidermist' asks if anyone knows someone who actually beat their death day.

There are plenty of nopes and nada. Someone with a powerpuff girls icon picture suggests brewing black seed tea and turmeric. It seems pointless so I close the thread and reopen another, hoping to find something useful.

I spot boringtaxidermist here too, this time arguing if whether the stag mail is a conspiracy or not with someone else. Below their argument, someone asks where you can buy cheap black seed and if anyone else who got stag mail is in Atlanta. My eyebrow tilts slightly, moving down to see if they got any responses.

I slide a raised hand emoji in the comments. It doesn't mean anything and I'm about to put my phone away when there's a notification.
  
       grace4321 leaves an address in the comments asking whoever is in the area to come out. For a minute, I'm paranoid it's a virus but I click on it anyway. I know this place or at least what's close to it. It's not that far, maybe a fifteen minute drive. I close my phone and look outside at the Krystal down the street, contemplating it. With no college, no friends and a family I intend to keep in the dark, meeting other terminals sounds comforting in some way.

   I take out my last lotto ticket, flattening it on the table top with my hands and scratching it with my key. I don't ponder over it too much before tossing the rest of them into the trash and then leaving the apartment.  

    I'm almost ready to back out of the parking space when a lady begins unpacking her car in my way. Her short brown hair covers half her face as she hunches over the boot of the car, a blonde baby on her hip. My hand hovers over the horn and I so desperately want to press it. Lo and behold, another kid comes out of the passenger seat, swinging his door open and ramming it into the back seat door.

    The lady looks up just as I exit the car to examine the damage. My body is tense and my neck slightly arched. 

"I'm so sorry about that," the lady begins. I swipe my finger over the fat patch of paint that's come off the car. "Daniel, what have I told you about opening your own door."

  Daniel doesn't look like he gives two shits but looks away timidly, anyway. I want to be that person today who screams in outrage. I want to tell her that her son is a twat and drive off in a maniacal fury because I am so incredibly annoyed. I want to be the neighborhood Karen and swat the child like a fly so I slowly turn around to meet her gaze. 

    The lady has a sheepish smile that all mothers give when their offspring act so heinously. You literally chose to have children but can't control them. And I'm the one expected to be okay with that?

"Mistakes happen," the words leave my mouth before knowing. "It's alright."

I get in my car in a hurry because even I'm too ashamed of what came out. Reversing out of the space finally, I avoid eye contact with her and drive to midtown.