My favourite thing is the world is power. And on the week before Thanksgiving break, I have the power to choose where I'm going to spend it. That might be one of the most selfish thoughts I've ever had, but that idea is killed by the excitement of spending the break at Ana's house. Angie's coming too, since her mom is going to be too busy working to even cook a Thanksgiving diner. Angie never complains about her mom's work hours. "She's saving lives," she says.
It's not that I don't like going home for the holidays. Okay, maybe I don't. I don't like the tightness in my chest every time I see Maddie take a swig from a bottle of bourbon on the counter. I don't like pressure that forms behind my eyes every time I crouch onto my hands and knees to pick up shards of broken glass bottles. I don't like the anxiety that swirls around in my brain every time I hear my father's drunken laugh mix with my sister's in the middle of the night. I don't like who I become when I go back home. Stressed. Anxious. Resentful. I can barely look at my sister without picturing the girl who was so excited to go to the US to chase her dreams. And I hate myself for it.
Sometimes I think that I'm a horrible person. Maybe I know I am. Because I would rather protect myself from pain than to take other's away. Or try to. I would never call my sister a lost cause. I wouldn't even call my father that. I do not label the people I love with their addictions. But I'm so tired. Of going home to a family that's not going to even interact with me.
I don't believe that they'll miss me if I don't come home.
So I don't.
"Earth to Sadie," Ana says, snapping her fingers in front of my face.
I shake my head, knocking away my thoughts. "I'm here."
"Barely," she mumbles.
"Don't be rude, Ana," Angie interjects.
We're sitting on the floor of our dorm, sharing our Advanced Physics notes. Well, Angie and I are exchanging notes. Ana is pacing around the room, recounting the plot of her latest favourite romance novel, as if it's not distracting at all. But I don't tell her to stop talking. I love her tangents.
"I'm not!" She protests. "Anyway, and then he brings her to this old abandoned building that she's always hanging out around, and they go inside, and you know what they find?"
"No, please inform us," Angie says, rolling her eyes. She'd much rather be studying.
"A whole-ass flower shop. Cause you know how she was always gardening and talking about opening a flower shop? Well he built it for her! Isn' t that so fucking romantic. If someone built me a flower shop, I think I'd die."
"Probably," I say. "Aren't you allergic to pollen?"
Angie starts laughing and Ana swats her on the arm. "I would die from how cute it is. Not the the figurative pollen."
"Can we go to the library?" Ana asks.
"Already aching for the sequel?" I ask her.
"First of all, fuck off. Second of all, no, this book was a standalone."
"Bummer," Angie snorts.
Ana ignores her and kicks off her slippers, replacing them with white boots. Angie stands up as well. "We might as well study in the library," she says.
"Way to kill the mood," Ana groans. She hates any subject that isn't English, but she's actually one of the best students in the school. She just hates studying. And doing assignments. And going to class.
YOU ARE READING
The Opposition
Teen Fiction"The answer is 'A,'" I say, keeping my voice light and kind. Carter snorts from beside me. "No, it's 'C.'" Bingo. I was hoping he'd say that. "The question clearly asks you to round to the nearest tenth. If I'm not mistaken, which I don't believe I...
