𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐓𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐲

𝖮 𝗇 𝖾

                                         ☙
I need a time machine. Specifically, a time machine that can take me back to my twelfth grade English class. Maybe then I can change my mind, and do a gap year, instead of jumping head first into college.

It seemed like a good idea at the time, but no one told me that your break felt like two weeks instead of three months. They also didn't mention that your elevator would be broken by the time you arrive, from the amount of students that use it in one time period. I don't work out, and walking up three flights of stairs wasn't on my bucket list this afternoon.

"Come on, Anika. We'll be here till' Christmas if you don't move your ass," my brother groans from the top of the stairs.

He offered to help me and mom take my stuff up to my dorm room, and I wasn't going to pass up doing less work. Plus, he's doing it out of the kindness of his heart. I pick up the two smaller boxes I have before trudging after him. Mom is already in my dorm, unpacking some of my stuff to make it easier for me. I have a shared dorm, which means a roommate, but I don't mind. Maybe I'll get that fun, freshman year of college. Minus the drinking until I forget I have a class the next morning. That wouldn't fly too well.

Finally, my brother and I make it up the last flight that we had to climb, and we stumble our way into my dorm room. I drop the boxes I had next to my unmade bed, while Allen places the slightly bigger boxes next to my desk. Mom's still unpacking my things when dad finds his way to my room, the rest of my boxes held up in his muscled arms. Having a dad, that's still as serious about working out, have their advantages. One's like taking things to my dorm room.

"Thanks, dad, I know you were forced," I say, with a smile.

He's had a stoic expression ever since we reached my college, Sergent's University. Despite the name, which makes it sound like a military college, Sergent is an Arts and Communications college. It was one of my top five choices, and Sergent is one of the first colleges, out of the many that I applied to, who responded to me with an acceptance letter. Well—email, but it was in the form of a letter. I just hope I don't regret my choice.

Back to the point of college—dad has been quiet and straight faced since we got here. Allen thinks he's like that so he won't cry in the middle of the building. I'm with him on this one. Dad didn't cry when Allen went off to community college for two years, but that was probably because Allen wrecked his car on the same day. His going away present was dad fixing it up.

I'm a daddy's girl. Doesn't mean I'm not close with my mom, because I am. I just clung onto my dad when I was younger, all the way until my sophomore year of high school. Junior and senior year were for girls, aka my mom and I. She taught me how to better my makeup, and style my outfits, so it didn't look like I got dressed in the dark. Her words, not mine.

Dad and I still had our usual hangouts at abstract painting lessons, arcade challenges, and sometimes even feeding ducks. Allen always claims it as favoritism, but would ditch us the second we invited him. He's a weirdo.

"You're welcome, sweet pea," dad says, breaking me out of my thoughts.

I give him another smile before joining mom's side as she takes out piles of my folded clothes. I join her in putting them on the shelves of my closet, and hang extra clothes on the hangers. When we're halfway through, I grab my shoes, that I was able to take, and set them on the closet floor. Mom finishes up with the shelves, and we give each other high fives because teamwork makes the dream work. Or, so I've heard.

"What now, Ani?" mom asks, ready to dig through another box.

"Actually, I think I have everything else," I tell her, hoping it didn't sound like I was rushing for them to leave.