click clack click clack clack clack

i really like my nail polish! it’s red and it’s very special :D i only apply it 2 my thumb and my pointer finger not just the nail, but all over!!1! it goes on my cuticle, over my fingertips, and it also always gets stuck under my nail >:( it clumps up very easily in the middle of my fingernail it goes on a vibrant red, but dries much darker :0 it’s quick to dry, but it comes off super easy ^_^ just wash ur hands, and u r ready for another manicure! it’s edible and nontoxic ( as long as u don’t consume 2 much!!1 u might get a tummy ache D: ) the nail polish tastes metal-y but u don’t rlly notice it much when it’s on ur lips OH YEAH i 4got to mention.....the red nail polish comes from ur lips ( i recommend ur bottom lip )

u won’t ever run out, so don’t worry abt it ;) i like 2 think of it like a multi-functional item ur lips always match ur nails! :3 this hack works loads better on dry lips and ur lips might look a bit funny :P but applying nail polish and lipstick is soooo fun! dontcha think :] it’s very soothing and it keeps ur hands busy

not every1 will like it though :( 1 day i 4got to take off my nail polish b4 preparing my breakfast my mom saw my ruby red nails and asked “What happened to your fingers?” i didn’t like how concerned she was, but i couldn’t exactly say ‘i dunno,’ and when i spoke my lie to her, the sides of my mouth hurt, and i was worried they would crack and i’d get red nail polish all over my face and my mom would know where i get my manicures.

---

It doesn’t take a particularly fashionably inclined person to notice when one switches their entire outfit.  Such simple observations could be made by anyone. The only thing that’s needed to pick up on the details is an affinity to observe.  Sharpay loved to observe.

She spots the baseball players sitting together.  Ryan and Chad are amongst them.  Ryan is in red and Chad is in white.  No, shouldn’t it be the other way around?  Sharpay’s eyes focus on the shorts that were a bit too big for Ryan’s slender frame and Chad’s jersey polo that was oddly creased.  Sharpay began to feel irritated for not paying close enough attention to what her brother was wearing before he stormed off. Was this a trick of the eye?  At a glance, their body language is completely natural for the situation: sweaty, flushed, and tired. But, Chad’s face looked noticeably red for someone with an extensive career in competitive basketball.

After the country club closed, both Sharpay and Ryan are brought back to their estate by their esteemed chauffeur.  Sharpay gives Ryan a knowing look, wordlessly inviting him into her room.  Once Ryan finished his nightly routine, he knocks on Sharpay’s door and is promptly greeted by Sharpay and a small assortment of nail polish in her hands.  She ushers him into her quarters as she closed the door behind her.  Taking a confident breath, she starts the interrogation.

“Which color do you think I should ch—?”

“Light pink with a sparkly silver accent nail.”

Ryan’s eyes lock onto hers, communicating that he knows his sister didn’t invite him over to simply discuss the intricacies of an at-home manicure.  

Sharpay nods.  “Good choice.  I think it’ll go well with the outfits I have planned for the week.”

“That’s why I chose them.”

“You’re a bit snappy today.”

“I did a lot today.”

“Expand on that.”  

Silence fills the room.  As Sharpay carefully examines her nails, she exhales sharply and frowns.

“Huh.  One of my nails chipped while at that baseball game.” 

Ryan’s eyebrows raise.  Her emphasis on the baseball game made Ryan realize that Sharpay didn’t want to discuss their earlier fight regarding the talent show. Without a word, he mutually agrees to a truce between him and his sister for the night.

He knew that Sharpay didn’t arrive until after the game’s end.  Sharpay was testing him.  Sharpay unassumingly reaches for her gel nail polish and her UV curing light—letting her words hang in the air.  Ryan knew that his sister’s actions were anything but unintentional.  He decides it’d be best to continue the conversation before his sister makes another remark.

“I didn’t expect to get as invested in that game of baseball as I did.”

“Yeah, I heard your little rivalry with Chad was pretty...”  Sharpay pauses to search for the right word.

“...pretty captivating.”

“Captivating is a bit of a stretch, isn’t it?”

“Oh not at all!  It’s the opposite, really.  You and Chad seem to match each other’s energy.”

Ryan cast his gaze to the other side of the room, seemingly distracted from Sharpay’s words.

“What’s the deal with him?” Sharpay asks.

“The deal with who?”

“You know who I’m talking about.”

Ryan pauses for a moment.  “Since he was Troy’s closest friend, I figured he’d be at least a little talented on stage.  You know, birds of a feather flock together.  At the very least, basketball players are quick learners.  I need him for the talent show.”

“There are other capable and willing Wildcats out there for you to choose from.  Chad’s the only one who didn’t wanna join the show.”

“Why settle for anything less than the best’s second in command?”

Ryan dances around her questions beautifully—speaking in circles as he tries to distract Sharpay from her own malicious curiosity.  They both know what they’re doing.  They both stand their ground.  Ryan’s avoidance only incentivizes Sharpay to press Ryan further, forcing Ryan to continue his sharp yet civil act.  After the moon has risen well into the sky, Sharpay stops hammering him with questions, leaving the air stagnant and tense.  A couple moments of uncomfortable silence later, she finally caves.

“I’m gonna sleep now.  You can leave.”

“Your nails look good.”

“You’re too kind,” she sighed.

“You’re in my business too much.”

“You can leave my room.”

“Gladly.”

Ryan opens the door and gracefully closes it behind him, as if to show Sharpay that her words had no effect on him.

---

Ryan bolts to his room and practically melts into his king-sized bed.  His silken sheets and matching pillowcases soothe his sore body and racing mind.  His physical exhaustion has finally caught up to him, and Ryan is having trouble fighting for consciousness against the sweet lull of sleep.

That is, until he jolts awake, remembering the hesitant lips of Chad Danforth.  Ryan’s heart stops as he covers his eyes with his own hands—only to painstakingly rub them down his face in utter shock.  He tosses and turns, clutching a pillow to his chest and squeezing it tight, unsatisfyingly noticing that the pillow did not feel remotely similar to Chad’s skin against his own.  That didn’t stop Ryan from longing, however, burying his face into the pillow and inhaling slowly. His pillow feels too light.  His arms feel too empty.  His body is too cold.  Ryan lets his thoughts wander, asking himself if Chad was feeling the same thing that he was right now.

Ryan suddenly pulls the brakes on his train of thought.  This was the first time that he had ever thought about Chad—let alone wish he was in his arms.  Furrowing his eyebrows, Ryan asks himself why he had never noticed Chad before.

It was always Troy and Chad.  Troy and Chad.  Troy, and then Chad.  Troy was the captain, and Chad was the co-captain.  Troy was first in command, and Chad was the second.  Their dynamic—Ryan realized—mirrored his own relationship with Sharpay.  Sharpay and Ryan.  Sharpay, and then Ryan.  Sharpay was the lead, and Ryan was a supporting role.

Chad was always in the shadow of his better half.  Ryan was always in the shadow of his better half.  They were both an afterthought; they were both a distant echo.  Even though Ryan knew how it felt to be just out of the limelight’s reach, he still failed to look around the stage when he was in the audience.  He did not ever notice Chad as anything out of the ordinary.  Not until today.  Not until he had no other choice but to do so.  Not until Chad was placed right in front of him.

They were aware of each other’s existences, but not in any meaningful way.   Before, Ryan thought of their relationship as mutual acquaintances who have always kept their distance and stayed in their own lane.  Before, Ryan only had a shallow perception of Chad.  He was someone who was always out of reach—deep within the bubble of competitive sports.  Ryan believed that Chad was someone who wasn’t safe from the manner in which he disrespected theater.  Ryan purposefully kept his distance.

After their junior year of high school ended, Chad was noticeably more bearable to be around.  His bad qualities started to fade away, leaving a supportive friend and a talented basketball player in its wake.  All of these events have changed Chad.  All of these events have led Ryan and Chad to meet eye to eye.

The baseball game was perfect.  Ryan’s team lost, but he admitted to himself that it was entertaining in every possible way.  In Ryan’s mind, it couldn’t even be considered a game.   It was a risky conversation disturbed by the formalities of baseball.  A personal debate that was reduced to breathy whispers and glances from across the field.  When both Ryan and Chad were on the same base, the sheer tension was palpable.  No matter how many times Chad repeated his mantra of “I don’t swing that way,” he couldn’t quite convince Ryan nor himself of his heterosexuality.  It was almost funny.

Ryan reflects back on the last thing Chad said to him on the field: “Hey, Evans.  I’m not saying I’m going to dance in your show.  But if I did, what would you have me do?”  

That’s when Ryan won.

A shiver ran down his spine.  Ryan wanted to scream right then and there in the middle of the baseball field.  His mind was spinning.  Why would you say that if you were straight.  Why would Chad ask me.  

Chad was so focused on denying and isolating and defending his actions that he forgot to conceal his attraction.  He forgot to pretend that he wasn’t enjoying his time with Ryan.  Chad built up walls of reassurance, and one suggestion from Ryan knocked all of them down.  Behind his cold exterior, Ryan saw someone who was helpless.  Ryan wanted to help him. Ryan wanted to help.  Ryan wanted him.  Apparently, Chad wanted him, too.  He wanted Ryan badly.

Snide remarks and eye rolls.  Calloused hands.  Witty.  Easily flustered.  Easy to read.  Easy to like.  Easy to want.

It all made sense when he stared into those hungry eyes.  Ryan snickers to himself.  It all made sense.

---

“Good morning, Ryan.  It’s half past eight, and you’re needed at the country club.”

Ryan’s eyes flutter open.  He finds his curtains completely open, letting the sunshine flood into his tidy room.  He looks over to the family maid, thanks her for waking him, and remorsefully leaves his bed.  

Immediately upon arriving at his family’s country club, Ryan rushes to the dance room with a grand piano in the corner.  He turns on the lights, checks the equipment in the room, and begins to brainstorm for his new gig as the choreographer for East High’s talent show performance.

Kelsi enters the room shortly after Ryan had made himself comfortable.  They warmly greet each other, but then quickly get to work—a determined glint in both of their eyes.

Wrapped up in their choreography, they only snap out of their trance when their classmates start trickling in for rehearsal during their allotted lunch break.  Ryan and Kelsi let their early peers eat while waiting for everyone to show up.  Each time the door opens, Ryan looks up at the door in anticipation.  Each time the person that walks through the door isn’t Chad, Ryan quickly glances away.  Every second is excruciating as Ryan’s eyes shift between the hands on the clock and the door.  

Chad shows up on time.  Ryan looks at him.  Chad doesn’t meet Ryan’s gaze, although his uncomfortable stance showed that he’s aware of Ryan’s stare.  Before Ryan knew what to think of the situation, Kelsi draws Ryan’s attention back to rehearsal—directing everyone to begin some warmup exercises.

Rehearsal went by smoothly; the only unusuality was that Chad was the first one out the door.  After the last person left the room, Ryan sighs.  Kelsi gives Ryan a concerned glance, but Ryan doesn’t open up any further.  Their idle chatter slows as they both notice their own exhaustion.  Kelsi tells Ryan that she’s going home for the day, and Ryan walks her out towards her car.  He waves as she drives away, waiting until her car has left the parking lot before making his way back to the dance room.

Once he returns, he sprawls himself out on the cool floor and covers his eyes with his forearm in an attempt to collect his thoughts and process the last few hours of his day.  His peaceful state didn’t last long, however, as the sound of the door opening jolts Ryan back to reality.  Ryan hastily props himself up and turns towards the entrance to see Chad in the doorway.  Ryan’s eyebrows raise in curiosity.

“Hey.  You got a minute?”

Ryan squints at the clock on the wall, realizing he’s expected to play golf with his family five minutes from now.  “Not at the moment.”

Chad adjusts his posture, hesitating.  “Then can I talk to you later?”

“Sure.  When?”

“My shift ends at eight.  I can meet you outside this place if that works for you.”

“Deal.  See you then.”

“Yeah.  See you.”  Chad lets go of the door and walks away without looking back.  Ryan watches Chad’s figure as the door closes.

---

As Ryan navigated the rest of his day, Chad’s words were etched into his brain. He glanced at his watch at every given opportunity, annoying his family to no end.  No matter how much Ryan wanted to fast forward through the day, time remained unrelenting—inching forwards at an unbearably slow pace.

As the sun began to set, Ryan grew more anxious.  At five minutes to eight, he makes his way over to the spot they both agreed upon.  Ryan sees that Chad is already there, waiting for him.  Chad immediately spots Ryan and waves him over.  Ryan waves back.  He quickens his walking pace until he and Chad are both in front of the building’s door.  

“You’re early,” Chad starts.

“You are too.”

“I was impatient.” Chad pauses.  “It’s nice to see you again.”

Ryan can’t help but smile at the sincerity in Chad’s voice.

“I guess I can say the same.”

The anxiousness grows in Ryan’s mind as he waits to see which direction Chad will take this conversation.  Leading up to this moment, Chad seemed to be well-intentioned, but doubts still plagued Ryan’s mind.

“I’m glad,” Chad replies. “Hey, dude, I wanted to ask you about something—”

Ryan extends his hand, looking expectantly at a confused Chad.  He quickly closes and opens his hand, inviting Chad to take it.  After a moment, he does. Ryan immediately pivots and begins walking, which catches Chad off guard as he stumbles after him.

Ryan guides Chad towards a nearby bench adjacent to a charmingly placed light post.  Ryan takes the opportunity to readjust his hands, lacing his fingers between Chad’s.   The ambiance is comforting, and he can see Chad’s shoulders relax a little as a reaction to the new environment.  

They both sit down, fingers still intertwined.  Chad smirks to himself, seemingly amused by one of his thoughts.  He then initiates a childish game of footsie.   Ryan catches on, lightly kicking him back.  It starts off playfully enough, but both parties begin to grow more and more invested in their game.  Chad bites his lower lip in concentration as Ryan begins giggling at the absurdity of the situation.  Noticing an opening, Chad seizes an opportunity to playfully kick Ryan in the shin.  Ryan lightheartedly yet over-dramatically pleads for a truce, and once Chad lands one more kick on him, he subsides.  Ryan shoves him in response.

“You suck.”

“Actually, I think I’m pretty good at kicking you.”

“You’re good at swallowing, too.”  A moment of silence immediately followed.

“That was out of pocket.  I don’t have anything to say now.” Chad laments and crosses his arms.  Ryan cracks up at his reaction.  “I walked into that one, too.  Fuck you.”

“That was very in-the-closet of you.”

“I can see that you’re empathetic of my situation.”

“Well, your situation should be more original.  I’ve already been there and I’ve already done that.  Find a new gig or something.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.  That’s the whole point.  That’s why I wanted to meet with you.”

Ryan stops his banter.

“I want to know what comes next,” Chad admits.

Relieved to see Chad’s honest vulnerability, Ryan trusts Chad enough to sincerely confide with him.  He takes a moment to prepare what to say whilst repressing the urge to retort back with a cum joke.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said yesterday.”  

Chad chuckles.  “I said a lot of things yesterday.”

“That’s true.  I was talking about on the field.”

“Huh.” Chad averts his gaze.

“Don’t sulk like that.  What you said was important.  It was funny to see you so in denial, but it was important.”

“No, that’s the embarrassing part—how crystal clear my fucking closet was.”  

Ryan chuckles a little in response. “You’ll get over it eventually.”

“Yeah, sure, thanks.”

“I’m being for real!  At least it’ll be a funny memory.”

“I guess.”  They both fall into a comforting quietness.

“But that’s besides the point," Ryan interjects.  "You want to know the next step, and I’m just gonna be frank and tell you there is none." Ryan presses his back against the bench and slides down, worsening his posture as he stretches his legs outwards.  "This shit is a nonlinear and pattern-less mess, and I wish there was an easy formula to follow, some next step to climb.  There isn’t.  If there was, I would’ve told you by now.  Yeah, uh, it’s a lot,” Ryan laughs nervously.  “It’s actually quite overwhelming, and navigating a new part of yourself is rough.  It was rough for me, at least.  But, unlike my past self, you have me to help you.  If you want help, that is.  I understand if you don’t.”  Ryan exhales shortly to collect himself.  “Are you okay with that?”

Chad’s concentration is broken by the presence of a question.  It looks like Chad is internalizing every word that escapes Ryan’s lips—thoroughly digesting and comprehending the information.  Chad looks down at his hands as he fiddles with them.  He feels Ryan’s eyes on him.  He knew his answer, but he felt nervous sharing it.  Finally, he responded: “I’m okay with that.”

“Also, I do have one more question,” Ryan admits, sitting back up.

“Ask away.”

“Are you always that rough?”

Chad snaps his face to look Ryan directly in his eyes; his flash of embarrassment was quickly turning into playful anger as he saw amusement plastered on Ryan’s pretty little face.  “Hey, listen, alright? Beneath the bleachers and in a fucking locker room aren’t the most private places in the world, okay?  Leave me alone.”

“Alright, alright.  I was just thinking about some other things we could do.”

“What do you have in mind?”

“Something a little more refined, if you will.”

Chad sarcastically rolls his eyes.  “You’re giving me a hard time on purpose.”

“It’s fun to tease you.”

“Come on, man.  At least cut me a bit of slack.  You talk too smoothly.”

“You’re just easy.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

“Like that!  Exactly like that!  Literally how’d you do that?”  After a moment of earnest bewilderment, Chad’s gaze shifts downwards.  Without the conscious effort of moving, Ryan and Chad had effortlessly gravitated towards each other.  Chad’s eyes were fixated on Ryan’s lips.  Ryan smirks.

“Gay-ass.”

“You’re one to talk,” Chad retorts.

“Shut up.”

Chad closes the distance between his lips and Ryan’s, cupping his hands around Ryan’s face.  It’s soft and sweet.  The unexpected gentleness makes Ryan’s face burn red.  Chad pulls back, looking directly at Ryan—admiring him.  Ryan’s flustered expression gives Chad a mark of pride and a boost of confidence.

“I made you shut up,” he playfully remarks.  Ryan rolls his eyes as a small smile crept up his face.  Chad chuckles into another kiss, and Ryan leans in, too.

---

It began as genuine concern.  His mother was nagging, yet gentle.  There was no lock on the bedroom door, and more often than not his mother respected that.  She was always good at those kinds of things, he remembered.  He was silent, and she was patient.  She gave him time, and then gave him some more.  She gave so much that she began to forget who she was giving time to.  How tall has he gotten since the last time she’s seen him?  

Eventually, she began to crack.  Desperation warped her voice as she talked at him.  Her questions were met with silence.  If she put her ear up to the door, she could hear her son gasp for air, knowing she caused his drowning.  She knew he was hurting, but he was no outlier.

One time she approached his door.  She garbled words about her rotting daughter and her invisible son and Sunny couldn’t breathe the thick emulsion around him and then she left.  Silence returned once more.

This was the height of her short-lived habit of talking to his door.  It was terrifying every time, each minute lasting an hour.  She knocked.   She said she was going to open the door repeatedly, even going so far as to turn the knob.  She would always retreat, almost never fulfilling her threat.  She only followed through once.

That one time, all he could do was stare at her and breathe.  Stare when she stared.  Stared until she closed the door.  He trembled in place as his room was breached and raided by her eyes. The room isn’t the same anymore, he thought.  Something escaped when his mother opened the door.  He couldn’t get it back if he tried.  That day became a little less okay than it was before.  He stared at his mother and saw grief drip down her face.

This is what he hated about withdrawing from the outside world.  The outside will ask for him.  It will knock on his door and cry in his absence and ask when he’s coming back to school and tumble on forward when he wants it to stop.  He didn’t want it to ask about him and tug him around by the hand.  He wanted his hand severed so that the outside would never grab it again.

His mother would leave meals at the door.  She used to knock, but the action felt too loud.  The door would crumble under the tap of her knuckle, so she stopped.  Sunny could hear her footsteps, anyways.  He could feel her presence and her breath and her heavy thoughts as she left mac-n-cheese in front of the door of her son that she hasn’t seen in weeks.

She would get excited to see the dirty bowl that spawned in front of his door. She would relax when she heard Sunny’s footsteps above her.  They were proof that her son was still there.

- - - - - -

Sunny spent his days and his nights in his room.  His mornings, his evenings, his high ‘noons, and tea times.  His room was average by all means, including Scholastic Book-Fair merchandise, a GameBoy, and a radio.  They provided momentary relief, but Sunny’s mind wouldn’t be entertained for long.  He could never fully remove himself.  Books, which provided a pocket universe, didn’t give Sunny an escape.  Sunny’s mind never felt fully understood by the authors taking up space on his shelves.  He could see parts of himself, but never a whole.  A few came close, yet Sunny always found a loose thread to unravel fantasy worlds and charming characters.  Tetris on his GameBoy never hypnotized him, unlike Kel.  His radio was too loud even with the volume knob just above mute.  That bothered him. 

He mainly stared at nothing.  His room was silent, his eyes were empty.  The ominous “future” made air emulsify, so his mind lazily wandered to mull over things he liked.  He reminded himself of the past so he could feed from the second-hand, leftover joy that he forgot to consume the first time around.  It wasn’t long before he began to think about his friends—before he started reminiscing.

Sunny loved his friends.  He never stopped loving them.  Not once.  It's just that distance never hurt.  They were outside and he was inside, and he didn’t mind it at all.  He still thought of everyone as his friends.  They never stopped hanging out with him, even though they haven’t visited Sunny and Sunny hasn’t left his room.

Whenever he tilted his head in a certain manner, or thought of some awful pun, he’d imagine his friends would comment on it.  He’d spot an old book on his desk and Kel would complain about reading that book for school.  He’d see a spider scurrying across his floor and he could feel Hero shaking in fear.  He’d watch an airborne speck of dust fly about, and he’d see Aubrey waving her hand in front of his face, ready to ask what exactly he was looking at.

It was simple, normal interactions.  It was the conversations for the sake of sharing each other’s company.  Sunny only nodded or replied briefly, but his friends were still happy to talk to him.  He kept his own silence, but he wanted his friends to be with him, too.

Sometimes he would silently ask a question to the wall, and Kel and Aubrey would respond with the same answer.  They would shout “jinx” at each other, and then “jinx again.”

“You owe me a soda!” Aubrey yelled.

“Well YOU owe ME two sodas!” Kel countered. “Hey! You can’t do that!”

“Yes I can! Plus you didn’t get me a soda last time I said jinx…”

“That doesn’t mean I gotta get two! And I’m the one who yelled jinx first.” Aubrey would cross her arms and pout.

“Well I don’t care.”

“You cared when I’d get a free soda for you—”

“That you STILL haven’t gotten me, by the way”

“Stop interrupting me!

“Well maybe say something I like for once!”

“HEY!”

Sunny thought to himself for a little bit.  In this situation, he would leave them both in the treehouse and head into his kitchen.  He would find a bottle of coke in the fridge, and fetch two cups from the cupboard.  Clumsily holding glass and plastic close to his chest, he would return to the treehouse and pour his friends a drink.  They would all drink soda in the treehouse.  They would be happy.  He wanted them to be happy.

They were often happy when they were hanging out in the treehouse.  Trinkets were strewn about the place and the calendar watched them.  Their voices would fill the space and Sunny would close his eyes and listen to the cadence of it. He loved everything about his friends, from their unique footsteps to humming and whistling and giggling.  Sometimes all he could do was listen, since he’d be overwhelmed by the joy they shared with him.  He’d have to close his eyes or look down, so he wouldn’t completely exhaust himself.

Sometimes, after sleepovers, Sunny’s face would be sore the next day.  Or, Sunny’s voice would be a little raspy from use.  His friends brought out everything in him.  They made everything better and warmer.  Even during those times at Basil’s house—Sunny’s mom would insist on picking up Sunny herself. Basil’s house is a two minute walk away, but Sunny’s mom showed up regardless.  She was “picking up her son,” but she coincidentally got along with Basil’s mom very well.  They’d talk and talk, each “goodbye” sparking another hour-long discussion.  That regular period of waiting, normally seen as boring, was made valuable because Basil was there.

He’d throw a tired look at Basil, and Basil would look back knowingly, their moms oblivious to the setting sun.  They’d sometimes talk, but mostly just sit in silence and wait.  They’d lay on the floor with their heads next to each other, sitting up when they think their moms are finally done.  When Sunny’s mom leans on the kitchen counter once more, Basil and Sunny share a sigh. Followed by a giggle or two.  They didn’t need to speak to know that their play-date would be a little longer than planned.

Basil had a book all about botany.  It was his pride and joy—he got it for his 11’th birthday.  He brought it to the treehouse once.  He and Sunny were hunched around the book face open on the floor.  Basil grinned to himself as he pointed at a picture of a cactus.

“This one’s definitely Kel.”

Sunny liked that memory.  He had pancakes for breakfast and wore his favorite socks that day.

Kel popped his head through the open door.  He was still on the ladder, so it looked like he was just a talking head.  “Did’ya call me?”

Basil’s head snapped to Sunny.  Sunny stared back.  Kel’s brow furrowed.  Basil started giggling.  Sunny smiled.

Kel looked confused.  Or he would’ve.  Yes, he would’ve looked confused if Kel was there. If Sunny and Basil and Kel all hung out that day.  Basil always kept that book in his room, he remembered.  He’d never take it anywhere because he didn’t want to scratch the shiny cover.  Or mess up the gold pages.  He told me that one day at his house.  But, Sunny just made a memory better.  He felt something close to okay.  So, he formed a new habit.  He would remember and recount events that never happened.  Over and over and over again.  He altered his interactions, switching out who was there like dolls in a dollhouse.  He would change the setting.  He’d make the treehouse his favorite color.  He’d get an allowance every day instead of every week.  It didn’t need to be real—it needed to make Sunny feel warm.

Feeling warm was good, and Sunny liked to feel good.  His own false memories were intoxicating.  It was addicting to replay happy days and feel something so familiar.  His mind worked against sunrises and sunsets, against the waning moon and flipping calendar pages.  Sunny could spend a week seeing the same day, if he wished.  Time didn’t matter, and that was the most comforting thought he’s had in a while.  Time didn’t need to matter when days passed at his will (at least when he closed his eyes).  Sunny never kept up with his calendar, or even turned the page to the right month.  Before, he hesitated, grieving over a time that passed.  Now, he didn’t have to.  There was nothing to fear.  The calendar could even go backwards, if he wanted it to.

Now, with this colorful world and his friends one door away, he could almost say he felt good.  But just one moment out of his head would sober him to reality.  That didn’t feel good.  Sunny didn’t like being reminded of why he’d never leave his room.  The world was too scary, so he created one that welcomed him with open arms.

Even his own name would remind himself of what was real and what wasn’t. So, Sunny wasn’t Sunny anymore.  He didn’t have to be.  He didn’t have to be sixteen years old.  At sixteen, he had lost so much.  At twelve, he had everything he could’ve asked for.

- - - - - -

Sunny could always hear people knocking on the front door from his room. The walls of his house were thin and ready to relay information. This caused him to never knock on other’s doors—reaching for the doorbell instead.  Knocking was a little too intimidating.  No matter who knocked, it sounded a little scary.  The doorbell on Sunny’s house always broke, and eventually no one bothered to fix it.  Knocking became a must, to Sunny’s dismay.

After some time in his room and in his head, a loud and insistent knock made Sunny jump.  He heard his mom’s footsteps, and he heard more excited knocking.  Sunny was knocked out of his headspace, disrupted before he could see his friends.  He was a little irritated, but he was way more scared.  Instead of listening in, he hid in his bed.  He pulled blankets over him and hugged a nearby pillow.  He waited.  Waited for it to pass.

He loved his friends.  He loved seeing them.  He knew that one of them was knocking and asking about him and waiting to see him.  He knew that.  But he was so scared.  He wanted them to forget about him.  He wanted no one to remember him, so that maybe he could peacefully fade away.

After a while, he felt the house shiver as his mom closed the front door.  He emerged from his pillow fortress and blanket moat, careful not to make a sound.  He had a bad feeling about this knocking.  If anything, he knew his friends (Kel especially) were consistent.

When he woke up he felt dread.  Dread that today someone else would ask for him.  They’d ask for Sunny.  Sometimes they’d even stay and chat.  His mom never invited them inside, but they would pass around some small talk in the doorway.  Sunny hated it.  He hated it and he hated the updates that his mom would give him. Over time, his mom found success in leaving sticky notes everywhere.  Underneath the door, on his door, by his food, and on the mirror. She would write small things to him. Things like “have a good day” or “Aubrey said hi today,” sometimes next to a small doodle.  She cared so much.  She tried so hard to make Sunny feel comfortable while still giving him her love.

Every reminder that his mother was his mom would crack Sunny.  That tied him down again.  The chain and ball cuffed to his ankle grew as he stumbled forward.  It pulled him down from his vibrant dream.  Seeing her pass along messages from his friends hurt.  Seeing “Love, mom” hurt.  Everything was painful.  His makeshift solitary confinement gave him escape.  Sunny hasn’t felt the sunlight hit his face in years, yet Sunny didn’t need the sun to see a world so bright.  He has never experienced something so fantastical that caters to his every dream.  So, dream he did.  He’d close his eyes and relish the imaginary life that he pretended to have.  He relished not being awake.

He wasn’t awake as his mother made a decision.

There were fingerprints on her reading glasses.  She misplaced her eyeglass cloth yesterday, so she dealt with the inconvenience.  It was probably in her purse.  The tea in the microwave had gone cold again.  She was almost alone in the house.  She pulled out a phonebook, addressbook, and notepad—all while scanning a spread out map on the kitchen counter.  Looking for a place outside of their zip code.  Anything without stairs.

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