I bang on the bathroom door. “Open up, Demi!” I hear her bang on the door from the inside as a response. “I said gimme a minute!” she yells. I roll my eyes and groan, leaning on my hand that’s propped up against the doorframe. “It’s just school. you don't have to take an hour in the bathroom every morning. You go in, shower, change, put your hair in a bun and get out! It's probably the most simple thing in the world-” “You forgot makeup!” She cuts me off. I sigh, “Okay whatever, get out here.” The bathroom door opens as she eyes me suspiciously. “You’ve been extra grouchy since Lexi broke up with you.” I blink once. Twice. “What are you talking about?” I ask, offended. She turns on her heel, rolling her eyes and heading into her room. I immediately follow her, tailing her until she reaches her closet.
Demitra’s room is insanely clean. She says that a dirty room bugs her, and that she can't even breathe next to my room without screaming and running away. At this point, I'm messing it up on purpose to keep her away.
“You’ve been giving unnecessary amounts of attitude since she left you. And even though you say you’re over her, you still get tense and snappy when people mention her.” She says while sliding hangers of color coded clothing over, looking for an outfit. “Yeah, right.” I roll my eyes. She looks over her shoulder, side-eying me through light blue irises. “Proving my pooiint..” She sing-songs. “I am over her.” I argue. “And it’s none of your business anyways.” I continue. She turns back to her closet and pulls out a pastel pink hoodie. “Okay, buddy.” She responds, pressing her lips into a tight line.
I sigh and comb a hand through my dark brown locks. “All right then, I’ll humor you. What exactly defines being over her?” She walks past me and opens her top dresser drawer. I think I heard her snort. “First off, you have to at least seem interested in other girls. As much as I can feel the bile rise in my throat when I say this, girls find you attractive.” She looks genuinely disgusted, and I roll my eyes, huffing. “Unnecessary, Demi-” “Just take the compliment.” She cuts me off, pulling a pair of jean shorts out and closing the drawer with her hip.
“Anyways, you get asked out on a regular basis. And you’ve managed to reject every girl in the rudest way possible. I wouldn't be surprised if everyone in Raleigh thought you weren’t available!” She throws her hands in the air. “So?” I scoff. “So?” She echoes. “So, a part of being over someone is moving on. You’ve gotta move on, Chase.”
I look down at my feet, feeling the heaviness of her words weigh me down.
“Chase?” I hear Demi call. My head whips back up. “What?” I snap. I had apparently spaced out. She seems to hesitate, before walking over to me and putting a hand on my shoulder. “If you’re not ready to move on, that's fine. But don’t take it out on everyone else.”
Somehow, her words annoy me more. It could be my ego, my pride, or just because she’s the one saying it, but whatever the reason, I suddenly don’t want to be having this conversation. I brush her hand away and turn to the door, walking out as I throw a “Whatever” over my shoulder. I hear her calling me, but I don't look back.
I stride into the bathroom, closing and locking the sliding door behind me. I flip on the crystalized shower faucet to let the water warm up, and turn around to lean my hands on the marble sink counter. I look up into my reflection and my eyes meet another blue pair, the same shade as my sisters. I sigh, attempting to let go of whatever this feeling is in my chest.
After a few moments of staring I start getting ready, using my morning routine as a distraction. Because of Demitra, I only have about 15 minutes to get ready and eat breakfast. I move quickly, not wanting to be late and receive an earful from Mrs. Gomez, my homeroom teacher. I brush my teeth while the shower’s warming, and once I shower I slide open the door and walk into my room. Me and Demi share a bathroom, it being one of those Jack and Jill ones that connects two bedrooms. I pull a baggy red t-shirt over my head and slide on a pair of jeans. I grab my bookbag and head down the marble staircase.
As soon as I get downstairs, I head to the kitchen to grab something to eat for breakfast. I walk past the stove and catch the digital clock in my peripheral. 7:55 A.M. Not enough time. I groan as I change my course to lead me to the front door instead. I grab the keys to my truck off the entryway table and close the door behind me.
I squint my eyes in the sunlight, approaching the black blur (With black rims and a leather interior) and notice Demi already sitting in the passenger seat. If I have to hear yap the entire 20-minute drive, I’m crashing the truck to shut her up and put me out of my misery. She’s using the rearview mirror to properly put her lip-gloss on. Of course. I climb into the driver's side and readjust the mirror, apparently interrupting her. She scoffs, and moves it back towards her. “Like if two seconds without the rearview mirror is gonna kill you.” She stabs. I raise my eyebrows as I put my seatbelt on and start the truck. “It quite literally can.” I respond. She mutters a few profanities under her breath and puts the mirror back aggressively, and crosses her arms while turning away to face the window. I reach over her and grab her seatbelt, putting it on for her before I start backing out of the driveway. “And you say I’m snappy.” I comment. “I didn’t even have breakfast this morning because of you and I'm still not as dramatic.”
Her head snaps towards me, her brown waves whipping me in the face. “You get upset easier than I do, though.” She counters. “But I’m not as loud and annoying when I'm upset.” I reason. She starts arguing. She’s about two minutes into her lecture before I cut her off with a loud groan. “Remind me why you don't have your own car?” I say, annoyed. “You know why.” She narrows her eyes at me. “I failed the test.” She states. “Exactly you loser, so shut up before I kick you out of my truck.” I spit. She throws her hair over her shoulder, purposefully hitting me in the face. “You think I'm kidding?” I question. She faces me, glaring up at me through her long lashes. “I dare you. If you kick me out I'm telling mom that you made me walk to school.”
“Then mom will ask if you were being annoying, in which case you will respond with yes.”
“Mom knows that I don't do things without reason. And plus,” I add, “We’re the same age. The whole ‘Believing you cuz you're the youngest’ skit doesn't work.”
“But I'm younger than you.”
Suddenly, the car jerks forward aggressively, and Demi and I both spin around in our seats to look behind the truck at the same time. We then look at each other, and Demi’s eyes are wide with panic. “Did we just get rear-ended!?” I close my eyes, sucking in air through my nose and exhaling slowly and tightly through my mouth. I open my eyes. “Someone just rear-ended my truck.”
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