Out

Out of the window, I hear a flurry of chattering suddenly pass by my house. Tonight, after waking up sweaty and red-faced, I had left it open to let in a cool breeze. Maybe now it is time to close it. Quietly, to not wake up my parents and brother, I pad across my room until I reach the windowsill. My slender, delicate hand reaches up, feeling for the handle to pull the window shut. But the noisy shadows distract me; I lean forward, peering into the darkness. They dance across the pavement. Although they are illuminated only by a single dim streetlamp, they look as if they are mirror-balls, shimmering in the center of a room. Just as I suspected: Willow, nicknamed 'Wet Willow' by my best friend and closest confidante Ellie, and her pack of social rejects. It is likely they are on their way to smoke their seemingly endless supply of weed in a nearby field, which (let's be honest) would not be the first time. I indulge in a haughty yet graceful sniff, turn my chin up at them and shut the window.

The next day I see her again. Willow, wrapped in the arms of her Kurt Cobain-wannabe boyfriend, strutting down the street, her hips swinging this-way-and-that and her vomit-green eyes, lined with smudged makeup, darting up to her boyfriend often. Already having spent too much energy thinking about them, I turn back to my mirror and carefully apply my pink lip gloss. When I finish, I spring to my feet, smooth out my pearly white pleated skirt and tilt my head. My ponytail has that bouncy swing as always. Now that I am satisfied, I hurry downstairs, steal a violently red apple from the bowl set out on the counter and slip out the door before I have to speak to my family.

I arrive on the stoop of my house. My eyes flit down to my tennis shoes, and I verify that they are in pristine condition. They are, still. Satisfied, I cross my vibrant lawn and step onto the sidewalk. It must have rained last night because the pavement glistens. Hopefully, that drove the rats back into their houses. Willow and the boyfriend, god if only I could remember his name, are a few paces ahead of me. I slow, but they still hear my footsteps. In unison, they turn to me as if they are possessed dolls like in those cheesy horror movies my boyfriend makes me watch. He likes to see me terrified: apparently, it's endearing. Willow whispers something to...James! That's it. They exchange a knowing look and giggle. I hate their laughs, mixing, making a potion of contempt and self-importance. Trying to keep my fists unclenched, I march forward and shove between them, leaving them separated temporarily. As I storm off, I look over my shoulder and blow a kiss. I am allowed at least a little bit of pettiness, aren't I?

Finally, I reach the bus stop and collapse into the seat next to Ellie.

"Hey, how are you?" Ellie asks, barely tearing her eyes away from her phone. I see her finger flick across her screen.

"Hi, sorry I didn't text you."

"Oh, it's no worries," she replies, her tone sappily sweet.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, of course." Now she looks up at me. "Just don't miss cheer practice again." I nod. Moments later, I feel arms wrap around me. I look up to find Jason leaning over my chair to embrace me.

"Hi!" I say enthusiastically, getting to my feet and spinning around to plant a kiss an inch away from his mouth, my clever little trick to keep him on his toes. His eyes twinkle as he looks me up and down.

"Hey." Suddenly the bus is moving, and we are pulling away to school.

School, as always, is a blur. Lesson upon lesson of unenthusiastic monotony, punctuated only by the relief of cheer practice. Even lunch bores me. I sit with the same friends I always do. We chat about our lives, or so it seems on the surface. I suppose, in reality, what we are really doing is advertising the best of ourselves. Picking out the highlights of our pretty little lives to present a hand-crafted image. After a while, it becomes an art, really. I am careful to shoot Jason a few carefully placed flirtatious looks. Never do I allow him to keep his guard down. But that is just a silly game. It is nowhere near enough to bring reprieve to the impressive boredom of school. Only that comes when we have cheer, and I am finally allowed an outlet for my classic teenage-girl angst, which I guess is the only way I can acceptably describe my emotions.

Anyway, enough self-pity: I don't care for musings about how unfair my life is. After all, I have it pretty good, don't I? As soon as school lets out, we all meet up and walk to the gas station. It is our daily pilgrimage: a trip to the gas station to get a soda and a snack, followed by two hours spent on a bench hovering somewhere between chatting endlessly and barely acknowledging each other as we scroll through our phones. It is an unexplainable phenomenon how that never gets boring. Somewhere around the hour-and-a-half mark, I clear my throat and hop to my feet. 

"I'm getting some more coke, do you want some?" This is met with a series of grunts and shrugs. I roll my eyes and turn away from them.

I pace through the aisles, wandering and taking some time to myself before I have to return to my friends. Something catches my eye, a blue packet sitting on a hook in the candy section. I inch forward, leaning on the tips of my toes. Then I hear a pop next to my ear. I immediately straighten and spin around. Willow is standing there, only a pace away, a ball of bubblegum shrinking back into her mouth. She raises her eyebrows.

"What the hell was that for?" She shrugs and crosses her arms.

"Because I can."

"What? Do you do everything just because you can?"

"Pretty much. Just like how you are a bitch, because you can be." My cheeks begin to burn. 

"That's...not..." She strides forward, her lips moving as she prepares to blow another bubble.

"You are so..." she tilts her head, her green eyes glaring at me, "...cute." Not mean, not stupid, not ugly, cute. That is the worst thing she could have possibly said. So demeaning, so... but she brushes past me as if it is nothing and soon I hear the light jingle of the bell, indicating the door is closing. I just shake my head and stand there, too dumbfounded to move or say anything. God, I love her so much, don't I?

Later, when the sun has fallen and the moon has taken its throne in the sky, I hear their voices again through my window. As I did last night and so many nights before, I climb out of bed, slink across the room and look out. For the first time, I wish I could join them. Her. So I shut away the breeze. In the morning, I'll do it all again. That's the thing about the window. I can look out of it all I want, muse about life beyond. But I will never gather the courage to leave it open, climb out and breathe in the fresh air.