Dear Diary, I Think I'm In Love

Dear Diary, What do I even write in here? I close the notebook and hold my head, feeling the tears rushing to my eyes. I was never the kind of girl to keep a diary. But ever since my grandpa died ... I was in deep mourning. I loved him more than anything. After I just couldn't seem to pick myself up, my mom took me to the best psychologist my dad thought of. And that woman told me that keeping a diary would help me work through my feelings. That was last week. Today is the first day of my junior year of high school. And I'm only staring at this notebook, because I have a meeting with my psychologist after school. I really can't go there empty-handed. I open the damn thing, determined that I'm going to write something down. I need to have at least one entry, even if it's yesterday's. If I don't, she's going to tell my parents that I'm not taking this seriously, and that's not an option. With a sigh, I open the diary again, this time with a little less hesitation in my heart. I got this. I can write how I feel, I mean, how hard can it be? I'm only doing this, because I have to. Because I'm sad and it's supposed to make me feel better. But I have no idea how I'm supposed to feel better. Like, ever. The person, who told me they can't wait to see me graduate and get married someday, is gone. I close the notebook again, feeling my lower lip tremble. It's been two months. It's normal that I still feel so sad, so ... hurt. Right? A knock on my door pulls me out of my sulking. "Pez, are you up yet?" my dad's voice travels through it. I wipe the tears from my eyes, hoping that they'll stop coming if I think about something else. I shove the diary into my backpack, then answer. "Yeah, I'm awake," I call out. "Aren't you at work?" I then add, feeling a little confused about it. He turns the doorknob and peeks inside, just as I close my backpack and get up from the desk. "I took a day off, so I can take you to Dr. Collins' office after school," he answers my question. My face falls. "Oh," I mumble, unable to come up with any other response. Usually, I'd be happy about my dad staying at home, because he's always at work. But the fact that he stayed just to get information about my grieving status ... Yeah, I'm not that excited. He steps in and sighs, clearly seeing that I'm not exactly thrilled about it. "I thought you'd show a little more enthusiasm about your old man spending time with you," he remarks. I force a smile on my face, but I know he can tell it's a fake one. "I am," I assure him. And I’m not lying, I really am happy that he took time off for me. I just wish he'd do it to take me to La Provence for macaroons. Well, on second thought, I might still be able to guilt-trip him into that. My dad sighs. "I miss him too, kiddo. It's okay to acknowledge that," he then speaks up, his voice hiding that hint of sadness, that gives up that he lost a parent. I press my lips together, unable to say anything. I don't know if I have enough strength to talk about him. Or if I'll ever be able to. "I'll be right downstairs," I change the subject as the strange grip on my lips finally lets go. Dad watches me for a few moments, then nods. He understands that I can't handle it. He leaves the room, leaving me standing there, feeling completely lost. It's my first day of my junior year of high school. I should be excited, not miserable. I glance at the backpack, almost feeling the diary watching me through the fabric. I have no idea why, but I start talking to the damn thing. "I might hate you right now ... But I have a feeling we'll become buddies very soon." Perrie Hughes, you're completely out of your mind. My dad is in the kitchen, cooking. Huh. Well, that's a rare sight to behold. He never cooks. He's either really stressed out or has to say something that he doesn't want to say. My mom is sitting by the kitchen island, holding her head in her hands. She must be having another migraine. Ah. That’s why dad's cooking. "Pancakes?" he asks as he looks over his shoulder. I stand there awkwardly for a moment, then nod. "Okay, sit down then. They'll be ready right away." I'm just about to do what he says, when my mom looks at me with her almond-shaped brown eyes. "Go get the boys, please. We can't be late on your first day," she instructs me. I nod, knowing that she might be saying this now, but will probably stay at home. She can't take us to school when she’s like this. It's a good thing that dad's not working today. But she probably won't be either. She can't exactly do her job with a migraine, can she? I turn on my heels and get back from where I came from. My brother's room is located down the hallway, and he's the only sibling that I have. Luckily for me (not), he also has a best friend, who stays at our house more regularly than at his own. Knocking on the door, I call out to them: "Aiden, Hunter, time for breakfast!" Nothing. I wait for a second, then decide to knock again. Still, no response. I sigh and open the door, peeking into the darkness inside. I can’t believe those two, they’re still asleep. "Hey, you two! We'll be late if you don’t get up!" I inform them loudly. In response, I get a groan from my brother. Then, I barely manage to dodge a pillow that flies my way. I'm left with my mouth hanging open. Why didn't I take my mom with me? He'd be so grounded now! "Aiden, what the hell?" I yell at him, then shake my head in disbelief. Soon, I can hear two voices, chuckling in response like this was the funniest stunt of the century. "Seriously, just get your asses out of bed, mom is having a migraine." And just like saying a magical word, the two of them start scattering out of bed. I knew that would fire them up. "Why didn't you say that sooner?" Aiden asks. "Because you threw a pillow at my face," I inform him dryly. Then, I grab the said pillow and throw it right at his head. After hearing an annoyed 'ow', I leave with a smile on my face, happy that I won't have to rush into the classroom late on our first day. Aiden and Hunter are both a year older than me, which means they’re seniors from today on. They should really act accordingly and show some responsibility. Twenty minutes later, we're already rushing out of the house, but I have a feeling like we're not on time. Even if we are. Yeah, I'm one of those people that are obsessed with coming somewhere fifteen minutes early. I get that from my dad. Speaking of him, he's already showing a hint of nervousness, because the boys are taking their sweet time, getting out of the house. And right behind them, mom. I share a look with dad, then realize what this means. If she’s coming with us ... I'll have to sit in the middle again. Oh, somebody, please kill me. "Mom. Wouldn't you rather stay at home?" I ask her, trying to play that final card that I have left. She sends me a look that makes me regret even saying anything. "I have two sick days left. There’s no way I'm using one of them for a migraine," she informs me dryly, before hopping into the front seat. She's even going to work. Sometimes, my mom is truly unbelievable. I'm left staring at the boys in front of me, who are clearly waiting for me to get in the middle. Again. I sigh, knowing there’s no point in fighting them. Finally giving up, I climb inside, pulling the seatbelt over me, before they take over any space that I have left. Just as I hear the familiar 'click', they join me. My brother on my right, Hunter on my left. I tense up as he brushes his hand against my thigh, trying to buckle himself up. I jump away like I just got burned, making my brother complain. "You’re in my personal space. Move, so I can fasten my seatbelt," he demands. "Chill, Aiden. Who’s going to listen to you, if you keep this grumpiness up?" I ask in response, but move to my left, so he can do what he wants. I have to press my side against Hunter's, but he doesn't even flinch. Well, he probably sees me like his little sister, with all the time he spends at our place. "Kids, stop bickering," our dad warns us in a bored tone. I can tell he said something just to beat our mom to it. She's clearly satisfied by his input, because she simply turns around and sends us a pointed look, before returning her gaze to the front. I look at Aiden, who shows me his tongue and I roll my eyes in response. I can see a hint of a smile appearing on Hunter's face, as I turn my head. "Why are you so quiet?" I ask him, expecting him to just wink at me, like he usually does. But instead, he fires right back. "Because I don't get the chance to say anything, with you two being so loud all the time," he responds. My jaw drops in surprise, while Aiden starts laughing next to me. Okay. Hunter one, Perrie zero. I shrug, realizing that I probably look like a retard. "I can't even argue with that," I mumble, then sink into my seat. I cross my arms against my chest as the boys laugh next to me, and my parents pretend like they didn't hear anything. Like always. I can't wait for this ride to be over. The moment we get to the parking lot, I'm already leaning forward on my seat, trying to catch a glimpse of the person that I look forward to seeing most. Aiden takes a hundred years to unbuckle his seatbelt, so I climb out after Hunter, who surprisingly doesn't slam the door into my face. I glance at him, realizing that he's holding it open for me. Before I'm able to thank him, I almost get knocked over by a tornado. At least that's what it feels like when my best friend crushes me into a bear hug. "Perrie! It's so good to see you!" she squeals excitedly, and I can't help but copy her enthusiasm. "Leslie, I've missed you so much!" I squeal back, completely forgetting about everyone else as we start chatting and walking all at once. I hear my parents calling out after me, reminding me not to forget about my session after school. I turn around, nodding and waving, then turn my full attention to Leslie. She's something like my place of comfort, except she's not a place. She's this tiny energy bomb, always ticking, but never exploding. And I mean that in a really good way. She's really fun to be around, but at the same time, she always manages to ground me, when I start flying all over the place. So, yeah. We're soulmates, but not in a romantic way. "My mom would probably have our heads, if you rode with us today," I remark, making Leslie chuckle. Then, she pouts. "I can never ride with you, because Hunter always does," she tells me. I grow quiet. I know that it's frustrating, but then again, Hunter is part of our family. He's been since the day Aiden first invited him over to our house and the boy couldn't stop eating. And was shocked that the two of us have our own rooms. They were seven years old at the time, and I was six. When my mom asked him if he shared the room with his siblings, he said that his foster parents put their own twins, which were literally babies, into his old room. The moment he said that he now sleeps on the couch in the living room, my mom practically adopted him. And from that day forward, he spent more time at our house than his own. I glance over my shoulder, noticing Hunter and Aiden in the distance. They're just bumping fists with the rest of their gang and they seem to be sharing a good laugh. I smile to myself, turning back to Leslie. "You know that he's basically our sibling," I finally respond to her comment, making her sigh. "Yeah, I know," she says immediately, smiling. "He's lucky that your family took him under the wing. Who knows where else he'd be right now?" she then adds. I frown at the thought. Really, though. Who knows where Hunter would be, if my parents didn't take him in?