Speechless(81)

                I find a pair of old jeans I’d saved to convert into a denim                     skirt and work on it for a while, figuring out the measurements and trimming off                     the pant legs. I get annoyed removing the inseam stitching, though, and decide                     to set it aside, knowing I’ll probably never touch it again. Coming up with                     ideas is much more fun than trying to make them reality.

                I flop back on my bed, staring at my ceiling, which is quickly                     becoming a favorite pastime since I have no actual life to speak of. I fish my                     phone out of my purse and scroll down to Asha’s phone number—she gave it to me                     earlier, told me if I needed help with geometry I could always text her. I type                         hey and click Send.

                A few minutes later my phone receives a new text.





                Hi! Homework trouble?





                nope. just bored. of mice & men is a terrible book.





                Steinbeck depresses me.





                ugh i know right? one dead puppy is one too many.





                Lol. Hey I’m about to walk over to Rosie’s for a shift. Talk to you                     later?





                It could just be residual effects from the combination of                     finishing such a depressing story and being defeated by a pair of jeans, but I                     don’t really want to be alone right now with the dread that comes from knowing                     tomorrow I’ll have to drag myself back to school. That must be the reason I ask                     Asha if I can pick her up and tag along to Rosie’s. She agrees, and it takes me                     only a minute to grab my bag and car keys and rush out the door. Dad doesn’t                     notice my exit—he probably won’t even realize I’m gone, and who knows when Mom                     will get home from work.

                Asha’s already waiting for me in the driveway by the time I                     pull up to her house. She bounds down the icy walk to the car and dives into the                     passenger seat, rubbing her hands together to warm them up. She doesn’t say                     anything as we drive over to Rosie’s, just hums some unfamiliar melody                     underneath her breath while gazing out the window, lost in her own little world.                     It’s so weird to me how she seems so damn bubbly all                     the time.

                Maybe that’s the effect spending time at Rosie’s has on                     people—everyone there today is in a good mood. I don’t see Sam at all, and I                     find myself a little disappointed about that. Asha catches me scanning the area                     behind the counter and must know what I’m thinking.