The Perfect Balance

Chapter 8

I'm so swamped in schoolwork that I don't even realize it's Friday. I haven't left my room at all this week, only conversing with my housemates in the mornings. For dinner, I'd run downstairs, take a few bites of whatever was made, and then quickly rush back to my room to finish whatever I was working on. Today, however, I hadn't even heard my mom call for dinner at six so when a knock sounds on my door at 8 o'clock, I'm confused as to who could possibly want anything to do with me at such a late hour.

"Come in," I mumble from my place at my desk where I'm doing my calculus homework. The door opens and I'm surprised to find Diego standing there. Much like me, he kept to himself this week. Whenever I stepped outside of my room to use the bathroom or to grab a snack, his door was closed. It was only ever open when he was out walking the dog. I saw him in the mornings before school, occasionally at school, and when I'd run downstairs to dinner. I barely talked to him when I'd see him at school and when I did, it was just to make sure he was going to class.

"What are you doing?" he asks curiously when he sees me holding a large binder on my lap.

"Homework," I answer.

"That's what you've been doing these past few days?" he asks in shock. "Homework?"

"Yeah," I answer.

"Wait, let me get this straight. For the past three days, you've been in here doing your homework?" he repeats.

"I've also been doing projects and other forms of assignments, too," I correct. "Oh, and studying and retaking my notes."

When I glance up at him, he seems genuinely shocked. His mouth is open and his eyebrows are furrowed as if he can't grasp the concept of actually spending time on something so educational. "You can't be serious."

Deciding not to bother with convincing him that I spend my days focusing on school, I redirect the topic of conversation. "Speaking of work, I need to get some more papers from the desk in your room."

"Do you really need more work?" he asks.

"I'm almost caught up with my assignments," I tell him.

"Almost?" he asks me. "At the rate you're working, you should be done with college by now."

"Have you been doing your homework?" I question.

"Select pieces of it," he answers in a calmer manner. He refrained from going to study hall every day this week but attended the first three classes. He even bothered to bring his book bag, though he barely put anything in of it save for a notebook, a pencil, and papers he received in class, most of which were crumpled.

"Why not all of it?" I ask and he shrugs.

"I don't feel like it," he replies.

"You should do it," I encourage him.

"Why?" he whines, drawing out the word.

"Because it's important to get good grades. Colleges like that," I answer, earning a scoff in response.

"I barely passed last year," he informs me. "I don't think any colleges will want me after looking at my transcript."

"Maybe if you just apply yourself-," I start and he scoffs again.

"I've heard that so many times," he replies.

"Because it's true," I respond. "Go get your book bag."

"Why?" he asks.

"Just go get it," I insist

"No offense but I have better things to do on a Friday night than homework," he responds.

"For an hour," I suggest. "Then you can leave and do whatever you want. It's not like you can go out yet anyway. My dad checks up on everyone when he gets back to make sure we're all safe; he's not home yet. Plus, my mom's sitting in the living room. So you'd just end up sitting in your room until midnight before you can climb out of the window or sneak downstairs and leave. So get your bag."

I look up to find him staring at me with an unreadable expression on his face before he kicks off of my door-frame. He disappears into the hallway before returning a moment later with his bag at his side. He steps into my room. Looking around my living space, he decides to take a seat on the floor a few feet away from me. He takes out his work, making sure to be as noisy as possible, filling the once silent room with sighs and loud page flips.

After twenty minutes, he lets out a frustrated sigh and I look at him, lifting an eyebrow. "What is it?" I question. He hands me his folder and I stare at his pre-calculus work. Narrowing my eyes, I hand it back to him after informing him what the topic is.

"Thank you. That clears everything up," he retorts sarcastically.

"You don't have your notes?" I ask and he gives me a flat look.

"Ah, yes, allow me to pull out my nonexistent binder filled with all the notes I didn't take during the classes I didn't attend," he says in slight exasperation and I sigh, closing my eyes and running my hand down the side of my face.

"Go in your room. In the third drawer on the left hand side of the desk, there is a binder. It's purple. Grab it and bring it back here," I tell him. He stands up and leaves the room. About three minutes later he returns and I'm not sure what takes him so long but I don't bother asking. "Now use the table of contents to find it."

"You made a table of contents?" he asks me and I nod.

"Comes in handy, doesn't it?" I reply slyly and he sighs as he flips open the binder.