Make Your Move

                                     "We meet the people we're supposed to when the time is just right."                                                                                       ~ Alyson Noel                                                                                                   ••• It hurts knowing that I can't talk to anybody about it. That nobody would understand or do the right thing; that nobody could simply say some special words to make it all better. "Please comment below some Q&A questions because that is what the next video is going to be about. New uploads every Friday. Remember to hit that subscribe button if you're new here and want to join the family. Stay beautiful my little flowers, bye!" I finish the outro for my YouTube video with a big encouraging smile to all my fans. YouTube is my passion, it gives me purpose. That purpose is to entertain and bring smiles to the faces of my many fans. My channel started three years ago when I began my teenage years. I just picked up a camera and showed off my metal braces. Then, a couple of months later, other YouTubers were contacting me to collaborate on videos and companies were even asking me to sponsor their products. I turn off my camera and move it from its place on the window sill to the nightstand across from it. Seeing the white, minimalist dresser reminds me of the day Dad gave me money to decorate. At the end of that day, I was so proud that I had accomplished my goal of making my room look like it was something straight out of Tumblr. My walls are white with fairy lights going all around to give it a magical feel. All my furniture is also white, including my bedsheets. Inspirational quotes dance all around my room adding pops of colour to the plain walls. Lastly, I have a fluffy bean bag chair that my nana bought me for Christmas. I can almost hear her saying, "Jolie Chambre, Jolie fille," which is French for " Pretty room, pretty girl". Ever since she passed six years ago, that chair has become very significant to me. I refuse to sit anywhere else in the house. My room is my safe place. A sequence of loud knocks come from my door. "Dria! Hurry up. I can't be late for the first day of school because of you." A yell erupts from the other side of the -- I wish was soundproof -- door. My brother, Keith, is constantly reminding me of the things I hate. Sometimes I think Keith and I are twins because we have this special bond that ties us together. Ever since he was born, I've never let him out of my sight. I know I sound like an overprotective mother, but I love my brother to death and would die for him. It's like the five year age gap between us is non-existent. I never treat him like he is less than me. Bless her soul for saying this, but I think Nana's death may have brought us even closer. But, right now, strangling him and wrecking his vocal cords is the only thing I want to do. I glance down at my white shoes, ripped jeans, and black crop top, a weary sigh slipping past my lips. Slinging my black backpack over my shoulder, I leave the room. First day of torture. But then again, what's new?                                                                                                         •••              Keith and I walk silently down the road when I notice something peeking out over his collared shirt. I lean in closer to adjust his black and white flannel while whispering, "your bruises are showing." The healing wound has developed to be a shade of dark purple against Keith's caramel skin leaving the black outline of a scab. The shock is evident on his face as our walking comes to a halt. Tears start to form in his eyes."I'm sorry. I thought I covered it properly." Keith was never the sensitive one, seeing him like this breaks my heart. Growing up, I was always the one crying and whining about everything. From a young age, Keith has been brave and fearless, but our mom has stripped him of those attributes. I pull him over to the side, so we don't block anyone, and trap in him in an embrace wiping his steadily falling tears. "Don't worry, I'm not mad, okay? Just forget about it. Today is a fresh start, a new school year. Make some friends and try not to worry about what happens at home." He wipes his face with the sleeve of his flannel and gives me a small nod, trying his best to smile. At home is where things get bad. We experience events that leave us covered in bruises and are still told to clean up the mess. At home, we are slaves who work hard to prepare food for The Rat and take care of all the household chores. We go through countless sleepless nights where I have my brother curled up in my arms. At home, I cry, because of all the indescribable pain I feel emotionally, physically and mentally. At home, I am given a taste of death. I take his hand in mine and we continue our five-minute walk to Timber Stones Middle School. A shiver vibrates through my body as a gust of wind blows in our direction, washing away all the once positive emotions we felt and replacing them with negative ones. Many trees covered in colour changing leaves litter the streets of our neighbourhood. I've always loved fall; it's the perfect mixture of winter and summer. Keith continuously says the only reason I feel this way toward the season is because it's when Halloween takes place. But who doesn't like free candy? Keith's school comes up in the near distance as we stroll the streets of Toronto. The silence between us isn't comforting at all, it's more like a pressure trying to wedge its way through us. We come to a stop outside the fence of the bricked building. I turn and face my little brother with our hands still intertwined. "Make friends and be happy, okay little man? You got this!" I end with the same encouraging smile I showed my fans this morning. He nods. "Have a good day at school, Dria. Will you be picking me up?" my eleven-year-old brother asks with hope gleaming in his eyes. Like I would leave that Rat alone with him for a second. "Always," I whisper, kissing his forehead. I stand with the parents and watch him walk into the schoolyard, just like how a mother would watch her kid go off to the first day of kindergarten. Even though all the parents and teachers give me weird looks, my feet don't move until I know for sure that he is safely inside. I don't want him to think I would ever leave him stranded. My brother is my world, my universe. Before entering the school, Keith looks back one last time as if he needs reassurance that he can get through the first day. My reply is two upward-pointing thumbs in the air waving around in some awkward dance. This puts a smile on his face and it's then that he knows everything is going to be okay. With my reassurance sprinkled all over his body like gold, Keith turns around and enters the school like a boss. One down, another to go. High school students are hard to deal with, whether it's shoving you down the hall or treating you like a social outcast, they find it difficult to be kind. Oh, and guess who has to play the role of the 'new girl' today as a sophomore? Not me, try again. I've been going to Sanders Crest for two years now and I am so excited to see my best friends Jordyn, Andrea, Zane, and Gabriel in a couple of minutes. Springs carry me to school as I find an unfamiliar excitement while walking. In about ten minutes, the concrete roof of my school peeks out over the trees. After contemplating if I should look for Jordyn or just simply call her, I pull out my iPhone X. "Good Morning, my beautiful chica!" Jordyn answers, singing her greeting. "Morning Jord, I'm almost at school. Where are you?" "Getting high with the stoners." My face falls with despair as images of Jordyn smoking fill my head. Dealing with domestic abuse is bad enough, It hurts even more when the people you love follow in the footsteps of your abuser. "Zandria! Breathe. I'm kidding. You actually think I would do that?" "Well..." I drag out the word. Jordyn has always been...the adventurous type. "Just tell me where you are Jord," I dodge her question, not wanting her to know what I really think. "I'm in the library girl, see you soon." Without even waiting for a response, Jordyn hangs up the phone. Our friendship started freshman year and we've been inseparable since. Jordyn is playful, smart, attractive, and funny; everything I want to be. She doesn't care what other people think and that is what I adore most about her. Minutes later, book-filled shelves and running computers surround me. Everybody has already jumped back into their regular school routines. It doesn't even feel like the first day of school. It's mostly the freshmen that are running around the school totally clueless. More of the older kids can figure out their timetable independently because we are so familiar with this space. Variations of high school students occupy different sections of the library, freshmen, sophomores and seniors alike. First, the jocks, which consisted of annoying male humans that are constantly reminding you of how many goals they made in the previous game. Then, there are the nerds, who are currently playing some online dragon game. Sitting amongst the bookshelves applying makeup are the overly preppy 'mean girls'. But, above them all, Jordyn Lin is sitting in the corner by herself tapping away at lightning speed. On my way over to Jord, the jocks whistle and catcall me, which I ignore. The nerds throw me a distracted greeting that I respond to and the mean girls glare as I jog across the library to my partner in crime. They're probably just jealous because of all the attention I received from the Jocks. Let me rephrase, they are probably jealous because of all the unwanted attention I received from the egotistical jocks. That sounds better. "Chica!" Jordyn exclaims jumping out of her seat to squeeze the life out of me. Eyes bore into my back as the entire library stares at our exchange, but they're quick to look away when Jordyn glares at them over my shoulder. Jordyn is probably the most beautiful person I've ever met. Her dyed blonde hair stand out against the tan colour of the foundation on her face. I always tell her to stop wearing so much makeup, but she just ignores me. To top it all off, Jord has electrifying blue eyes that you could see miles away thanks to the heels she always wears. Without heels, Jordyn is just a little bit over my shoulders. Fixing my jeans and top after Jordyn releases me, I say, "I've missed you so much." A familiar burning sensation fills my eyes. We've both had been so busy this summer that we barely got to see each other. "I've missed you too, Chica." I'm pulled down to the ground by her forceful grasp of my hand. "But no tears, I have so much to tell you." "Where is everybody else?"My eyes widen as I search around the room for the familiar faces of our other friends. It's not like Andrea to skip the first day of school. Those dimwits Zane and Gabriel must have forced her into it. "Zane just called a couple of minutes ago and said they're skipping, something along the lines of school is stupid, multiplication, and calculator," Jordyn explains with tightened eyebrows. "Sounds like something Zane would do." By the time the bell rings for class, Jordyn's hookups, breakups, and workplaces over this summer are well known to me. She bounces to a new job faster than the Easter bunny. She has been a lifeguard, waitress, and a mail person. Recently six other jobs have just been inserted into my Jordyn file. I believe she would have told me more if our first classes weren't on opposite ends of the school. I've never had any trouble or nervousness on the first day of school, unlike most people. Usually, I just want to sleep in, because school is a big waste of time. I'm just relearning things I already know. When I first wanted to become a YouTuber, I binge learned all there is to know, so my education wouldn't be a problem. I know that sounds kind of stupid, but at the time, it seemed smart of me to get academics out of the way to focus on my real passion–– entertaining. The hallway is loud and buzzing with the anticipation of countless students awaiting the new school year. My class is just down the corridor, hopefully, nobody will interrupt my mission to Science class. My white sneakers smack against the tiled floor with every leaping step I take. Cliques of students litter the hallway all with eyes on me, as if I'm some big star or something. Don't get me wrong the attention is amazing, it just often gets difficult to figure out who are my real friends and who is using me for fame. It's shocking that there are only four students in this building that I can actually trust. Successfully completing my mission I turn the handle of my classroom and the door opens wide, welcoming me with the unpleasant smell of burnt chemicals. "Good morning Mrs. Edward." I smile politely despite the displeasing odour and walk over to my designated seat at the front of the classroom. Mrs. Edward has been my science teacher since grade nine and I adore every teaching moment spent with her. Mrs. Edward is that teacher that every student relates to because she understands the frustrations and hardships we go through as teenagers. "Hello, Zandria. Sorry about the smell, some students were experimenting this morning." She smiles while organizing files on her desk, even though they look perfectly fine to me. "Nothing I wouldn't do." The lab bench gets more and more occupied with my supplies by the second, as I take the required items out of my bag. Coming to school early on the first day to do science experiments is certainly something I would for two reasons; the chance of me getting a ninety in this class would skyrocket, and secondly, to further my scientific knowledge and see if it is actually a career exciting enough to pursue. The classroom is still empty, except for some stray students that are early birds like me. Usually, it's just the overachievers that come to class twenty minutes before, but a hooded male sitting in the corner proves me wrong. He is wearing a black sweatshirt, glasses, and has headphones on, tuning out the chaotic world around him. What makes me notice him though, is the fast pace of his pencil moving along the notebook, writing ten words per second. Maybe he felt my lurking stare or maybe my eyes linger on his moving hand for too long because he looks up at me and I am mesmerized by what I see. Embarrassment rapidly takes over me causing my head to turn in the other direction, pretending that I wasn't checking him out. Moving a lock of my curly hair over my shoulder, defeat slumps me down in my seat. Who is the boy with those muddy brown eyes?                                                                                                    •••