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School has never been more boring than it is now for Gene. The classes that he doesn’t normally partake in are unusually bleak, and the teachers are horribly dull. But, he has no real interest in skipping. At least, no one he really feels like seeing today. Except for one person who would rather do anything than look at him. Moving from hall to hall he feels like an empty husk, barely paying attention during lunch when Zenix and Sasha try to get a reaction out of him. He stares off into the field instead, where a group of students are playing a game of catch with a ball. Only one of them he cares about.
Walking home was one of the better activities that Gene used to partake in. It used to be constant, one that he would go out of his way for. Now it’s just a hassle; a reminder. His keys rattle as he opens the lock to his house, the string keychains that Sasha and Zenix had made for him dampen the sound only a tad. His shoes get kicked off next to the door, not even bothering to put them up in the shoe rack. They’re in the house, it’s close enough, he thinks, willing to brush off his negligence as strategy.
“Gene, c’mon man. That’s so lazy.” he hears phantom voices in the background, and it feels like more and more eyes are watching him until he tucks them neatly against the wall.
Almost making a fool out of himself by slipping while turning the corner to go down the hallway, Gene narrowly avoids his brother coming out of his room. He’s done it for about two weeks straight now, and he doesn’t count on stopping for a while.
Entering his room, he flicks on the fan and throws his bag onto the floor next to the door. The door clicks shut as he moves farther in his room, eventually making it to the other side where it’s second nature for him to flop down on his bed.
He wishes that his phone was on 4 percent and he was digging around his room for the charger to keep it on for longer, instead of staring at the peeling popcorn ceiling that he could probably DIY if he wanted to. He hated that he hadn’t even started to use the low battery mode yet today, barely halfway done with the phone battery.
“You really should get in the habit of using your phone less,” a whisper in the wind of the fan in his room. His head starts to raise to scan the room, but he realizes quickly that there’s no one there. Probably his brain tricking him into thinking things are there.
He doesn’t want to close his eyes as he lays on his mess of a bed, one that would usually feel much more homely. The sheets and quilts and clothes that are piled atop it just prove a nuisance as he can’t get situated correctly, something that he usually would never care—nor think—about. Irrationally, he gets angry at his belongings, flinging them across the room and not caring about the things they crash into as the blankets and sweaters collapse onto the floor.
Laying on nothing but a fitted sheet and a pillow, his phone feels several pounds heavier as he raises it to his chest. As if on autopilot, as if it’s any other day and he had someone waiting for him to call, Gene doesn’t think twice as he opens up his messages and instinctively presses on Laurance’s icon.
‘Hey 👋’ is sent.
The red bubble with the exclamation mark is received. And somehow, the pit in the bottom of Gene’s stomach grows deeper.
Reluctantly, Gene turns his phone and places it on his nightstand. He holds back the urge to double, maybe even triple text. The messages won’t go through anyway, so what’s the point?
Sluggishly, he turns his head into his pillow and tries to refrain from crying. It’s a miserable attempt. As he slowly drifts out of consciousness, he can only envision how free Laurance looked playing out of the field laughing and running around with people Gene never would have thought he would hang out with. And he hated how insignificant and attached he must have seemed from the treeline.