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“I’m a bad friend.” came a voice.
Jett swerved around to stare at Grace, who was solemnly trailing behind him and refusing to look at anything but the dirty heels of her shoes. Brooklynne was behaving similarly.
“C’mon, guys,” Jett tried to lighten up the mood, but he wasn’t exactly known for giving pep-talks. Especially not during moments like these. “Don’t be like that. There’s no way we could’ve known.”
Grace jumped at that. “But it was so obvious!” she exclaimed, her voice weak and her tone ashamed. “Nobody could possibly be allergic to that much food. And have you seen the titles of his parents’ magazines–’Eat Yourself Slim’? Even back when you ordered barbecue from Hedge Apple and had it delivered to the Oasis, he was practically drooling and still didn’t eat any.”
Brooklynne’s CIA glasses reflected a bright ray of sun directly into Jett’s eyes. “I remember that,” she began, her voice low and quiet. “He skipped lunch afterwards. He had a salad for dinner. Or, not really a salad. More like a sad clump of spinach.”
“He once told me he was allergic to spinach!” Grace retorted, overcome with conflicting emotions.
“Don’t act like everything is over,” Jett insisted, his tone harsh but reassuring. “We’re going to help him, and everything’ll be just fine.” He was more or so telling himself this.
“We don’t even know where he is right now,” Grace reasoned sadly. “And an eating disorder isn’t just something you can ‘snap out’ of, Jett, especially if we try to force it.”
Brooklynne’s voice cut through. “I think I know where we might be able to find him.”
* * *
Sure enough, Brooklynne was correct, per usual. The group found Tyrell sitting by the river, looking uncomfortable and disturbed. He was itching his arm when the others crowded around him.
“Guys?” he voiced, his gaze switching between his three companions. His voice was nasally, and his face was hot and puffy.
That’s when it hit the others–had Tyrell been crying? Not only that, Jett noted that he looked like a mess overall. His light brownish-gray hair was beyond messy, and his hives were inflamed. Also–Jett had to do a double check–was that a trace of vomit on his chin?
He couldn’t be so sure anymore.
Tyrell continued to itch at his arm. “What are you doing here?”
Jett crouched down so that he could be near eye-level with Tyrell and gently grabbed his arm just so Tyrell would stop scratching. “We want to help.”
“With what?”
“With–with the thing, you idiot!” Grace exclaimed, her eyes tearing up. “You’re either starving yourself or you have the appetite of a kitten on ADHD meds!”
Tyrell's eyes revealed a flash of panic–but before the others could really notice, he masked it and played dumb. “...Huh? My parents aren’t even on an intermittent fasting kick right now. What are you talking about?”
In response, Jett reached forward and wiped Tyrell’s chin with his hoodie sleeve. “Lie to me and tell me that you didn’t just make yourself throw up, Tyrell.”
Finally, Tyrell had the guts to drop the facade. He turned wide-eyed, stood up, and began frantically swiping at his face. Jett’s expression became more serious as he stood. “Don’t stress. I got it all.”
When this was met with deafening silence, Brooklynne finally stepped forward. “You’ve been crying.”
All Tyrell could do was nod.
“...We’ll get through this together.” And with that, Brooklynne pulled him into a hug.
Finally, Jett heard a muffled sob.