Chapter Text
I'm sitting at the kitchen table - hands fidgeting, staring straight through my neglected bowl of cereal. My first day of sophomore year is today, and all I want is for it to be any other day. Like the day I fell off the stage during play rehearsal and broke my wrist two days before opening night of our spring musical in freshman year. Or the day my headphones disconnected from my phone during a test and everyone heard what I was listening to (It was the Falsettos soundtrack, if you're curious). I wound up hiding in the auditorium for the rest of the day because I was too mortified to go to the rest of my classes. Or the day where the new English teacher only used she/her pronouns for me because I apparently 'looked like a girl'. What I'm getting at is that I'd rather today be any other day than today. If you know what I mean.
My train of thought is, thankfully, interrupted by my dad asking, "Kai? You OK, bud? You've been staring at your cereal for the last five minutes." He looks at me expectantly, playing with the sleeves of his cardigan that are pulled just short of his whole hands.
Now, my dad. He's a little bit of a mess. Terrible office job, hardly ever sleeps, definitely makes under minimum wage. But despite all that, he's the best dad ever. Since my mom left, he's pretty much done everything for me. He holds me when I cry about Mom, or school, or any of my other problems. He makes sure I get out of bed, let alone eat three meals and take my medication. He makes sure I interact with my friends, whether that's at school or anywhere else, so I don't become a hobbit who camps out underground. Or, even better, in a cramped apartment in an even more cramped bedroom. Anyway, he's my dad. We're pretty different people when it comes to video game preferences and the best slushie flavour to get from 7/11 (which is blue raspberry, and I'll gladly fight someone over this). But in everything else, we're the same. Same eye issues, dark blond hair that's always messy, same dimples, same stutter when we're nervous and same taste in movies. We're a perfect pair.
What I want to tell him is, "Yes Dad, I'm absolutely ecstatic about having to go to school after a summer where no-one has heard anything from me because I've been in the psych ward, so I'll have to deal with countless questions on where I was, which I really don't want to do. Plus, I only slept for around forty-five minutes last night, so I'll be running on absolutely nothing, and I can't risk falling asleep in class or the teachers will worry, or they'll call you and I don't want you to have to worry about things that aren't even an issue, and then you'll think I'm crazy and you'll have me sent away. So yes Dad, I'm absolutely fine."
What I actually end up saying is, "Yeah, I'm fine." A lie, if you somehow can't tell. I see the concerned look in Dad's eyes, and I immediately feel guilty for making him worry. It kills me to do so, but if I start explaining how I really feel then I'll probably be admitted again. That's the one thing I don't want to happen. I just start messing with my ear piercings, and go back to my staring contest with my cornflakes.
"Are you worried about today?" he questions, catching me off guard. My facial expression definitely told him that what he said was accurate, because he takes my hands in his from across the table. He takes a deep breath before beginning with, "Bud, I know these first few weeks will be hard for you." I laugh. Well isn't that the damn truth. "But it won't be as bad as you think it will be. There's your friends, who you know will help you when you feel bad. Plus, I've made sure that you can go to Christine when you need a break."
I can't help but smile at the mention of her. Christine is one of my dad's many high school friends, who ended up teaching drama at the high school they both went to. I begged Dad to let me go there, even though there are better schools in better districts. But after me threatening to burn his vintage RENT collection, he let me go. Sometimes, blackmail is the way to go, kids. Moving on, Christine is a massive theatre geek, and even did some Broadway and Off-Broadway work a while back. She turned Dad into a theatre nerd, and me as well, so I'm absolutely introducing her to my kids when I have them. We could have an entire bloodline of theatre kids - for free!
I nod and smile at Dad, who visibly relaxes. At least he's happy. He gets up and starts rifling through some official-looking paperwork, muttering something about killing a god. Or his boss. I didn't exactly hear, but both would be funny.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I check it to see a message from my friend/personal chauffeur, Jason. He's outside, and if I don't hurry up he'll just drive off without me. I jump out of my seat, abandoning my uneaten cereal. I grab my backpack from the floor and quickly hug Dad before flinging open the door and racing to the elevator.
Dad and I live in a small studio flat on the top floor of a block of apartments in a super poor area of Metuchen, which sounds like utter hell. But over time, it's just become home. The walls are covered in prints, family photos (and by family, I mean me, Dad and his high school friends that I'm surprisingly close with), old Broadway and movie posters and my drawings from when I was a little kid. It's home, but I still wish we could live somewhere bigger. I mean, Dad literally sleeps on the couch while I have the box room next to the bathroom. Sure, it's a big couch, but he deserves a proper bed! There isn't much we can do, with Dad's terrible paycheck and my fear of getting a job. But we get by.
I reach the ground floor after having to hold my nose for at least two minutes (believe me, if you live in this apartment block, you learn to get good at that) because the elevator smelled like piss, yet again. Seriously, who the hell even does that? I make it out of the building to see Jason's car parked right in front of the doors to the apartment block.
I take a deep breath and sigh to myself, "Good morning, time to start the day."