The Poptart
I’m running.
Faster than I’ve ever run before.
I don’t know where I’m going, but I’m running.
All I hear is my pounding heart, the sound of leaves crunching beneath my feet, and my breath coming in short gasps.
I trip over a branch causing me to fly face-first into the ground.
I scream out in pain...no.
I cry out in pain...no.
I...howl...out in pain...
Ugh. Why does writing have to be so hard?
Let’s see. Scream, cry, howl...screech? No, too cat like. Wail? No, too baby like. Yelp, shriek, holler? No, all too ‘elementary kid writing a short story about ghosts’ like. Let’s just stick with something I do quite often: cry.
I cry out in pain.
Before I know it, I feel sharp nails digging into my back.
It found me.
I only have a few seconds before...
"Bindi, come on! You’re gonna be late for your first day.”
That brings me back to reality.
Zenny barges in my room holding a toothbrush in one hand and a comb in the other, her mouth full of toothpaste.
“Are you seriously writing right now, Bindi? You have ten minutes before you have to get to the bus and you decide it’s the perfect time to write a story?”
“I’m sorry,” I mumble, still upset that Zenny interrupted my thinking process. “I had a good idea.”
Zenny rolls her eyes. “You always have good ideas at the worst moments. Now come downstairs and eat something.”
“Yeah, just let me finish this scene,” I say, already typing again.
“Okay,” Zenny says, drawing out the word. “Guess I’ll just have to eat the last blueberry poptart.”
“Sure,” I call out, half listening.
I realize what she said and my head springs up.
“Wait no don’t,” I yell out. “I’m serious! You better not!”
I rush down the stairs to find a smug Zenny, poptart halfway to her mouth. I run towards her and grab the delicious pastry of useless calories out of her hands. I pop it straight in the toaster.
“Should’ve done that twenty minutes ago,” Zenny mutters.
Me being the incredibly smart, mature, wholesome person that I am, I stick my tongue out at her.
She gives me an amused look. “Are you sure you’re starting high school today and not second grade?”
The mention of high school immediately makes me go queasy and the usually comforting smell of coffee and breakfast food is making my stomach churn.
Zenny notices my change in mood and comes to my side.
“Hey, come on, Di. It’ll be alright. You know how many people have survived the first day of freshman year?”
I look at her and let out a breath.
She answers her own rhetorical question. “I don’t actually know, but probably a lot. Like at least more than ten.”
Zenny always knows just what to say...
I smile at her. “Well you’re not wrong.”
“Aww, I know, Sis. I’m never wrong,” she says while pinching my cheeks.
“But seriously,” she says while taking my now burnt poptart out of the toaster. “Remember what Momma used to always tell you to say to yourself when you were feeling anxious?”
" Peo...” I start to say before Zenny cuts me off.
“Other than ‘people are assholes.’”
" None o...” I get cut off again.
“Other than ‘none of this is going to matter when I’m rich, famous, and making my momma proud.’”
We look at each other and laugh. We take a breath together and say the words that are etched into my brain.
“It’s okay, you’re okay, everything’s okay.”
A sense of peace and serenity rushes through me.
Zenny holds my hands in hers. “You got this.”
“I got this,” I repeat.
I see Zenny’s eyes start to water. “Momma would be so proud of you.”
“I miss her,” I whisper.
Zenny wraps me in a hug. “Me too, B. Me too.”
We let go of each other before we both start sobbing.
“Okay,” Zenny says. “You gotta go or you’ll be late.”
I start going to grab my backpack, but she stops me.
“Can you please promise me that you’ll at least try to talk to someone new today?”
I give her a sorry look. “You know I can’t do that.”
“Please,” she says softly. “For me.” Her eyes are pleading.
“Okay,” I say reluctantly. “I’ll try.”
She gives my hand a squeeze before she lets me go get my bag.
While I’m getting it I spot the picture frame that holds the memory of our first Christmas together. I’m around four years old, holding a barbie doll in my hand while Zenny’s around ten, wearing the helmet she had gotten because of her sudden fascination with roller derby. The helmet did not come with roller derby’s, but instead with a letter saying that if Zenny was a good girl and wore that helmet every time she stepped foot outside, she would get the roller derby’s next year. Signed Santa, of course. In the picture, Momma is holding me, making my pasty skin look almost paperwhite next to her deep, dark brown skin. We all have smiles on our faces, mine taking up almost half my face. Since I was in shitty foster homes for my entire life up until then, I barely knew what Christmas was. I remember Zenny explaining it to me and feeling my tiny little mind explode. We get presents...because it’s another guy’s birthday? Okay. Fine with me.
I smile sadly and bring my fingers to my lips. I touch the picture of Momma that’s on the shelf that’s been in the same spot since we all moved in and head out the door after hugging Zenny one last time. I’m halfway down the street with the sun beating on my head when I realize I didn’t get to eat my poptart. I consider going back but I know it’s just an excuse. I have to do this. I’m a big girl now. Big girls don’t worry about something that hasn’t even happened yet! I still have about fifteen minutes before school officially starts. Maybe everything will be okay. Maybe nothing interesting is gonna happen. Maybe I won’t get lost and have an anxiety attack in front of the entire school. Maybe-
I run my shoulder straight into a pole. -I should stop talking to myself.
There are quite a few kids at the bus stop, but nobody says anything about how I just sassily walked into a street pole.
The bus arrives and I prepare myself to step into the dark abyss filled with kids who think calling someone ‘gay’ is the greatest burn ever known to mankind.
Let’s see how this goes.
