Skin and Bones

It’s Saturday. I promised Mikey that we’d work on our project this weekend, but obviously it’s not gonna happen.
My mom knows Mikey’s my only friend, so ‘sleeping at a friend’s house’ is out of the question.

I put my phone underneath my duvet and slowly and peep under it as I softly press the buttons.

‘Hey, Mikes. I’m sorry, but I can’t come over this weekend. My mom’s still sick.'

I press send, before I listen intensely for any sounds throughout the house. My mom’s home. She’s probably in her room sleeping or throwing up, but she might as well be standing right outside my door – waiting for me to screw up and reveal myself so she can hit me again for disobeying.

My bed suddenly vibrates and the sound of it makes my heart stop. I quickly press my duvet down over my phone – covering it the best that I can – but it’s already been heard.
I squeeze my eyes shut and listen – my ears picking up every tiny little sound. I can hear the leaves on the trees outside rustle. I can hear the wind brush past my window. No birds – not even one.
But there’s nothing else. There’re no footsteps from the hall. There’re no growls from outside my door. There’re no creaks of the floorboard.
It’s silent.

I slowly lift up my duvet – mentally cursing when it crackles – and pick up my phone and softly press open.
The light from the screen turns on, and shines through the darkness.

‘But it’s due on Monday. What do we do?’

I feel guilty. I don’t want Mikey to do the whole thing by himself.
I should do it.

‘I’ll write it. I’ll put your name on it too.’

I press send and bury my phone underneath my duvet.
I don’t even wait for a response before I walk over to my desk and find my books and a few blank pieces of paper. I tug a pencil behind my ear before I walk back over to my bed.
I open my book and find the right page, before I feel the bed vibrate – the sound luckily not getting any further than that. Too much.
I lift my duvet – holding onto my book so it doesn’t fall onto the floor – and find my phone.

‘But you don’t have a computer. Why don’t you just write a draft and bring it over? Then I can type it in and add whatever if needed. You think you can bring it over tonight? Or tomorrow morning?’

I bite my lip. It’s possible, but that would mean I would have to leave the house and explain to my mom where I was going.
Even if I left the house while she was out, I could risk her getting back before me.
But we had to do this project.

‘Okay. I’ll text you when I’m done.’

I press send, before I bury my phone and start cramming.