12 : Thursday

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Step Twelve: Smile! Smiling, scientifically, makes you more approachable and likable. If you can't find a reason to smile, then make a joke! Ah, but let's not get ahead of ourselves, shall we?

I wake up at the crack of my butt.

Oops, I meant the crack of dawn.

Dawn at Misty Bay is at approximately 6:56 this time of the year. I went to sleep at approximately 6:13. I'm doing swell. In the approximate half hour since waking up, I've stared at the ceiling and deliberated over my life choices and why I made them.

I stare at the twelfth step. A joke? It's that simple?

If all I needed was a joke, I would just exist. My whole life is a goddamn joke—this unreciprocated love? Pathetic. Only having, like, four friends? Eh. At least I have a talent for haikus, but when will that come in handy?

So... smiling? Nuh-uh. I'm not in the mood for that right now.

Jason stirs beside me. He opted out of sleeping in his own room, claiming that it was "too far away." I would offer the pillow fort in the corner of my room, but that's my 'Man Cave.' Blake and I huddle up in there when we want to cry over Russell and Jason. Or stress. Or how stupid we were for getting individual dorm rooms when we could be sharing one. Or how other boys we know are getting boyfriends but we're single. Or how few friends we have and how sad it is. Or—

Yeah.

I sometimes get off track.

I look over at Jason, and, with my ears aflame and my cheeks blushing beyond belief, I press my hand gently against his forehead. It's a normal temperature.

"Jason?" I ask, shaking him awake. The lights are off, so it's not like he can see me blushing. He looks up with slits for eyes, yawning.

"What..." his voice cracks. I almost coo out loud. He has messy hair and morning breath, and his voice sounds so soft and groggy. I resist an almost overwhelming urge to cup his cheeks in my hands and kiss all over his bloated face and, instead, force my eyes back up to meet his.

I tug on Jason's shoulder. "Jason, get up. School starts in thirty minutes." I give him a smug look. "Actually, thirty-four minutes, if you want to be exact."

"Groan."

My mouth produces an ugly laughing noise. Jason did not say "groan" out loud, instead of actually groaning.

I drag him out of my bed. I'd like to make it known that I slept on a folding couch last night. Jason seemed disappointed; maybe I should've let him sleep there. He probably felt uncomfortable in my bed and wished he could have slept on the couch. Stupid Felix.

Jason rolls out of the bed and falls on the floor. I cringe and anticipate the angry people down below. Every time I drop something, and it makes a loud noise, they go to the spot on their ceiling where the noise came from and—

"Shut up, demons!" a disembodied voice says, accompanying a few other colorful words and a fist being hit against my floor. Jason flies up into the air, surprised, and lands in his feet.

Magical, my brain thinks.

I fry eggs for breakfast. "Yum," Jason says emotionlessly. Then I see him spit the poor, little, and burnt would-be chickens into a napkin. Yeah, I'm a terrible cook. I can only make instant ramen, vegetable soup, microwaved chicken nuggets, and tea. I don't think making tea is considered cooking, though.

I do want to get better at cooking. I can add that to my growing list of stuff I want to do, stuff I want to learn. In no time, hopefully, I'll be able to bring my own cookies to Jason. Not Emily's.

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