Falling in the Dark | ✓

5 | Gold

Vera murmurs to herself thoughtfully, scanning the sheet of paper under her yellow desk lamp as I turn on my laptop.

"Ooh, ooh," she shouts suddenly, causing me to jump and look up. "I know Ben Young!"

I straighten my back and lean forward. "How do you know him?"

"He's a programming major, from Liam's class. But, uh . . ." Vera's light brown eyes shift away from me. "Chick introduced me to him. Ben's his roomie."

I can't help the way my body stiffens in an obvious sign of discomfort. Chick's group of friends is the reason I have been worrying so much about Vera lately. But I can neither reproach their disruptive 'juice and gold' parties nor stop Vera from attending them.

"Right," I say, pretending not to notice the sudden tension that fills the room.

"There's a party this Saturday," Vera says softly and in a rush. Immediately, she purses her lips as though she regrets what she said.

"And you're going?" I ask, knotting my fingers together on my lap.

"Yeah." She shakes her head at me disapprovingly when my mouth pops open in alarm. "Relax, Car."

"How can I?" I demand, forcing her gaze to meet mine. "After what happened the last time —"

Vera releases her breath in an exasperated sigh. "Just forget that, okay? It's not a big deal!"

"Vera, you almost got arrested!" I explode, resisting the urge to grab her by the shoulders and shake her. "Do you have any idea how worried I was? How worried Liam was?"

"Leave Liam out of this," she says in a low voice. She climbs off her bed and turns away from me. Hands resting on her desk and head bent down, she mumbles something to herself.

"Are you guys fighting again?"

Vera raises her head. "What?"

"I asked if you guys are fighting again."

"Yeah," she says in a clipped, dismissive tone.

"Don't do this, Vera. Don't go to that party."

She walks over to me in two swift strides and wraps her fingers around my shoulders.

"Carmen, you can't do this, okay?" she says in a clear, harsh voice as though I'm an immature child that needs to be reprimanded. "You never want to come with us and that's fine, but you can't stop me from going."

I lower my gaze to my hands, hurt and resigned.

"I can take care of myself," she adds finally, releasing me from her grip.

Suddenly, my laptop screen lights up with a loud ping. A small pop-up indicates a Skype call from my mother.

"I told Mom you'd Skype with her today," I say with a half-hearted smile. "You haven't talked in so long."

Vera's petite, rounded features soften instantly. She walks over to the bed and sits next to me, cross-legged. Flustered by the altercation that happened just moments before, I let my finger hover over the answer button.

"Come on," Vera nudges my shoulder with hers, smiling in reassurance. She grabs my index finger and presses down on the trackpad.

A new window opens up on the screen, showing the living room of my home. Mom's laptop — probably resting on the small wooden coffee table — is aimed at her neck and shoulder.

"Hello? Carmen, hello?"

"Ma," I say, waving my palm in front of my screen.

"Hello? Hello?" she repeats as though she's using a particularly difficult phone connection.

"Push the screen back a little. We can't see you."

"Oh, yes," she says, adjusting her laptop and smiling at us. "Hi, girls."

"You do this every time," I say with a snort of laughter.

Mom shrugs good-naturedly and says, "My Skype skills are not as good as you kids'."

"Ignore her, Mrs. Westbrook," Vera chips in with a lopsided smile. "Your Skype skills are great."

I roll my eyes and laugh again.

"How are you, Vera?" Mom asks, leaning closer to the screen. "You seem so busy these days!"

"She's the busy one," Vera says, pointing at me. "She's either doing homework or studying. And I have to go out by myself."

Mom's eyes — the same shade of slate gray as mine — crinkle when she grins. "I guess Vera's having enough fun for the both of you!"

I watch Vera carefully as she laughs and nods, seemingly unperturbed by this comment. It's a harmless joke because Mom is blissfully unaware of what happened that weekend. But if I make such a comment, it's a thinly-veiled accusation and Vera won't be laughing.

We spend the next twenty minutes chatting with Mom as she fills us in on everything that happened during the last week in our quiet, closely-knit hometown. My heart twists with longing when she talks about the lights festival that marks the beginning of winter. The twinkling lights, the flowers strewn everywhere, the incredible food, the dancing . . . Vera and I ask curious questions, listening closely to her every word. Now that we've left home, we care for all the small details that we didn't bother to notice before.

A little later, Dad comes into the living room and sits on the beige couch and rubs his eyes. His graying blonde hair is a wild mess, a sharp contrast to Mom's neat bob.

"Hey, Dad," I grin when Mom asks him to look into the camera.

"Hi, Mr. Westbrook," Vera calls, waving cheerfully.

"Hi," he greets us, his thin lips stretching in a warm smile. "How are you both?"

We talk about college — as Mom and Dad constantly remind us to take good care of ourselves — until it's time for dinner.

"What are you having for dinner?" Vera asks my parents, running a hand through her wavy ginger hair.

"Lasagna," Dad announces proudly. "I'm cooking tonight."

"And I'm making sure he doesn't set the house on fire," Mom adds, grimacing in mock fear.

Laughing, Vera and I say goodbye to my mom and dad before I shut off my laptop.

"Man, I miss them," Vera sighs as we climb out of her bed. "Can't say the same about my parents."

I turn towards her quickly, alarmed that she mentioned the family she usually never talks about.

"I'm okay," she says in answer to my silent question. Her smile is genuine and grateful. "Thank you, Car."

For the hundredth time, I silently thank my parents for supporting Vera and helping her deal with her unstable home life. Looking at her now, I decide that the argument we had earlier doesn't matter. I wrap my arms around her in a tight hug.

"You don't have to thank me, Vera," I say firmly. Grinning, I pull away from her and say, "But I won't say no to pizza."

She laughs and tips her head towards the door. "Let's go."

She reaches towards the closet and grabs her purse and our jackets. Linking her arm through mine, she leads me out of the dorm and into the cool, starry night.

❅❅

A word of warning: The 'juice and gold' party mentioned in this chapter involves consumption of alcohol and weed. I do not endorse or encourage any forms of underage drinking, smoking or any such illegal activities. But this theme will recur in this story, so if you have any questions or thoughts, feel free to share them in the comments below.

Love,

Amethyst