cigarettes and valentines // tree bros

chapter 1

I sat up to the soft knock on my door. Yawning, I stretched and pretended that I hadn't been awake for hours. In truth, I had been awake since 3am, staring at the ceiling and attempting to imagine every scenario that could make today the worst day in my life. There were so many possibilities that I still wasn't done when my mom walked in. I smiled, weakly.

"Good morning, honey!" She beamed as she sat on the edge of my bed. Her hair was thinning, and dull – though I still hadn't been able to deduce whether it was due to age or stress. Or me. Her bleakly bright uniform washed out her complexion; for someone who worked on a nursing home, she looked like the opposite of happiness. "Are you excited for your first day of senior year?"

"Uh... yeah," I replied, staring at my fingernails and attempting to monitor my breathing. Every time I thought of the sheer immensity of making stupid small talk with people who hadn't even messaged me all summer, or the advanced algebra homework I probably should have done, I lost the ability to maintain a regular breathing pattern or heart rhythm.

"Have you taken your meds yet? Do you need some water? How are you on refills?" Mom reached for the box beside my bed, lightly flicking through the prescriptions. I nodded, wordlessly. A moment passed; mom staring at me like she wanted me to tell her every thought I'd ever had, and me praying that she would leave soon. Eventually, she continued to speak, "have you been writing those letters to yourself, like the doctor asked? "Dear Evan Hansen, today's going to be a good day, and here's why"?"

"Uh, I think I started one," I sighed, internally cringing. If anyone found one of those stupid letters, I'd be bullied ten times worse than I ever had. And I'd been bullied a lot. But if it made my mom less suspicious – if it at least looked like I was trying to get better, she wouldn't imagine that I'd try to throw myself from the tallest tree in the local park. Not that I'd do that. Again.

Mom deserved a better son, and I knew it.

"Good! Ah," she grinned brightly, the smile emphasizing the wrinkles that littered her face, "I know! You can go around today and ask the other kids to sign your cast! That way, you've got an easy way to catch up with people." The look in her eyes told me that this wasn't a request; mandatory socializing, my favorite kind. My palms began to sweat as I swallowed deeply.

"Perfect," the sound came out as a squeak, and mom patted my shoulder.

"Great! I, uh... I'm working tonight, so I won't see you but..." Pausing by the door, I watched her stroke the door frame, as if hoping that soothing the wall would make my mind work better. "Make sure you have a good day, honey."

"Will do," my smile was fake but so was hers. She left with a brief wave. I sighed, resigning myself to getting dressed. Most people were probably going to turn up with new clothes and bags and everything - but I had to wear the same awful shoes and boring khakis. The only upgrade was my cast.

First day of senior year. I guess I couldn't avoid it forever.