Slate | ✓

SIX | ATHENA

The picture was taken one year ago, almost exactly. I remember the day felt sticky, the oppressive summer heat clinging to my clothes and hair and lungs. At the time it was taken, I hated this picture: one of my eyes was half-shut, skin red, hair frizzy, and face contorted mid-laugh. Ella, however, looked good, so I agreed to keep it. It's the four of us, stuck together, a mess of limbs. My arms are wrapped around Ella's waist, and Will is the centerpiece, taller than the rest of us, he loops in both Ella and Damien, each arm resting on their shoulders. Ella looks happy to be at his side, gaze focused on his face as Will looks forward into the camera. On Will's opposite side, Damien, like me, has an eye shut, but, as if to compensate, his grin is blinding.

My attention keeps circling back to Will, to the clarity of his eyes and relaxed smile. It's not a brilliant smile like Damien's, but there's an ease about it, no hint of effort or hesitation. That's the biggest difference I notice: Will doesn't look like this anymore, there's nothing easy left about him.

You're a bad friend, Athena, and I'm starting to realize that maybe you've always been one.

I delete the picture as Ella's words bitterly turn over in my head. The resentment stares back at me in the mirror. It's a cultivated mask, eyes cold and framed by dramatic colour, blood red lips, and features sharpened to their harshest points. I look ready to cut someone.

"Fuck it." The face smiles back at me.

When I return to the living room, Damien burps at me. "You look hot," he seems half drunk already.

"Thanks," I grab the bottle from his hand, taking a tentative sip. When the liquid hits the back of my mouth, burning, I recoil. "What is this? It's more vodka than—"

"That's the idea," he winks.

Will looks up from his phone, his legs extended out in front of him, crossed on the coffee table. I've gone all out, and all my brother's done is put on a different shirt. "Finally ready?"

I slip on my sneakers. "It's only, like, ten, you're not even late."

Damien hops up from the couch, as if struck by a sudden burst of energy. "Let's goooo," he drawls, grabbing Will, who follows sheepishly behind, as Damien leads the charge to the exit.

It's a warm night, a slight breeze offering the right amount of relief from the humidity. I cling to Damien's side, wrapping an arm around his waist, two fingers hooking through the loop on his jeans. He accommodates me, resting his arm on my shoulders as we walk in sync. The alcohol is brutal, but I force it back, already feeling the warmth spreading through my stomach and chest.

Will lights up a cigarette, the scent immediately flooding my senses.

"If you're going to do that, can you at least walk behind us?" I say.

Will obliges, falling back a few steps. The streets are empty, and we march through the middle of the road.

"So," Damien says, looking down at me, "I'm wondering why Athena Slate was ready for a night in on the last Saturday before school?"

"I've been excommunicated," I announce, gesturing with the bottle in hand. "Something about my being mean, selfish, and a bad friend." I glance up at him, searching his expression. "Am I a bad friend?"

"Uh..." Damien's voice grows higher as he hesitates. My face drops before I can hide it, something like hurt flooding my chest.

"Why did you not just say no?" Will shakes his head, a smile curling his lips.

"No! No, Athena you're not," Damien scrambles to clarify, alarm in his eyes. "It's just—it's weird, you're weird."

"Thanks?"