Bloom

23. rolling balls

Zephaniah

My feet wiggled slowly, rubbing them together as the back of my foot slowly moved on top of the other one. It meant that I was comfortable, it meant that I was feeling okay, that I was enjoying something. My eyes were trained onto Haven's hand, who was highlighting important notes.

I glanced at her, she seemed to be very concentrated. Her light eyes were focused on her notes, her upper lip between her teeth in concentration. I stared at the tiny freckle on her right cheekbone, wondering why I found it so interesting. How did freckles appear, anyway? Why did everyone have them?

"Zephaniah?" Haven carefully tapped on my shoulder, making my body jump slightly, because, sudden touches. "I asked if you think this is structured enough for you to read?"

Swallowing, I moved my attention over to her notebook, recalling her words and scanning over the neatly written sentences, the most important ones highlighted with a bright, yellow colour. Yellow was probably my favourite colour, but not the bright one, I didn't quite like it. The neon colour was as if it hurt my eyes to look at.

I'd always preferred the green or blue one, it wasn't as bright, though, I'd still rather to just draw a neat line underneath the sentences with a ruler and pen, black, preferably.

Eventually, after staring at her words for a while, my eyes fell onto my water bottle, reminding me of my thirst. Grabbing it, I uncapped it and drank until it was empty and wiped my mouth with the sleeve of my sweater.

I craved for more, but I couldn't fill it again. Licking my lips, I rolled onto my back, staring up at the ceiling. It reminded me of the times when I was little and couldn't sleep. Mum and dad always made place for me in the middle of them, switched on their flashlights and made dogs out of their hands, the shadow displaying a thousand made up stories by them.

They'd dry my tears, kiss my cheeks and make me laugh until I fell back asleep in exhaustion. The memory made me nostalgic, melancholic, perhaps. Because every time I'd get these memories, I longed to be little, because even if my life hadn't been carefree because of my struggles back then- it was always more carefree than it was right now.

Dad, I broke our promise from my eighth birthday. If only I could stay little forever, I would've done it.

"Zephaniah?" Haven's voice brought me back to reality, my cheeks warming up to the point where I could just feel I was as red as a tomato. "Are my notes fine to read for you?" She repeated. I wondered how many minutes I had zoned out now.

Rolling back onto my stomach, my eyes scanned the sentences again and I nodded, sitting up as I gulped. "I'm sorry, I didn't- I wasn't trying to-"

"I know," She answered, giving me another soft smile. "It's totally okay. You don't mind that I'm calling your name until you look at me, do you?"

Glancing at her, I shook my head, knowing people had to do that in order to gain my attention. "Good, uhm, notes." I said quietly, not wanting to think about one of my struggles.

"Yeah? That's perfect! Do you have a printer here? Maybe I can copy them for you so you can maybe glue them to your notebook. So you don't have to write the things you don't have in your notebook, know what I mean?" She smiled cheerfully, but rambled, making my mind race to try and process everything she had just said.

Reaching for my water bottle, I uncapped it but realised there was no water left, making me fiddle with my fingers instead. "Uhm, what?" I whispered, glancing at her again.

Haven sat up, her hair falling into her face. She blew a few strands away, making me smile shyly as she caught me looking at her. Quickly looking away, my ears were focused on her words, her calm voice was soothing.