I took a deep breath, as my eyes flew open. I hadn’t realized that I’d fallen asleep, but somehow I did. I lean back in my chair, my thumbs rubbing at my temples through my hair, and I feel a massive headache approaching. What am I forgetting?

Looking around surreptitiously, I groan. Mr. Flynn, our energetic, mid-thirties teacher with his bright red hair, roams the classroom, eyes darting around, judging us silently. Then I realize: I’m supposed to be taking a test.

The Progressive Era Test; the one Eli and I had spent the last two weeks studying for. Aside from the midterm and the final, this test was the most important one we’d take all year. Typical of a Flynn Test, it was ten pages long, at least, and had nearly two hundred questions.

Have you ever tried to do something and had no idea what you were doing? You literally didn’t remember anything that you studied, anything that was actually on the test? I sighed, my eyes shifting around the room, desperate for some help.

Eli Ellingsworth, my best friend, snaps his fingers at me subtly, but otherwise, doesn’t move. It’s times like these when I’m grateful that he spent all last summer teaching me sign language.

Something wrong, Tor? He spells out quickly, fingers moving so fast it’s hard to keep up.

Instead of replying, I flash a desperate frown at him. I don’t know what I’m doing, I mouth, glancing down at my desk as Mr. Flynn moves closer.

With ten minutes to go, I start to fill in the packet at random, at this point not caring if I get the answers right or not. After handing in my test, I return to my seat, shaking slightly. My eyes wash over the ten or so students absorbed by their packets, and one student, only one, meets my gaze for a split second, before looking away.

How can we ever get back to the way we used to be?

“Alright,” Mr. Flynn calls out, leaning against the wall, “We’ve got about three minutes left, but if you don’t finish your test today, I’ll give you part of class Monday to work. Have a good weekend.”

Eli cranes his neck side to side, before rotating in his chair to face me. “What’s up?” He inquires, noticing my distraction. “Nothing.” I reply, pulling my afternoon books out of my desk. “That test was brutal though, don’t you think?” Out of the corner of my eye, I can see a familiar face studying me intently, but I pretend not to notice. “You’re still coming over tonight, right?” Eli asks, as we stand up and head for the door. “Of course I am.” I say, slowly returning to my usual cheery self. “It’s Friday. I wouldn’t miss it.” Not that I could, even if I wanted to. Eli and I live on the same street, practically right across from each other. It’s almost impossible to avoid him.

“You walking today?” Eli asks, slouching as we amble out the front doors of our high school, James Garvey High. “Yeah.” Shielding my eyes from the sudden blinding light, I turn, so that Eli is between me and the sun. “Don’t you have that thing after school, though? Basketball practice? Or is that next week?”

Eli’s eyes widen. “Shit, you’re right, it starts today. I better go. See you at six?”

“Definitely,” comes the reply, but it doesn’t feel like me. As he darts back inside, leaving me by myself, a figure appears from around the corner.

“I wondered when I’d be seeing you,” I say, by way of greeting, but my tone is nothing close to kind. “I wondered when you’d try and talk to me, or even come near me again.”

“Well, after what you did, would you talk to you?” Parker McCormick returns, lip curled angrily.

“After what I did? What about you? You’re not entirely guiltless in this.” I scoff, crossing my arms. “Why did you keep it from me? Why wait until after you had a girlfriend to tell me you still had feelings for me?”

“I don’t know!” He snaps, throwing his hands in the air. “I don’t...I don’t know.” Parker sighs, staring down at his feet. “I should’ve told you sooner.” The toe of his shoe catches on a loose pebble in the cracked sidewalk, hands now in his pockets. “Am I correct in assuming that you don’t….that is, you... don’t feel the same way about me that I feel about you?”

He studies me hopefully, and for a moment, I wish I could say he was wrong. “At one point, I would have just accepted it, Parker. I’d tell you that you were wrong, that I felt the same way.” Taking a deep breath, I’m careful not to rush into my next sentence. “But I don’t. I don’t feel anything for you that way. Not anymore.”

I barely notice his crestfallen expression, as I storm past him, and this time, he doesn’t stop me.

Later that night, halfway through my Algebra homework, my phone starts to buzz, scooting to the edge of my desk.

Eli: Hey, I'm home. You guys coming over soon?

Tori: Yeah, in a little bit. I'm working on the math homework.

Eli: ....We had homework?

Tori: Lol. See you in a bit.

Eli: Quick question?

Tori: Yeah?

Eli: Can I borrow your homework?

I roll my eyes, a slight chuckle escaping my throat, before I type my reply.

Tori: Yeah, sure. When I finish :)

Eli: Thanks Tor. gtg, see ya.

I set my phone down on the desk, turning back to my math book. My mind isn't entirely off of the events of this afternoon, and before too long, I can't focus. I angrily slam my book shut, shoving it away from me, and go downstairs.

"Tori!" My mom calls up the stairs, as I'm on my way down. "No need to yell," I joke, "I'm right here, and you're not nearly that old yet."

“Funny,” She scoffs at me, rolling her eyes, a lighter green than my own. “Are you ready? We’re leaving soon.”

“Yeah.” I nod. “Just gotta grab my jacket.” The house is unusually quiet, the booming laughter that clings to my father like a shadow is mysteriously missing. “Where’s Dad?”

“He had to work late.” My mother replies, rather hastily. “He’ll meet us at Alex and Holly’s in an hour or so.” Now that strikes me as odd. My dad’s an accountant. Why would he have to work late?

I don’t have much time to reflect, since my mother hustles me out the door, leaving me barely enough time to grab a jacket. “I bought snacks earlier; I hope I got enough.” She gestures to the reusable shopping bag by the door.

I love it when we bring snacks to game night. Essentially, I’m the one that chooses what we get, and Mom buys it the day of. When I choose, I am highly selective in my choices. That means no popcorn - even after I got my braces taken off last year - mints, or Skittles - I don’t know what it is, but I’ve always hated them.

Three minutes later, we’re at the front door of the Ellingsworth house, the breeze blowing slightly as the sky grows dark. “You’re here!” Holly, Eli’s stepmom, greets us, going in for a hug, as is her typical demeanor. She’s dressed in a loose-fitting violet blouse, and her jeans are splotched with paint. Her hair, a bright, curly marigold, is pulled into a ponytail, and her amber eyes are heavy-lidded, like she hasn’t slept in a few nights. Neither of us point it out, as Holly waves us inside. “Alex is upstairs; he’ll be down in a little bit. Where’s Todd?” She inquires, taking our bag and closing the door, noting my father’s absence.

“Working.” Mom replies quickly. “He had some stuff to finish up. He’ll be over later.”

Holly fixes her with a strange stare, like she’s not letting this go. Her eyes waver to me. “Tori, you wanna go get Eli? I expect he fell asleep after practice; he mentioned Coach has been on him lately about motivation.”

What a way to tell me to leave. Obviously something’s up, and Holly wants to push the issue further. “Yeah, sure. I’ll go get him.”

I take the steps two at a time, slowing as I get to the top. His door is slightly ajar, and his light is on, casting a glow, a triangle of light into the hallway.

Now, I’ve been in his room before. Of course I have. But this time, it feels like I’m intruding, like I shouldn’t be here. I tiptoe up the last step, swinging around the banister, and here I am, in front of his door.

And I knock. “Hey, Eli? Holly sent me up to get you; we’re starting the games and stuff soon.”

Shuffling. “Just a second, Tori.” He calls, his voice strained, and he coughs twice. I hear footsteps rapidly approaching, quick tap-tap-tap-tap. “Yeah?” Eli answers, pulling the door open, his face red and flustered. His hair, usually patted down, is unkempt and sticking up, like he just woke up. “So, we’re-” he clears his throat, fingers raking through his hair, “We’re starting soon?”

“Yeah. Holly had me come and get you, but I expect she just wanted me out of the room so she could talk to Mom about something private.”

“Oh?” Eli replies, halfheartedly. “What do you think she wanted to talk about?”

“I don’t know.” I shrug, falling onto the bed, his back to me. “Mom mentioned that Dad would be here late, and then Holly sent me up here.”

“Well, what do you think is happening between them?” Eli inquires, laying down perpendicular to me, as we stare up at the pale green ceiling together. “Your parents, I mean?”

“I think things seem fine. They haven’t been fighting as much lately, and aside from him working all the time, everything is as it should be.” I reach over and poke him in the side, causing him to writhe and almost fall off the bed. “What about you? Is something wrong? You seemed...I don’t know, kind of flustered when I showed up. Like I caught you off-guard.”

“Nah.” He responds quietly, playfully swatting my hand away. “Just tired. Thinking about things. School. Some other stuff. Practice was tough today.”

“Yeah. Holly told me.” I murmur back, turning on my side, propped up on my elbow. “Well you know I’m always here, if you want to talk about anything.” My face wavers over his, and he nods slowly. “I do know that, Tori. And I promise, I’ll come to you when such a situation arises.”

Eli flips around so fast, I almost fall onto the floor. “Wanna head downstairs?” He asks coolly, extending a hand to help me up.

And having done it a million times before, I take it, and we exit his room. Before closing the door, he flips the lights off, throwing the room into darkness, and we head downstairs.

We have a ritual for Game Night, our two families. A competition, of sorts. In a standard game, we play a lot of cards, watch some movies, and towards the end, we do charades. The competition part is this: we keep track of who wins what. The winner of the night is the one who decides what order games will be played at the next Game Night.

Last time, my dad was the overall winner. This time? It’s steadily approaching six-thirty and he’s not here yet. Eli and I are relaxed on the couch, my legs crossed over his, which are propped on the table, and he has the remote in one hand, flipping through channels intently.

My eyes waver over to the adults; to Holly and Mom, standing close in the dining room, hushed voices too far away to hear, glasses in hand. Mom’s lips are pressed together, speaking only when she has to. Which isn’t often.

A second later, I hear a thump-thump-thump on the stairs, which can only be Eli’s dad, Alex Ellingsworth. If you saw the two of them together, you’d know instantly that they were father and son, if not brothers. Honestly, they look that much alike. And at sixteen, Eli is almost taller than his dad, but let’s face it, that’s really not a big accomplishment. Alex is only 5’6 at most.

He’s dressed as he typically is for Game Night: a cobalt button-up, rolled up to the elbows, tie missing; a worn pair of jeans, and looking like he hasn’t shaved in a few weeks. I’m semi-observant as he sneaks into the kitchen, grinning widely, and wrapping his arms around Holly’s waist, ignoring her shrieks as he showers her with affection.

My mom just downs the rest of her drink in a single swallow, her eyes lingering on the ceiling for a few moments too long.

And then it hits me: When was the last time I saw Alex and Holly’s actions in my own parents? When did it begin to taper off, the spending time together, the kissing, when did it stop completely?

When I was a kid, I used to think that kind of thing was gross. And now?

I blink a few times, trying to shake the thoughts from my mind. When I look back to the TV, I notice that Eli’s settled in quite comfortably to an episode of Doctor Who. Personally, I’m not really too into the show, but Eli is, so I try to bear it.

I can tell it’s a rerun, because one of the companions is the blonde girl, the one with the flower name. “Haven’t you seen this one?” I sigh, grinning and rolling my eyes at him.

Eli’s head snaps to me, at the opposite end of the couch. “I. Have. Seen. All. Of. Them.” He explains, looking positively offended. “And that won’t stop me from watching and rewatching, and just for fun, re-rewatching. Honestly,” he scoffs, suppressing a smile, “I thought you knew that by now.” His eyes waver back to the TV, watching intently as a group of metal men march down the street.

A few moments later, the doorbell rings. Holly, laughing and attempting to pull herself from Alex’s reach, darts out of the kitchen to get the door.

From where I sit, I can see the blackness of the sky, as Holly flips on the porch light, illuminating the figure on the mat. A tall, broad man, taking up the entire doorway, wool jacket in hand and an apologetic smile on his face. “Sorry I’m late,” Dad admits, patting down his dark hair, “I got caught up at work.”

Mom just stares blankly at him, before turning and going into the kitchen. Eli looks at me, mildly concerned. What’s up there? He signs at me, and I shrug. They’ve been fighting recently, you know that. But I thought they stopped.

You don’t think… Eli pauses, biting down on his knuckle, as if he doesn’t want to say. Something happened?

I don’t know. I’ll ask her later tonight, if I can. But I already know I’m not going to. It’s not that I don’t want to, because honestly, I’m severely curious as to what exactly is going on between the two of them.

But at the same time, I’m not sure if I want to know.

Once everyone is seated, the games begin. Eli is the first of us to speak, on my right. “So what are we playing first? Personally, I’m hoping for Bullshit.” I think it’s hilarious that he never passes up an opportunity to swear openly in front of his parents. Granted, they don’t really mind.

Mine do, though.

Dad nods, on the other side of Holly, who is seated on the couch with me and Eli. “Let’s play Bullshit, then. Who’s dealing?”

“I will.” Mom offers harshly, her fingers curled around the deck. “Which means Alex, you’re up first.”

Her eyes follow the cards, as they land in piles in front of each of us, facing every direction imaginable. Subconsciously, my hands move over my cards, straightening and flattening them.

When you really think about it, there’s a lot we don’t see in our day-to-day lives. A lot we don’t notice, or dismiss because it’s not important or not useful. Had I paid more attention that night, the igniting spark, I’d have noticed what was really going on between us, all of us.

How Eli kept locking and unlocking his phone, eyes darting to the screen every few seconds, as if he were awaiting a text.

How Holly was constantly scrutinizing every detail of the unspoken battle raging between my parents.

My mother, not looking any of us in the eye, not until she finished the deck, and attempted to make everything seem fine.

My father, brow furrowed, breathing evenly, trying to get his point across and hopefully resolve this silent argument. Whatever it is, it looks to be serious.

And Alex, caught in the crosshairs, shifting uncomfortably between them, crossing and uncrossing his legs from his position on the floor, looking like he wants to curl up into a ball. The animosity alone is intimidating; you can almost feel it radiating from the two of them. The room is completely silent, except the dull thwap...thwap...thwap of the cards.

When the cards run out, the game begins. We make it almost two whole rounds, from Alex around the table and back again, before the room erupts into enraged outbursts.

“One ten.” Dad tosses a single card onto the growing pile, glancing around at the rest of us, daring us to call him out. In the end, Mom beats us all to it.

“Bullshit.” She calls out nonchalantly, finally meeting his gaze. She studies her cards, and under her breath, I hear, “Like a lot of things.”

“Excuse me, but what was that?” Dad challenges, throwing down his cards, his arms crossing over his chest. “I thought we agreed, we weren’t going to fight. Not tonight, at least.”

“Just take the cards, Todd.” She forces out, her hands shaking. “Take the damn cards. You don’t want to fight, then don’t. Just ignore it. Keep doing what you’ve been doing.”

He scoffs at her, taking a deep breath. “You know, Sabrina, I really wish you’d quit dragging this out, especially on a night like this. Let. It. Go. Stop blaming me for everything.”

Mom rolls her eyes at him, her face turning bright red, and she looks away, tears in her eyes. “Take the cards.” She finally says, choking out the words, all three syllables.

As if out of spite, or perhaps admitting defeat, Dad slams his hand down on the pile, pulling it to him, and Holly jumps, her shoulder knocking into mine. “We’re not done discussing this.” He vows, not blinking for what seems like an eternity, his eyes permanently locked on Mom.

After that outburst, everything seems to return to normal. Holly throws in a jack, which Dad instantly calls her out on, so she has to take it back. I toss two queens, and no one challenges me, not that I’d notice. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch Mom, her expression changing from hurt to contemplative, like she’s got a lot on her mind.

And I’m going to figure out what they are.

It’s three hours later, and we’re still playing Bullshit. Mom, Dad, and Holly are all out, so now it’s just me, Eli, and his dad gathered around the coffee table, and Alex is stretched out and relaxed. Eli and I are still on the couch. I’m hardly paying attention; I’m watching the kitchen conversation, intense debating between my parents, and Holly is nowhere to be found.

You’d think, that with only three people left in the game, it’d be over in less than one complete round. Well, it wasn’t. Between the three of us, we had distributed the cards almost evenly, and whenever someone called Bullshit, somehow the cards would even themselves out again, forcing us into a never-ending game.

Finally, around nine-thirty, Eli throws his cards down. “That’s it, I’m done. Game over. I’m going to bed. Goodnight!” He calls, making a break for the stairs, phone clutched in his hands.

Alex regards me curiously. “Wanna keep going?” He asks, a malicious glint in his eye.

“Actually, we were thinking of heading home.” Dad interrupts, his worn Italian accent breaking through on a few of the words. He reaches for his coat, holding it in one hand, and shakes Alex’s hand with the other. “Thanks for having us, man. And,” he leans in, careful not to be heard, “Sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean to cause a scene.”

“Oh, it’s fine,” Alex shrugs, hands in his pockets and humble smile on his face, the picture of a perfect father. “Take care, alright?” He waves, as we exit the house, turning and heading in the direction of our own.

I’ve got to find out what’s going on.

Tomorrow, for sure.

Only, not quite.