☆ Evan ☆

I place my hand against the windowsill, almost boosting myself through the gap. Before I can get there, my mother's shrill voice cuts my plans to shreds.

"Evan!" Carolyn says my name in her own unique way. She says it like it's one word, 'Evan-who-I-wish-was-dead.' Like it's the blunt edge of a syllable with the heart squeezed out.

Taking my hands away from the windowsill, I drop back to the floor and shout: "What?"

Footsteps approaching my room. The floor creaks under her stomping. There's no point in asking what she wants, not really. Whether or not I want her to, she'll tell me.

Carolyn appears in the hallway, a pair of light pink slippers on her feet. She wears them only when Randall is gone. He has a matching pair, sent by his grandparents, who we visit once every three years. I don't know when we stopped visiting every year. When their letters stopped coming as often. They never liked Carolyn, though, and that's an answer by itself. "Where is your sister?"

"At her friend's house." We both know this. Elaine was clear about where she was going and promised to come back before her curfew at eight.

I wait for Carolyn to tell me what she wants. Like always, she delivers. "And what friend is this?"

"Tyler something-or-other. Why?"

Her face creases, her cheeks flushed. The same shade as her slippers. Unsteadily, she says, "You need to go and pick her up. Right now."

And she departs to the kitchen. I hear the distant click of the fridge door, followed by the hiss of a bottle opening. "Evan, are you listening to me?"

"Yeah, I'm getting ready. Give me a minute." Silently, I count the seconds while I pull on my sweater. Dragging out my movements as much as I possibly can, I accidentally drop my clothes hangers and have to pick them up. There's no sense in arguing with her when she's in this state.

Lingering at the edge of the hall, Carolyn huffs and taps her foot against the floor. "I want you both here for supper," she says, as if nothing can continue happening unless we're both present. Like a kid playing house with dolls—and she was not expecting us to grow up. "None of this would have happened before. Do you know that? I'm starting to agree with Randall about that."

I open the fridge door. Grab myself a drink of water. "About what?"

"About what?" Carolyn repeats in a mocking tone. She wobbles as she walks towards me, and I tug away from her. "You need to be careful about what you say to Elaine. How you act with her. She is still a child, and she doesn't need to be subjected to your relationship troubles. She doesn't need you to influence her idea of love."

If there's a way that Carolyn says my name, then there's also a way she says Elaine's. She's 'Randall's-daughter.' Never hers.

"I'm going now." I take the keys. The door slams behind me.

Goddamn it.

☆ ☽ ☆

The apartment complex where Tyler—whose last name I can't remember—lives at the outer edge of town. Power lines hover above a flat roof, casting shadows onto the asphalt that swing like a pendulum.

My fingers rap against the steering wheel, waiting for Elaine to text me back. The engine of Randall's car chugs, and for a few seconds, I'm convinced it's about to explode.

I shut my eyes and breathe out through my nose. Barging in is exactly what Carolyn would do, I remind myself for the tenth time. It's what she wants you to do.

Before I can reverse out of the parking lot, two figures appear in the distance. I pause at the sight of Elaine, a pair of rollerblades attached to her feet. She nearly topples over multiple times, but the boy next to her keeps them both upright. Neither of them is skilled at it, and they both roll adjacent to the curb. The smile on her face is genuine—and I hate that I have to be the one to crush it.

When Elaine spots the car, she drops Tyler's hand and swerves in my direction. Her hands hit the door, and I lower the driver's side window to look at her. "What are you doing here, you stalker?" she says. Her eyes are wide with shock.

"I didn't mean to scare you. I was just checking you were okay," I say.

Tyler approaches beside her, lowering his headphones. When he says hello, his voice is delicate, so quiet that I almost don't hear it.

I stick my hand against the side. I continue, "Sorry to interrupt. It looks like you were having fun. Tyler, right?"

He nods. "You can join us if you want. My brother has a pair of rollerblades that might fit you."

Elaine forces a chuckle and kicks him. I can feel her staring, unable to ask me why I'm here. So we pretend we're actors, and I reply: "I'm fine. Actually, we should probably get home soon. Right?"

"Yeah." Elaine moves to take her rollerblades off. She gives them back to Tyler dejectedly, her head tipped to inspect the gravel. "I have to get my shoes, and I left my biology book upstairs. Can you wait?"

I nod. She returns a few moments later with her bags in her hands, and Tyler's brother exits the building. I almost don't recognize him, as he's wearing a leather jacket zipped to the neck, and carrying a skateboard under his arm. But then he slides his sunglasses away from his eyes, and I realize it's Jay.

A beat of uncomfortable silence passes between us. Elaine waves as she hops into the car. I lean over to smile. "What?" Elaine says.

"Nothing," I say to her. Then, louder: "See you at Astronomy Club, Jay!"

He pushes up his sunglasses, flipping me off in the process. I can't bring myself to do anything but laugh, even though Elaine is rolling her eyes.

"I didn't know you knew each other," she says, mostly to herself than to me.

"I honestly didn't realize until it was too late."

"Jay is part of the Astronomy Club?" Elaine asks. "He doesn't seem like the type."

I take the nearest turnoff and start driving in circles around the block, which only takes three minutes and forty-eight seconds for each loop. Elaine stares out the glass. "What does that mean?"

I catch her shrug. I continue, "If he isn't the type, then neither am I."

"I know that. I was just saying that... you know, that some people are clearly 'Astronomy Club' people. You can tell, just like you can tell I'm not very good at rollerblading. And you—you're not in the category."

The horizon darkens as I turn around the corner. It looks like I'm driving into a void. Or rather, that the void has made its home inside of me, and my perception of the surroundings has tarnished. "What if I am? Like, if I said I wanted to be an Astronomy Club person, would that be allowed?"

"I'd say that if you want to do that, it's okay. But nobody can force you, Evan." When she says my name, it sounds like two words hidden in one: 'My-Brother.'

I nod, and softly reply, "Exactly."

Elaine's gaze flips to the radio. The faintest buzzing of static can be heard, and when I drive around the corner, it connects back to the station I was listening to before. She doesn't seem to notice, even though it's Breathing Underwater by Metric, a song she always sings along to. "What does mom want?"

"Oh." I exhale. "Nothing. She's just drunk."

When it seems like Elaine's had enough of driving in circles like an airplane in a holding pattern, we creep into the apartment, as silent as ever. Carolyn is passed out on a couch, her limbs flopping onto the floor. The TV is turned onto a channel playing commercials, and the remote lies a distance away from her.

I lower the keys onto the table without making a sound, without perturbing her. Elaine pours herself some cereal. I try to intervene, but she pushes my hand away. At the table, we eat in silence.

She gives me an invisible smile; the kind where her eyes light up, but her mouth doesn't budge. I must have taught her how to do that. How to close herself off.

And I sink my head down to examine the table. Maybe Carolyn has a point. Maybe it's better this way; when I leave in two-hundred and sixty days, I have to go alone. As much as I want to, I can't take Elaine with me. There is no other option.

☆ ☽ ☆

I travel through the weekend on a loop. It's the same repeating cycle I've been trapped in since the year started, so I wind up sleeping through two of my morning classes—math and English—to make time move faster.

It doesn't entirely work. I keep my head down as I navigate to my lunchtime spot with Claire on autopilot. My limbs move without asking permission, and before I know it, I'm sitting on the tabletop, with Claire looking like she'd rather be outside, breathing in the fresh air.

So I take her up on it. I turn up my playlist and blast it as Claire walks alongside me on the curb, while I stay beside her on the road. She grasps my hand like she's about to fall, and I pretend to push her over.

"Don't be stupid!" But she's grinning wider than I've seen in months. Her free hand extends outward as if she's riding across the breeze like a wave. The wind whips strands of her hair across her face, but it only accentuates her glowing expression.

"Did you know," I start, "that's my middle name? Evan stupid McKenna?"

She rolls her eyes, and then replies, "Why don't you have a middle name, anyway? Elaine has one."

"I've never really asked." We stroll past a row of houses painted in varying colours, mismatched like pastel Easter eggs. A few maple trees litter the properties, and the leaves scatter across the pavement, clumped near the edges of the street. "I know Randall chose it. I think it has a connection to his grandmother, Liana. At least, I'm pretty sure that's it."

Claire shrugs. "I'm sure your dad must have thought about it. Just like mine thought it would be funny to make mine Angel." She lets out a high-pitched giggle. "I mean, can you imagine? I would never let that happen."

She hops over to the sidewalk. Ravels her hand in mine, with her fingers brushing against my knuckles.

"It fits you, actually," I say.

Blushing, Claire replies, "Shut up!"

We reach the corner store. It's a run-down building next to the gas station; its dim neon sign flickers through foggy windows. A handwritten sign plastered to the front reads, 'Cash only. Only five patrons are allowed at a time.' Although that's a rule I don't think the town obeys.

A bell jingles as Claire enters, greeting the cashier with a warm smile. The store is owned by a family in town, and often run by Racheal Young, a freshman at Athabasca University where she studies online full-time. She is seemingly always knee-deep in coursework and barely glances away from her computer screen.

Claire grabs herself a chocolate bar and examines the coffee machine. "Rachael?" she calls.

"Cups are underneath the machine," Rachael replies without looking up, "in the cupboard to your right."

Reaching in the indicated direction, Claire retrieves a cup and fills it with tea. She pushes at her fingernails with a plastic stirrer while she waits. I approach the drink aisle, near the back. My hand lingers in midair, opening the fridge. I close my fingers around an energy drink. And Claire appears next to me in an instant, batting me away. "What are you doing?" she hisses.

My gut pinches, churning in circles. "I'm buying something to drink."

"Don't drink any of that crap," she says. "Not unless you want to disassociate for the next eight hours."

I grab the energy drink. "That sounds perfect, actually."

Claire frowns. She sips her tea and waits for me to pay. I grumble under my breath as I hand Rachael the money, and it disappears into the till. "What are you studying?" I ask.

"Oh, anthropology," Rachael answers. "It's very interesting, but, shit... it's a lot of work."

"It seems like it. It must be harder when all your courses are online. I'm considering that, but I don't know—"

Rachael's typing speeds up. "I get that. It's tough, but in the end, it'll be worth it."

She gives us a nod as we depart. Claire's nails dig into my skin, and she fluffs at her hair. Kicking a pebble, she sends it scattering down the street. Until she reaches it again, and the process continues. "So," she whispers, "why would you tell her about your future plans, but not me?"

I whirl towards her, popping the tab on my drink. The condensation on the can rolls down my fingers. "Are you serious?"

"Yes, Evan, I'm serious." Her words have a bite to them, and she drops her hands to put some space between us. Claire says my name like she has two different versions of it. Sometimes, it's,
'Evan-who-I-don't-understand.' And other times, it's a question, and it goes a bit like, 'Evan, can we just keep the status quo?'

Right now, it's the second option. I scoff, mostly because I don't know what to answer. It isn't as if I make a conscious effort to lie to Claire. It starts out as a white lie, and then it snowballs. "Jesus, I mean... I was making conversation. Isn't everyone considering multiple plans?"

"Sure, but I want to hear what yours are," Claire admits. "Because if you're planning on studying online, then we could still stay in the same city. That wouldn't be a huge deal, and I don't think I'd mind that. We would work, Evan."

"I don't know. I'm still working on it. I don't really want to spend hours examining options that I might not even take."

Claire sighs. We've retraced our steps, and the outline of the school gains definition with every step that I take. "I get it. I just... I like it when you confide in me. When we can share what we're thinking." She pauses, then gracefully changes the subject for my benefit. "Do you want me to drive you home?"

"Sure." I head inside the school, and Claire parts ways with me. Over my free period, Willow announces over the speakers that the school is playing a movie in the auditorium. I have an hour to kill and nothing to do—besides schoolwork, and I'm not doing that—so I decide to go.

The auditorium is on the second floor; the door is wide open when I filter inside. The lights are off, drenching the room in total blackness. A few students are laying on yoga mats placed against the floor, the rectangular glow of their phones acting as the only way to navigate.

Near the back of the space, I spot Peter and Jay. They're both on their phones, so when I move closer, two faces turn in my direction.

"Do you have space for one more?" I ask.

Peter moves aside to let me sit. "Sure, Éric." There's a slightly teasing smile on his face. And I let out the softest laugh. There's no hidden meaning when he says it; it's just my name. Like I am simply another member of the club, and for right now, that's as close to reinventing myself as I can get.