Page 13 of Toxic Wishes

“No, we are just friends.” Irritation floods my veins, making my body full of rage, but I bury it deep down. My sister is asking me questions about myself. I would take her snarky remarks over nothing any day.

“We meet up and make music. That’s pretty much it.”

“Is that what you kids are calling it these days?” A small smirk curls across her lips.

“Whatever,” I say with a shake of my head.

“So you’re still chasing that dream, are you?” She motions to my violin with her celery stick.

“Not all of us can rely on our looks to make it in life. So ya, I am.” I focus back on playing my violin when I hear Adalee put her plate down.

“Look, I’m not here to cut you down or lecture you. I just want you to be careful. Mom told me that the kid was in the hospital for overdosing on drugs. He’s only sixteen, so that’s serious. And you are in no condition to be around people incapable of helping you or bringing you down even further.”

I look up and stare at her. Blinking. She must be joking. She doesn’t think hanging out with Blake is worse than being around our cousins and all the boyfriends they bring around, does she?

“Really? I don’t see you lecturing your beloved boyfriend on how he talks to me.”

“He’s not my boyfriend.” She says, flipping her ponytail over her shoulder.

“So some guy you're not even serious with can talk to me any he wants, and you think that’s okay?”

“That’s even worse,” I tell her.

“Don’t be so sensitive. He talks shit to everyone. He’s even told me I had peach fuzz on my chin like a billy goat. So you think I ran home and cried? No, I shaved it.”

“Oh, you’re right, it’s me who’s overreacting. Let me bash my cheeks in so I can have that porn star look like he likes. No biggie, right?”

“I don’t have a porn star look. It’s more exotic mixed with French. It’s why I love my nose. I will admit I have a petite French nose.”

My sister wasn’t always this self-centered; we used to be quite close, but ever since she started hanging out with my cousins, all she cares about is image and what guys she can fuck up mentally. She loved making men eat their hearts out, even if she liked the guy. I ignore her self-idolization, take my violin, and head upstairs.

I hear Adalee shout something behind me, but I don’t even acknowledge it. I slam the door and turn my back to it, sliding down to the ground—the words that were said to me the other night ring in my ears.

Now that you’ve lost weight the camera would love you.

You have to play the part and look the part, too.

You would be perfect if I could bash each cheek with my fist.

A tear trickles down my cheek, and I shake my head. “You're tough,” I tell myself as I lift my bow and start playing a song that has soothed me since I mastered it. When You Believe, by Mariah Carey and Whitney Houston.

After orchestra class the next day, I snuck out to my usual spot to eat lunch. Even though I wasn’t hungry, I told myself I needed to eat. Brittany, the only other girl I relied on to eat lunch with, who I called my friend, had an appointment with her doctor. She had an eating disorder, too, but on the opposite spectrum. She loved to eat. So, her mom was taking her to a dietician to get her on a strict diet to lose weight. She even hired a personal trainer to help with it all. Even though I thought that was a little extreme for fifteen, her parents had good-paying jobs. Her mom was a nurse, and her dad was a lawyer. So they can afford stuff like that without breaking the bank. Even though Britany was on the chunkier side, I felt like we were the same people. We obsessed over food, saw ourselves as unattractive, relied on our personalities to make friends, not our looks, and we were invisible to the outside world.

I kick my lunch bag and curse to myself. I’m not sure why Blake was punishing me. I was only trying to look out for him, but it’s like he'd rather me hate him than care for him. I put my headphones in and let the sun rays hit my face as I closed my eyes and listened to Whitney Houston's song, Where Do Broken Hearts Go?

I started to sing along once the chorus hit.

So here I am. And can you please tell me? Where do broken hearts go? Can they find their way home? Back to the open arms.

I get a whiff of marijuana, and I immediately stop singing. Opening my eyes, I look to my left, and no Blake. I look to my right and no Blake. A strand of smoke comes from behind me, and my body immediately tenses with butterflies in my stomach.

“What made you stop?” He says as he rounds the corner and sits next to me. “I don’t like singing in front of assholes. This show isn’t for free, ya know.”

He chuckles as he takes another hit of his blunt.

“Why do you care anyway?” I say as I take my earbuds out, put them back in their case, and slip them into the pocket of my backpack.

“Are you not eating again?” he says as he stares at the brown bag tipped over in front of me.

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