Page 21 of Dealing With Drak

When I started college, the first thing I did was get a part-time job that actually paid money. Working on a farm for your family means you earn dinner and a warm house in the winter, not cash to actually profit financially. Hell, if I didn’t get a full-ride scholarship, there’s no way my dad would have let me leave to begin with. With a partial sorority scholarship, too, I was able to pay my dues with my salary without fuss.

So while I was studying Education in hopes of landing a teaching job in the future, I was delivering pizzas and finally had the ability to pay for things I wanted. I tried new foods, adopting a severe love of sushi and every kind of dumpling. I got my hair done professionally for the first time and even started to get manicures.

I felt like an adult for once, like a woman instead of some farm girl with no future prospects and a life mapped out for her. I got to choose what I did, what I wore, who I talked to. It was amazing and terrifying. And it was all for nothing.

Money means nothing, half an education means nothing, and all the progress I made adapting into who I wanted to be meant nothing. I’m right back where I grew up, in survivalist mode. Only now, I’m not hopeful like I used to be. I’m bitter and rotten. Mean too.

The harsh sting of tears hits my eyes, and I shake my head before water can start to pool there. I will not cry. Especially not in front of Drak.

Speaking of…

“Is this your room, An-nana?”

“It is,” I mutter, attempting to distract myself from the emotion trying to clog up my throat. I hate it so much, the way that being here affects me.

I maneuver around my bed, searching for any sort of hint from Caleb. If he were going to leave a message anywhere, it would be here. Dad never comes into my room, whether I’m home or not. God forbid the man sees a bra hanging about.

“Ooo,” Drak coos, moving to my dresser. “Are these stone blades?”

“They’re volcanic glass,” I answer, immediately knowing he’s looking at the obsidian. “It’s not natural to this area, but it’s been used a lot throughout history. My brothers and I found some in a nearby river.”

Someone probably forgot it there once upon a time, which is cool when you think about it. At the time, I didn’t care where it came from, just that I’d gotten it for free.

“Volcanic?” he asks, picking up an arrowhead to test its sharpness against his finger.

“Made by a mountain that explodes with really hot liquid rock,” I explain the best way I can. “There aren’t any close by here, but on the other side of the country there is.”

Countries are still something the Aprixians are digesting. Both their planet and city go by the same name. A lot of their planet is unused by their people, full of animals and plants that are allowed to roam free. We’ve described it to them like other little planets living on one globe, and apparently, they know of other beings on planets that live that way. They call them sanctuary planets, I think. They’re used for various types of aliens to reside when they have to flee their homes or something.

“Hu-nim mountains explode?” he asks, examining the other obsidian blades.

“Only some,” I emphasize. “Volcanoes.”

“Ahh,” he hums. “This word translates.”

Volcano does, but volcanic doesn’t? Their translators seriously need an update. I’ll tell the girls to find some dictionaries to bring with them when they go, maybe they can do something with them. Scan them, or I don’t know, learn the old-fashioned way.

“Yeah, well, volcanoes make the glassy rocks, and then humans can break them into tools and stuff. I used deer antlers—horns—to make those.”

His eyes practically sparkle. “You crafted these?”

I shrug. “Yeah, when I was younger. They’re kind of messy.”

Drak shakes his head. “I like this one,” he gushes, smiling at the biggest of the bunch. It’s probably the sharpest as well.

Shrugging again, I sit on my bed and tell him, “Keep it.”

Drak freezes. His eyes go wide, and swing over to me. “Truly? You wish to gift it to me?” He looks like I just told him he can have Earth if he wants it.

“Don’t make it weird,” I say quickly.

Holding the blade close, he practically clutches it to his chest. “I will cherish this gift, An-nana. It is an honor.”

“You’re making it weird,” I point out.

We’ve both made each other a knife now, does that mean… oh lord, am I friends with Drak? How did that happen?

I make a move to stand up, ready to get the hell out of this godforsaken room when a lump under my pillow catches my eye. Carefully, I lift up the soft cotton, discovering an unfamiliar journal underneath.

---