My parents enjoyed having all aspects of our house "clean", so to speak, meaning that I couldn't exactly go wild with decorations. I wasn't one to complain, however; sure, there were picture frames and cute lights I would come across in stores that would catch my eye, but only for a moment. Even with the "no decor" rule, I felt no strong desire to take the leap. Well, except for this one incident when I took some maps out of a Highlights magazine and naively believed that white glue would be the perfect way to display them. The removal and subsequent peeling of the wall paint looked about as white as my face when my mom gave me a staredown like I'd never seen, and the resulting one-week punishment drove away any impulses I may have had from then on.

In contrast, growing up and visiting the Setiawans totally went against the grain. All of the family contributes to the home decor in some way, namely Jhene (the spoiled princess she is), and in all honesty, it is a culturally confused, jumbled mess. That said, nothing feels out of place ... it all works in spite of the clashes, especially against their cream-peach backdrop, and it feels ... homey. Still, nothing seemed to stir anything in me to fathom the thought ... that was, until a visit to Mallory's room in the 8th grade.

The best way to describe Mallory's living quarters is a Tiger Beat magazine coming to life and vomiting all over it. Music posters adorn every inch, and sheepishly among them many drawings I've done for her over the years. Dressers are dolled up in stickers, shelves are stocked up with books and video games aplenty, and all of it is encompassed in periwinkle walls. And not to imply anything negative -- to a fault, I find it a charming point -- but Mallory is one of the most unkempt human beings I've ever met. All of this I had grown accustomed to, more so when I finally caved onto the UnDoSieTech train, but on this particular day as we hopped off the bus, I found myself ambushed by a blindfold.

Well, who was I to refute Mallory's trust? Though she lived around the corner, that four-minute walk seemed to last hours ... it takes a lot to walk completely blind hand-in-hand with your best friend, you know? When we arrived, she led me carefully up the stairs (although I ended up missing one anyway and gave my knee a sick carpet burn), and we stopped. She untied my blindfold, giddy to the max but not saying a word, and when we walked into her room, my eyes widened to a game-changer I wouldn't have dreamt of:

Glow-in-the-dark stars.

"Aren't they so flipping cool?! I've grown up past the night light stage and have become anew," Mallory gleamed. I had night lights in my room until I was 10, as I'm sure a lot of us went up to, but Mallory took her sweet time with them. With this new alternative, Mallory practically found herself a new lease on life, and me? I finally felt that desire.

It took a lot of convincing on my mom's end, but by that time, I didn't have both parents to go against me. Plus, I wasn't someone who asked for much, and my mom and I agreed that this could be a small test. Now, three years later, though not as expansive as Mallory's, movie posters, maps (with thumbtacks this time), and even a calendar accompany me in my space -- and yes, along with the glow-in-the-dark stars, which I've been grateful to have over the years with restless nights rising over time. I need an audience to spill my guts to when it's too late to call Mal, and it is nice that my eyes have somewhere to look around rather than sting in pitch-black darkness.

All that said, I really could've done without them tonight.

**********

As the sun shone on my eyes this morning, all I could think was: wow. This burns like Hell. I couldn't fall asleep, not a wink. All I managed to do was stare at my ceiling all night, the stars mockingly weeping at me at my running thoughts. Havana's scathing words clawed at my skin and my brain all night: 

I admit, I hold myself to a high standard, but was it such a detriment? I mean, "too prideful" ... what does that mean? Shouldn't being proud be for my own good, anyway? I bite my lip and wince in pain, and when I taste the metallic residue of blood, I realize I must've been gnawing at it all night. What a bother. I slowly rise from my bed stumbling on my steps, my body weak from not eating last night. Why I didn't eat again? 

Oh. Right. 

I make my way downstairs and look in the fridge for something quick since I'm running behind as it is. The silly cow in the skirt on our milk jug stares me down sassily, almost like she knows something I don't. I reach for the Frosted Flakes without looking, tipping the box, and thunking myself in the head. The crash of flakes danced all over the floor, and all the meanwhile I'm still sleepily staring at the cow. I rub my itchy eyes, then look back, all for her to turn her bigger-than-her-body head at me, glaring. 

"She's right, you know -- you're too prideful for your own good," the cow speaks to me. Moos? "You won't even admit you can't have my milk anymore, which I'm flattered you can't resist me but I've heard some not-so-nice things going on in your stoma -- "

I slam my fridge before I let her get a chance to finish. How on Earth did the milk jug cow know I had developed a lactose intolerance?! Either I lost my mind or she really did know things I didn't ... like, I suppose, my proud nature. Suddenly, I've lost my appetite. However, I open the fridge one more time, eyes closed, and fumble around until my hand lands on a familiar top. I pull the Tupperware out quickly and slam the fridge once more.

****************

Mallory slurps down the gazpacho I brought her, savoring every lukewarm sip.

"One of these days, you need to invite me over to your place for dinner," she looks up at me, a dribble of orange sliding down her lip. I fight the urge to wipe it, my already sore lip taking another brutal nipping. "How long has it been now? Like, five years?"

"Sounds right," I mutter. It's not like I haven't wanted to invite Mal over for dinner, but my mom is tired enough as it is working the hours she does, and honestly, I haven't been sure how to approach the idea with my dad being out of the house now. I know she wouldn't mind it, but I would find it unnerving to know he wouldn't be there like he used to, plating up seconds and thirds for us both when we gave him the world's largest doe-like puppy eyes. Maybe, by some miracle, he'll be back to do it all over again. Gosh ... has it already been five years ...?

"Zo? Oh my god, what's wrong?" Mallory pouts at me, reaching out her hand to my face. My heart starts marathoning as she wipes away a tear from my cheek. Odd, I wasn't even aware I was crying. The things sleep deprivation does ... and it dawns on me to stretch my arms and fake the best yawn I could, which turned into a real one. Smart alibi, Zo.

"Uh, nothing! Just really tired," I explained hastily. 

"Math, again?" Mal cocks her head, worriedly.

"N-not exactly," I stammer. At least for once, it had nothing to do with any actual homework. The only downside is that I don't remember doing any at all, so that'll bode well for me later. Mallory stares at me with a "Well? I'm waiting!" look, and I rack my brain on how to ask this question whilst diverting my eyes away from her luring gaze. God, is it bad I find her even more gorgeous when she's preparing to do me in?

"Mal," I start. "Do you think I'm too ..." My words trail. Guess I'm more prideful than I thought because I can't swallow it to save my life. 

"Too..?" Mallory repeats.

"Do you think I'm too proud?" I let out finally. I hold my breath, awaiting her response attentita --

"Yeah." Mallory flatly says. Well, that didn't take long at all, did it?

"Wait, seriously?" I ask, bewildered at how easy it was for her to answer me.

"Well, yeah?" Mallory says. "I mean there's nothing wrong with it, you know?"

"B-but like, in what way exactly?" I butt in. 

"Well, for one, you're top of our class for a reason -- nobody without pride cares about school that much," Mallory starts. Okay, a bit of a poindexter, fine. "Oh, and the way you've been able to show off your art more over time, which is so much fun." Alrighty, make me blush why don't you? "Oh, and you still won't admit you can't have milk anymore 00"

"Okay!" I stop her, shivering at the illusion from this morning. "Last thing aside, w-what makes any of this a bad thing?"

"Hmn." Mallory smacks her teeth, taking another tantalizing sip of the gazpacho. My skin crawls something fierce with anxiety. Mal isn't one to be lost for words, even when she's lost in thought. I fear by the end of the day I'll have no more bottom lip to gnaw away at.

"What?!" I whine.

"You know," Mal finally speaks. "You aren't the best at asking for help." 

I squirm. 

"Now you know, there are a lot of things you do and do well that don't need any help!" Mal sprinkles in a lighter note. "Eh, but you know, I can't say it hasn't been a relief to see you let go and do the tutoring with Havana -- it's a small step, in a way!" Mal's smile could replenish an entire botanical garden, but I feel sick to my stomach right now. She must see it on my face because her smile turns sour.

"Wait ... you didn't quit again, did you?" she asks, disappointment already welling in her eyes. 

"No!" I say, truthfully. I didn't quit.

"Oh! Phew!" Mallory breathes, hand to her chest. "That's good, really good! I'm so proud of you, you know?"

"Ah ... it's not a big deal," I refute.

"No, but it is! And it's perfect before our 6-week tests," Mallory bounces cheerily. I think all the color in my body disappears in an instant.

"What did you say?"

"Our 6-week tests are coming up ... next week?" Mal repeats. Oh my god. I check my calendar in my school agenda, and just as it was, there are huge glittery marks around next week's boxes filled with reminders:

How the hell could I forget our tests were approaching?! All that time I stayed up last night and not once did the thought begin to cross my mind?! My stomach bubbles angrily and panicked, so I grab my bag and start rushing inside. I think Mal is calling for me but I can't hear a damn thing anymore. Here I've been worried about some nonexistent power game over a crush and I've let myself fall behind in the thing I take pride in most.

I kick one of the bathroom stalls open and fall to my knees. I'm not one to vomit often, but when I do, it's violent. I wish I had the wherewithal to close the door behind me at least because I hear a few girls gagging behind me in horror, but I continue to retch up the nothingness. Next thing I know, I'm greeted by backsplash as my glasses fall into the toilet. Tears plip the seat, and then I finally do the sensible thing and slump against the door so my humiliation can remain private.

I'm. Screwed.