I was sitting in my bedroom doing homework when my mother called from the other room.

“Zoey!” Her voice rung through the halls, and I looked up from my workbook. “Your friends are here!”

I smiled and jumped up from my chair, ran from my bedroom and down the hall at top speed. I swung the door open and smiled again, so hard it hurt.

“Happy Birthday!” My friends cheered in unison, before they pulled my into a group hug.

The air outside was crisp and cold, a thin sheet of ice on the singular step that led out from the door and the doormat, which crunched uncomfortably under my bare feet.

“Zo,” my mother said as she stepped outside. “Your father and I are headed off to work now, but we’ll be back this afternoon to celebrate your birthday.”

“Thanks mum. Love you.”

“Love you too, darling. Have a good day with your friends.”

“I will,” I smiled, before turning back towards my three friends. “Let’s go inside,” I said, desperate to get away from the cold winter breeze and leading my friends down the hall and to the lounge.

It was large space yet closed off from the rest of the house. There were three squashy, pastel yellow sofas, one in front of the television and two more perpendicular from it on either side.

There was a rug over the wooden floorboards that was large enough to fill the entire space between the sofas, and a wooden coffee table in the middle.

Behind each of the perpendicular windows where windows with wooden supports, matching the floorboards and panels along the roof of the room. Below the television at the front of the room was a fireplace, that flickered gently from being lit throughout the morning.

Overall, it was very homely and comforting, and I knew my friends enjoyed being here because of how welcoming it all was. I was proud that my house seemed to be their safe space, but sad that their houses didn’t seem to provide them the same luxury.

Jack’s house was strictly off limits, and he wasn’t actually allowed out with his friends. However, his father left for trips with his girlfriend for weeks at a time, so he would often have the opportunity to hang out.

Chloe and Tommy’s parents where nice, however they were the insecure type of parents who didn’t particularly enjoy having others over in their space. In fact, they didn’t particularly enjoy others, period.

I had the suspicion Chloe’s mother had been bullied at school the way she was, as she had a fragile ego and often withdrew from conversations after a good laugh or rant, and her father was their only income and had to work a lot.

Tommy’s mother was a nice woman; however she never had time for people to come over. After Tommy’s father died – something I didn’t learn about until sixth grade and was my suspected reason as to why Tommy particularly sensitive – she had to raise both Tommy and his then baby brother – a young boy named Daniel who was now nine years old – and worked two jobs.

I admired her dedication to her boys and work.

And so due to our varying situations, my house was always the preference. I enjoyed knowing that I could provide them with some place of stability.

“Where can we put your presents?” Chloe asked.

“You guys didn’t have to get me anything,” I blushed. I meant it; with Jackson’s abusive father, Tommy’s single mother, and Chloe’s fear of being judged, I didn’t expect anyone to go to the shops and buy me anything. I would have been happy with a sloppy, hand-made card, a hug, and a badly sung, barely recognisable version of happy birthday.

“We did,” Jackson said, his voice carrying its usual tremble. “You’re supportive of all of us and our problems.”

“You don’t have any problems,” I said dryly.

This time, Tommy spoke. “We do. You’re the only normal one out of all of us.”

For some reason, they always called me the normal one or referred to me as the human of the friend group. It always made me angry, because I never thought that there was anything wrong with my friends.

I’d been taught from a young age that everyone has their own struggles, but it doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong. Although I’d told my friend this, they always disregarded it and continued to make self-deprecating jokes. They’d laugh about it and brush it off, before promptly changing the subject.

Sometimes I wished I could just pull all of the negativity out of their brains and make them see themselves the way I see them, but unfortunately, technology is not quite that advanced yet.

“Your struggles don’t make my any less normal than me.” I spoke.

They looked at me, and I carefully observed their reactions as they took in the fire that I knew was clear in my eyes. One thing about me was that I could easily control my facial expressions and behaviour, to keep calm when I needed to and be comforting when my friends needed it, but my mum had always told me that my eyes showed everything. It pissed me off, but I also knew it was good for others to understand how I was feeling.

Chloe did her usual, taking a step back and looking at the floor, as if she was afraid she’d done something to upset me. As if she thought I would say something mean to her and hurt her feelings.

Tommy looked on the verge of tears and unconsciously took Chloe’s hand, which he squeezed and took a deep breath.

Jackson cowered away, his lips pressed into a thin line and eyes wide as if he thought I was going to do something to him for my frustrations.

If anything, they weren’t what I was frustrated at. From my hours extensive research on each of their personal situations, I knew it wasn’t their fault. I knew to not blame them for thinking the way they did. The monsters that took over their brains where the ones to blame, and the people who’d placed them there.

“What movie do you guys want to watch today?” I said as an attempt to change the subject and flopped down on the sofa dramatically as if to show that I wasn’t upset.

It could have been laughable how obvious their relief was, almost like a held breath had been released. In the space of a split-second, the built-up tension was released.

Sometimes it hurt knowing my friends couldn’t tell apart my genuine frustration at them, and my frustration at the situation, apart. In my opinion, they were two very different things.

I’m not annoyed with them. I’m annoyed with the situation that people had put my best friends in. You know, like Jack’s father and Chloe’s bullies. I’m angry at the universe for placing such horrible thoughts on the most amazing people in existence. Such as taking away Tommy’s father when he was too young to understand why his father stopped coming home.

I’d told my friend this before, and it was a mistake, and I’d received the cold shoulder. A thick tension had filled the group for several days before it slowly melted into our usual easy banter and laughter.

It had hurt. It was the first proper argument our group had, and it felt like they were all against me. However, despite my hurt, I’d still found it in me not to blame them. It wasn’t their fault. It’s never their fault. It’s the monsters.

“It’s your birthday, Zoey,” Chloe said, her black ringlets bobbing as she sat on the sofa beside me.

“And I’m saying you guys can decide.”

“No way, Zo, we’re not deciding for you,” Jackson chuckled. It was a nice sound. He wasn’t one to laugh often so when he did I smiled and cherished it.

“Okay fine… how about… Bridget Jones’s Diary?”

“We watched that the last time,” Tommy whined.

“Too bad. As Chloe and Jack said, it’s my birthday and my decision,” I said teasingly. Tommy shot them both a look of annoyance.

With that, Tommy and Jack sat down on the couch to my left, opened Paramount+, and clicked on Bridget Jones’s Diary.

I looked around at my friend group, smiling slightly. Chloe was curled up beside me, her head resting gently on my shoulder and her hair tickling my ear slightly. I wrapped an arm around her shoulder knowing she was looking for comfort, and she sighed contentedly.

Looking across at Tommy and Jackson, I noted how they where both on opposite sides of the sofa, yet still very much taking up the whole thing as they were stretched out.

Tommy was laying on his stomach with his head in his hands, elbows resting on the arm of the sofa closest to the television, and Jackson was laying on his back with a pillow behind his head, arms wrapped around his stomach as if trying to protect himself from the world.

It was very nice. We sat in comfortable silence for most of the time, apart from the occasional commentary from Tommy – he really was very chatty when you got to know him – or a giggle of amusement from someone in the group.

After about forty-five minutes, I sat up, and the group looked at me.

“I’m going to go make us some food,” I declared. Tommy and Jack simply nodded and turned back to the television, but Chloe drew her knees to her chest and tucked her chin in on them. I felt my lips turn into an automatic frown, but I knew not to stare because it would only make her feel self-conscious and self-doubt would begin plaguing her thoughts.

I stepped quietly from the middle of the lounge and out the door, turning left down the hall before entering into the kitchen.

It wasn’t huge, or modern. It was small and homely, with wooden cabinets and granite countertops covering each wall in the small space, with a small island in the middle. The kitchen was closed off from the rest of the house, but it was nice. Sometimes I enjoyed just escaping the world, shutting the door of the kitchen, and baking.

Today however, there was no time for baking. I opened one of the cupboard doors to take out some bowls, then opened the pantry in search of snacks.

I grabbed a bag of popcorn and placed it in the microwave for three minutes, before turning to the bag of skittles and tipping them carefully into a small dish. Following that, I found crackers, dip, and a small variety of cheeses.

Once the popcorn had finished its explosion of fireworks in the microwave, I emptied the perfectly cooked kernels into the largest bowl.

Finally, I grabbed a bottle of juice from the fridge and four cups from a cupboard. Somehow, I managed to take everything to the lounge in one journey, balancing things on my arms, the cups tucked under my chin, and the dips and held tightly between each of my fingers.

Tommy and Jackson made noises of delight when I re-entered the living room, but Chloe seemed to squeeze herself into an even tighter ball. My stomach twisted with unease.

Whilst the others helped themselves to a cheese-on-crackers, skittles, and popcorn, Chloe stayed beside me with her eyes glued purposefully to the screen.

I leaned towards her, hoping not to catch the attention of the others. “Are you okay?” I whispered.

“I’m fine,” she said dryly, clearly not wanting to talk.

“Are you hungry?” I asked gently, easily brushing off her sharp words. I’d gotten used to being spoken to like that because – although it didn’t happen very often – my friends would often snap if they had a lot going on in their minds.

“No.” She said, turning her head away from me.

Chloe had never been one to eat much, but I hadn’t failed to notice how she’d seemed to be eating less and less. One thing about me was that I was very observant. It was something that seemed to happen when surrounded by people with difficult pasts. I could pick up on even the smallest of expression or tone changes, things that most people wouldn’t even bat an eye at.

When we were younger, Chloe would pick apart her sandwiches to eat them in small bites, and she would organise her carrots into a perfectly straight line from largest to smallest, before eating the smallest and making her way up.

I’d never questioned her strange eating habits, but lately I’d noticed how she seemed to forget to bring her lunch to school, and she would go silent the moment food was brought up in a conversation. If I where honest, I was actually quite frightened at what this could mean, so I made it my intention to research more when they all went home.

I wasn’t going to interrogate her about it now, and especially not in front of our other friends. Although I loved them and I knew they were supportive, it was not a conversation Chloe would want to have at all, let alone in front of two other prying eyes. Although, I was going to have to mention it at some point.

My stomach bubbled with nerves at just the thought.

“Would you like me to get you anything?” I pushed gently. From some of the things I’d read, I knew that I couldn’t make her feel pressured.

“No,” she said again, slightly louder so both Tommy and Jack turned their heads. “I said I’m not hungry.”

“Okay.” I turned towards the array of snacks and grabbed one of the two empty cups. I poured it halfway before handing it to Chloe. “Here’s some juice, though. So you don’t get dehydrated.”

She smiled and took it from me, placing her feet back down on the floor and holding the cup gingerly in her small hands.

I smiled back, before turning to the TV and trying to ignore the growing sense of unease in my stomach.

I’d been very purposeful in my choice of drink. Whilst I could have gone with Pepsi, Coke, or Iced Tea, I’d chosen the juice for its nutritional qualities.

If Chloe was a sensitive around food at home as she was at school, it would mean she wasn’t getting the nutrition her body needed to function properly. Although I hadn’t noticed a decline in her physical health, I knew that if she kept avoiding food the way she was, it would only be a matter of time.

For some reason, I felt slightly guilty at this fact. I felt like I was cheating food on her, even though I knew I was doing it out of love for my best friend. Still, I didn’t mention it. Chloe was drinking the juice, so that was that.