Crack. The sharp hiss of the can echoed in the stillness, fizz bubbling up like fleeting moments of excitement in my life. My fourth Dr. Pepper of the night, and I swear it’ll be the last. At least, that's what I tell myself. I lean back and take a sip from my fifth one, savoring the familiar sweetness. It’s one of the few things that makes me feel alive.

I pick up my phone, scrolling for anything new, but the screen is as empty as I’ve been felt. Just a message from Mom: You should get out of that room.  What do you want for dinner? Her concern feels distant, like trying to hold water in cupped hands.

Ever since the move to the great big state of Texas, I haven’t been the same. High schools are to be this big thing, a fresh start, but it’s just dulled. Everything’s dull, like a light bulb that’s lost its spark. Maybe it’s not the world, though. Maybe it’s me. A dim bulb in a world too bright to notice.

I sigh, fingers hovering over Mom's text. “I’m fine,” I type back, the words feeling as flat as the soda I refuse to finish.

I don’t know what’s wrong with me, or why my life feels so utterly dull, but I push the feelings to the side. I tell myself over and over, rocking back and forth in my chair, I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m fine. Tomorrow will be my first official day at my new school, and I keep telling myself that maybe things will be different.

Yesterday, I went to the school and went through all the pleasantries—the tour, the speeches about how great everything is here. Blah, blah, blah. It’s all the same. Another semester. Another year. Another chance. But deep down, I know not much will change.

I lean back, taking another sip of my now-room-temperature Dr. Pepper. It doesn’t taste as good anymore. It just reminds me of a time when things felt simpler. Back to middle school, when I was happier, on top of the world. Nothing could bring me down. I had so many dreams, so many plans. Now, I’m left wondering where they ran off too.

Freshman year came, and everything began falling apart. Maybe it was the workload, the pressure, the expectations. Maybe that stress ruined me a bit. But that shouldn’t make me feel like this. I still had friends, at least. Now, as I enter my sophomore year, I feel nothing. And I have even less than before.

The world used to feel bright, filled with possibility. Now, it’s a dull blur—just another day I’m trying to get through. But is there a way back? Or am I just waiting for something that’ll never come?

Living in Texas hasn’t been all bad. It’s a lot warmer than the cold, sharp air of Minnesota. Plus, everything feels closer now. Convenience stores everywhere. And the best part? I have an entire basement to myself. It’s almost like my own penthouse, complete with a kitchen area. If I wanted to, I could shut myself in down here and be fine.

The space is broken up into a main room and a side room where I sleep. I don’t have enough furniture to fill it all, but it’s nice to have the extra room.

BUZZ. The sound snaps me out of the thoughts I was drowning in, pulling me back to the present. It’s my mom, calling to say dinner’s ready. I sigh and stand up, making my way toward the stairs. Fourteen steps to the main floor. Each one feels like wading through wet cement, heavy and slow, as if my thoughts are trying to drag me back down.

As I reach the top and swing the door open, a loud thud echoes, followed by a startled yelp. The first thing I see is my sister getting smacked by the door. A wide, cheek-to-cheek grin spreads across my face. Something like this shouldn’t make me as happy as it does.

“Good evening!” I greet her, holding up my hand for a high five, the grin still plastered across my face. She glares at me, clearly annoyed, and ignores my hand entirely. Instead, she barely grunts out a “good evening” before weaseling her way out of sight.

Finally, I make it to the kitchen, where I see my mom adding the finishing touches to what looks like beef stew. The thick, savory aroma fills the entire space, wrapping around me and making my stomach growl. She closes the lid with a satisfied nod, then turns and notices me.

“Hey, Omari. How are you doing?”

“I’m doing fine,” I reply, even though I know I’m lying. I keep convincing myself I’m fine. Everything’s okay.

She must hear the emptiness in my voice. “Look, honey, I know the move was sudden, but it’ll be for the best. I promise. Your dad’s new job, this new house—we can finally afford some nice things now. I promise, it’ll all work out.”

Maybe it’s the best for you, I think, but how do you know what’s best for me?

“Yeah, I know. I’m not worried,” I say out loud, forcing the words. But inside, the bitterness festers. Not[RBV1]  like tore me away from my entire life. Not like tore me away from all my friends. Not like I have to start all over. I’m all alone. Again.

Twenty or so minutes later, dinner was finally ready. After being called what felt like an eternity ago, the table was set, and my ears perked up at the sound of the garage door closing. That meant my dad, Leon Monroe, was home.

He always came back late, buried in his work since starting his new job. These days, he’s been nothing but busy, sometimes going days without us seeing him. So, hearing the garage door and knowing he’s still alive feels like a small relief, even if he’ll probably disappear into his office soon after dinner.

I watch as he hangs up his suit jacket and throw his keys out. I start to make me a plate and then he says to me “Omari, son it’s been a little while how are you hhow’s everything”. I paused and starred at my plate pondering on my response wondering if I even want to look him in the eye, things with him have been almost strained especially since the move, I haven’t known at all how to act around him

Before the move, when my dad first told us about the job opportunity, I argued with him. I said a lot of things I now regret—things I didn’t really mean. I let my emotions get the better of me, and instead of trying to adapt, I clung to what I was losing. I should’ve just moved on with life. Who cares if I lost everything I knew and had? Right?

I remember it almost as if it happened yesterday. The argument replays in my mind, each cruel thing I said echoing louder with every replay. How could you do this to me? Did you even consider how the rest of us would feel? Why couldn’t I just keep my mouth shut?

But it wasn’t my words that seemed to faze him. My outburst—my desperate cry for things to stay the same—barely registered. Yet I clung to every word he said in response, each one cutting deeper than I thought possible.

One sentence, though, stings more than anything I’ve ever heard my father say: “Why do you act like such a terrible son? Why can’t you just accept change?”

A terrible son.  A terrible person. Yeah, that’s me. No doubt about it. 

Since that day, something shifted between us. The easy conversations, the way he used to ask me about my day or crack a lame dad joke to make me laugh—it’s all slowed. Now, when he’s home, the silence between us feels heavier than ever. I don’t know if he even remembers saying those words, but I can’t forget them. They’ve built an invisible wall between us, and I’m too scared to tear it down. What if he doesn’t want me to?

Sometimes, I catch him looking at me like he wants to say something, like maybe he feels it too. But he never does. And I don’t, either. We’re stuck in this quiet, this unspoken distance that neither of us seems brave enough to cross.

Almost a whole minute of silence passed before I finally broke free from the shackles of my thoughts. Forcing the warmest smile I could manage; I looked at him. “Good. Everything’s been great, Dad,” I said, the lie rolling off my tongue too easily. “And how’s the new workload treating you?”

My dad had been an amazing father for most of my life. He always made time for me, supported me, and provided what he could. But now… now, it’s like I don’t even know him. His beard isn’t as neatly trimmed as it used to be, and his hair is slightly unkempt. He’s still him, but in some ways, he isn’t. Things are different now, different from how they were not so long ago. His voice even a little raspy.

“It’s a lot more than the last job, but this is such an amazing opportunity. I just need to make the best of it. I promise everything is going to work out.”

Whatever he says, I guess. “That’s great. Don’t work yourself too hard.”

After that uncomfortable exchange, he retreated to his room to shower and change. I finished up my dinner and quickly ran back down to my little penthouse.

I returned to my room and slumped onto my bed, letting out a long sigh as my thoughts spiraled. Every memory, every doubt, played on a loop in my head. Glancing at the clock, I saw it was 10:14 p.m. Tomorrow, I’m forced back into school, I thought. Maybe it won’t be so bad.

Grabbing my phone, I started scrolling through Instagram. Post after post from my old friends filled the screen—pictures of them all together, laughing, smiling, carrying on like nothing had changed. It was nice seeing them happy, I guess, but the longer I looked, the more it stung. They’re all still friends, still the same, even after I left.

It hit me then, harder than I wanted to admit—how little of a mark I must have left, how insignificant I really was. My absence didn’t change a thing for them, and somehow, that hurt more than if they’d been miserable without me.

I check my phone again—11:01 p.m. Maybe I should just sleep now... But I don’t. I blink, and the time jumps to 12:42 a.m. Time keeps slipping by. I turn over, staring at the ceiling, willing myself to sleep, but it never happens. 2:13 a.m. I blink again, and it’s 4:24 a.m. How did it get so late? Did I even sleep?

Finally, I drift off, but it doesn’t feel like it lasts long.