"Good night," he says sweetly.

I lean forward through doorway and steal one more kiss. Then begrudgingly, I let him go, quietly shutting the door.

Arnold walked me the rest of the way home. He insisted, saying he'd feel better knowing I was home safe. I didn't protest much because I wanted another opportunity to kiss him. And things are good, oh are they good!

It's hard to describe exactly how I feel, light, I suppose? Today has lifted my greatest burden off my shoulders. I now feel weightless, rising up with euphoria. My body is calm but my mind is racing.

He's not mad at me. He missed me. He still loves me.

Words are bubbling up inside of me and I need to get them out. I grab Arnold's journal out of the bag and look around wildly for something to write with. Criminy, no pen, in sight. So I opt for the second best option. I pull out my phone, flip through the apps and open up Notes. I've recently grown fond of writing digitally versus my usual pen and paper. I guess after my letter fiasco with Park, Peabod and Iggy, I needed a more secure way to express my borderline psychotic thoughts.

I begin:

Your sweet taste, my saving grace

Oh Arnold, my love, what sense you have bestowed upon me with a single kiss

What sanity! Clarity!

Resurrection from rejection for I

To be adored by your most sacred eye

I turn off the Cloud setting and save it directly to the phone. I set my phone on the night stand and collapse onto my bed. Sleep is calling. I almost surrender, but fate has a much more cruel plan for me. My minds drifts to an uncomfortable thought: I lied to him. I try to shake the thought away. No, I didn't lie, I just glazed over some finer details of my summer. Or, well, the entire summer and how I fell apart without him, big deal. He doesn't need to see that side of me. We're back together because I was able to play it cool instead of overwhelm him like I usually do. If Miriam and Bob have taught me anything, it's that some things are best swept under the rug.

This is for the best, I tell myself forcefully.

Still, this nagging feeling is eating away at me. My eyes fly open, unable to sleep now. I reach for my phone. Something pushes me to look through my old writings, only to find none. That's curious, I had at least twenty entries. They must be- I sit straight up, eyes a blaze, heart pounding wildly. THEY ARE ALL ON MY OLD PHONE.

I must get that phone back before Arnold sees them.

…

My world is a gray mass. I don't know where I am or why I'm here, but I doubt that even matters. All I know is that I can feel and what I need is just beyond the haze. This need pulls me forward with hands outstretched. I mean, I sense I still have hands, arms, and a body, even though I cannot even see anything. An annoying hum plays in the background, so I know at least my ears still work.

I feel as if I'm getting closer with each moment and yet nothing happens. It's as if I'm stuck in a continuous loop. Suddenly a loud noise erupts. Beams of light spill over me, but I still don't know where I am. Panic takes over my being. I can't move. I try to scream yet not sounds comes out.

My hand instinctively slams down on something and eyes fly open. It is 6:30. School starts in one hour.

I throw my comforter over my head, groaning. I've already overslept, but feel no need to get moving. Rather, I take the time to rehash my dream before it escapes me. I grab a notebook off my nightstand and pull it under the cover with me. I begin writing: Gray. Not light, not dark, but in between. Stuck in limbo. Stuck on something. Need something.. Material? Or abstract? Enlightenment? Confused. Gray.

I stop writing and ponder this for a moment. A car horn blares outside, momentary disrupting me. Jackass. Anyway, sometimes my dreams are pointless. Just last week I dreamt I was on a mission to Candy Mountain to find my horse Charlie. All that was because of some stupid YouTube video. This dream was different though. It wasn't a great adventure or crazy drama. I couldn't even see anything. This dream was all about feeling. It had to hold some value. I

The car outside blares again. It must be in front of my house. Then my phone rings, and I put two and two together.

I jump out of bed and run to my window. I wrench it open to see Gerald's dodge charger.

"One minute!" I scream and slam my window shut.

I race over towards my closet. I pull on yesterday's jeans and an old baseball tee, both crumpled on the ground. I slip on my converse and bolt out the door, only to come running back. I snatch my phone and notebook, throwing them in a black backpack.

I stumble downstairs and take a pit stop in the kitchen. The fridge is sadly barren except for orange juice, uncooked eggs and some weird Olga food. Fuck it; I grab the entire bottle of juice. Seconds later I'm dashing out the front door and hopping into the back seat.

"Well go!" I pant, surprised that we're still idling.

"Relax, Pataki," Gerald says smoothly, now shifting the car into gear. "We gave you an extra ten on purpose."

I glance at the clock, 6:55. Oh. I take a long swig of juice to avoid talking and regain my composure. I wipe my mouth with my free hand.

"Well aren't you gonna say hello?" I demand, kicking Arnold's seat hard.

He turns around, gives me a wide grin and says, "Good Morning."

Oh my heart! Arnold may be serious, but Gerald cackles with laughter.

"Shut up and drive," I hiss and kick at Gerald's seat this time.

"Hey, don't kick the seats," Gerald says, annoyed.

"Oh?" I sneer, kicking again harder.

Then, to my horror, I catch my reflection in the rear view mirror. Dark circles accentuate my already wide and wild eyes. Paired with my bed head, I look deranged. I finger comb my hair in an attempt to tame it. Arnold on the other hand looks well rested. He's his typical sunny self versus my gray skies. Gray.

My eyes dart to his hands, which are holding my old phone. My old phone filled with pages of embarrassing, psychotic confessions that NO ONE ever needs to read. I gulp nervously. Well I'd say this unveils the meaning of my dream.

"Alright, let's go," Gerald declares.

He slams on the accelerator, knocking me back against my seat. I roll over on my side, groaning. Then I notice the music. How did I miss this before? It's some weird RnB mix. Call me ignorant, but it all sounds like mood music to me.

"Oh God," I say. "Did I interrupt something?"

No response.

"This music, I mean seriously. What the fuck?"

"Hey, don't hate on The Weeknd," Gerald retorts.

"Uhh-"

"Not only is this album critically acclaimed, certified platinum in countless countries, producing two number one hits, but he's also widely respected in underground music scene."

"Yeah, great," I say dismissively. "Arnold can you believe this crock?"

No response.

"I mean can you believe this is your best friend?"

He's staring dreamily out the window.

"Hey Arnold!"

He jumps and turns my way.

"Huh? Yeah?"

"Criminy, I'm surrounded!" I groan, covering my eyes with my hand.

We haven't even picked up Phoebe, and I can already tell it's going to be a long day.