Henry flipped his phone open, then shut again. He was supposed to be studying. But he couldn't help but wish he was going to get a text back from Summer. He had messaged to ask about studying together, but she hadn't responded. It'd been four hours and twenty three minutes. Not that he was counting. He had seen her twice more after their test, in the lecture hall of the shared class. She had sat next to him the first time, seeing him as she came in. The second she came in with two other girls, all wearing some bright color of the same velour tracksuit. In fact, Henry didn't think he had seen her in anything other than the velvety fabric paired with some kind of sparkly wedge sandal that exposed her perfectly pedicured toes. She was put together, and Henry liked that. It was like seeing into a whole different world.

Flip open, snap shut. Flip open, snap shut. It was all he could do to keep himself from actually calling the number she had written on his arm two weeks before, which felt simultaneously like ten years and also ten minutes ago. He had memorized it, repeating it in his mind a thousand times over until it eventually washed off. He didn't understand why he was so obsessed with the idea of this girl. She was just a girl. But everything about her was so mesmerizing, like a magnet.

Henry curled up on his bed in the fetal position, feeling something he hadn't allowed himself to feel in a while. Vulnerable. He had tried to let these last few weeks, the beginning of the semester, be a new start for him. It was his third year at this stupid school, but better late than never. He glanced over at his nightstand to see the picture of his parents and him, taken when he was about eight years old. Right before they had passed away in a freak car accident.

.・。.・・.・・・。.

He could still remember the day clearly, still smell the rain, and still hear the glass shatter and his mother scream. They had been on their way to Thanksgiving with his father's uncle Bruno in New Orleans when the car slipped off of the road headfirst into a ditch. Henry was thankful that he didn't remember too much visually, as he had hit his head against the seat in front of him, but the impact had killed his parents rather graphically, between the glass, thorny brush, and trees. He had only narrowly missed getting killed himself. Sometimes he wished he had been killed. It was hard to think about how he had survived when his parents didn't.

He had woken up in the hospital, confused and scared. His uncle Bruno was sitting next to him, one of his large wrinkled hands on his own small, pale, and IV-poked hand, the other holding a book. Bruno's eyes looked sad, sadder than Henry had ever seen anyone's before. And he knew. Henry was a sensitive child, and he knew just from that look that his parents were gone. He had always had fears of his parents dying, and this almost felt like a relief, a validation of his fears, just for a moment. But immediately after the feeling, panic set in and his eyes welled with tears. Bruno gently stroked his hand, "shhh"-ing him with his gruff voice, tears forming in his own eyes. Henry was soon sobbing, and Bruno pressed the "call nurse" button on the side of the bed. A woman came in moments later, and while she retained her composure, it was obvious she was emotional as well. It was hard to keep himself calm when everyone around him seemed to be falling apart, and he wanted so badly to be wrong. It was like his world was falling apart. His parents were the most important people in his life. They were attentive, loving, and supportive. He was even going to have a baby sister soon, but he was never worried about losing his parents' attention or being forgotten when his sister was born. And now that was all gone. He would never get to cuddle his mother again, never play games with his father after school. They would never tuck him into bed again, turning on his nightlight and pulling the covers up so he was cozy. His birthday was in a couple months, but they wouldn't be there for that. Henry would grow up without his favorite people, and he would have to live with knowing they died and he didn't.

Ever since that day, Henry had been a ward of his Great-uncle Bruno, and he didn't know whether to be grateful or to wish he had died as well. Bruno was a dentist, ex-military doctor, and one of the toughest men Henry knew. He couldn't recall more emotion shown than on the day his parents died. Oh there were days he smiled, even laughed, but he was a quiet individual. He had served overseas in World War Two, and became very reserved ever since. He also didn't know anything about being a parent. An old man, much past any days one would reasonably expect a man to become a father, he was out of his element. He loved Henry deeply, as his own son, but never knew the right things to say or how to comfort him.

He sent Henry to his first boarding school the following school year. Then the summer was spent at camp. Then back to boarding school, and by the time Henry had reached high school, Bruno placed Henry into military school. Henry only spent Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter at home. Home. If one could call the giant old house right next to acres and acres of graveyards a home. It was dark, creaky, and scary, and sometimes Henry was glad he was rarely there. It still hurt though, being sent away.

Sometimes Henry imagined what it would be like if he could stay with Bruno in his house, scary as it was. Maybe if he was there more often it wouldn't be quite so creepy. Maybe it would be more full of life, and he would just be used to the way the stairs creaked or the walls seemed to talk. But the only use of pretending was to make him feel better in the moment. It never changed anything.

And now he was at Emerson. This stupid college. He didn't know why he was studying what he was or what he was going to do with his life. But Bruno was now in his nineties, and Henry knew he didn't have much time left. Although at this rate, he was convinced Bruno would outlive him. He had grown cantankerous in his old age, but nevertheless still loved Henry very deeply. He felt guilty that he didn't call the old man more, but it never felt like a good time. Bruno was still practicing as a dentist, and always seemed busy with something or the other. Henry was too shy to even try to get a time in his schedule, even though he knew Bruno would have made time for him. It just didn't feel right.
He didn't like to think about his parents or missing the life he could have had. He had enough. He was even a bit of a micro-celebrity online. Girls loved his alternative look, with a little bit of smudged eyeliner and moody demeanor. He should have known a girl like Summer wouldn't want to hang out with him again. He was so not her type. She looked like she went after jocks, or even the more artsy types. Not the broody playboys who would surely break her heart.

Am I a playboy? Henry asked himself as the thought crossed his mind. He was no virgin and it wasn't like he was incredibly romantic towards the girls he made advances to. They seemed to enjoy the nonchalant vibe he brought, and he played into it a bit. He didn't like getting attached. He wasn't used to relying on anyone after his parents died. It was hard to rely on Bruno, a man whom he almost never saw. And while he had a few friends in boarding school, he was from Louisiana while most of the other students were local to the school and surrounding areas, which was located in Pennsylvania. None of his boarding school friends went to Emerson. They all made Ivys, which Henry missed out on because of his grades. He could have gotten in, he had told himself, had he tried. But he didn't want to. He thought he could get out of college even. But Bruno wouldn't have any of it. So here he was, a pre-law major in Illinois and not living it up at Harvard or Yale. God, he hated himself sometimes.

Flip open. Flip shut. Nothing. He closed his eyes and groaned, wondering again why he even cared. Until the screen lit up with a harsh BZZZZZZ.