[right][sub][color=gray]TIMESTAMP: 7-7:30 AM
Location: Aunt Gina’s Aviary → Ms. Belmonte’s Classroom
Starring: [color=3665b8]Benjamin “Benji” Mayhew[/color]
Special Guest: [color=b83665]Aunt Gina[/color][/color][/sub][/right]
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[indent]Benji Mayhew had grown awfully fucking tired of birds. He hadn’t felt that strongly about them before this year, in fact, he might’ve even had a soft spot for them. That was before he and his mom moved into his Aunt Gina’s house, and his mornings were filled with the endless tweeting of her birds. Thirty parakeets, named for different musicians Aunt Gina claimed to know (in the “Biblical sense,” as she liked to say) back in the day. He could hear them in the kitchen, he could hear them in living room, but most importantly, he could hear them in his bedroom while he was trying to get some fucking sleep. Gina said she liked the way it made her feel like she was living outdoors, and she didn’t appreciate Benji pointing out that she lived in a very expensive home made of concrete, steel and glass. The only outdoorsy thing about it was the smell of bird shit.

As he lay in bed, staring at bare walls and a floor still covered in half-unpacked boxes, he wondered if he was destined to end up like Aunt Gina: living alone in a big, cold house with a menagerie of animals that would probably eat him when he died. At least Aunt Gina had money. He’d probably end up working at Sunshine Diner for the rest of his life, surviving on tips and an inevitable cigarette habit.

The thought process had become something of a reoccuring anxiety over the last few months, but it had grown more relentless as the homecoming game approached.  With barely twelve hours until kickoff, he felt sick, unable to escape the idea that he was going to fuck it all up. The Benji of last year wouldn’t have thought twice about potential failure. Now, the vision of his classmates’ disappointed faces was consuming him.

[color=3665b8][i]You could pull a Mom and just hide in this stupid house until tomorrow. Tell everybody you’re sick. Or dying. Or in jail.[/i][/color]

He snoozed his alarm three times before he finally got up, put on his jersey and a pair of wrinkled black pants, and trudged out into the hall. He ignored the low thrum coming from his mother’s room, the tell tale sign of another sound bath. They’d become part of her morning ritual, an attempt at wellness that only made him raise an eyebrow and scoff at the ridiculousness that had taken over his life. Liana Mayhew had always been out there, but recent events had truly sent her spinning.

In the kitchen, [url=https://parade.com/.image/ar_1:1%2Cc_fill%2Ccs_srgb%2Cfl_progressive%2Cq_auto:good%2Cw_1200/MTkwNTgxNDAzNjM0OTY3Njc3/jane-krakowski_ftr.jpg]Aunt Gina[/url] was dancing between a frying pan and a cutting board, humming along to Bob Marley while she slipped pieces of fruit to a bird on her shoulder. The bird chirped as Benji approached, hunting for something he could eat on the drive.

[color=b83665]“George Michael said ‘Namaste, Benjamin,’”[/color] Gina said, setting down a large knife and spinning around to face him. Regina Lowe was one of those women who always wore a smile, even during a tragedy. Benji had always found it unnerving, especially when she got upset. She had a nervous energy that came off of her in waves, while also espousing the many benefits of her New Age spiritual practices. Benji found it hard to take yoga tips from someone who popped Klonopin when she thought nobody was looking, but he did his best to humor her.

[color=3665b8]“Namaste, George Michael,”[/color] Benji said, his tone so dry that you could hear his eyes roll. He didn’t consider himself an expert on social issues, but he did think there was something weird about white people from the Hills saying ‘namaste.’ He opened the fridge and gave it a cursory glance, praying that something good had found its way in there since he’d checked it last night. Nothing had.

[color=b83665]“Here take this,”[/color] Gina said, pushing a cup of some mysterious greenish-brown liquid into his hands. He looked down at it, suspicious. He didn’t trust much of anything she made anymore, not after she served half-cooked chicken a few weeks ago. [color=b83665]“It’s kale, beet juice, some ginger, cayenne, and pineapple.”[/color] Benji glanced down at the smoothie one more time before taking a cautious sip. Surprisingly, not the worst thing he’d ever had. xx

[color=3665b8]“Not bad,”[/color] Benji said, as he popped a piece of whole wheat bread into the toaster and set it to char. He would’ve loved to sit there in an awkward silence, but Gina didn’t understand the benefit of silence.

[color=b83665]“Big game today! I put a few crystals in your backpack for good luck. They got their moon bath, so you don’t have to worry about any bad energy,”[/color] Gina said, returning to her breakfast. [color=b83665]“I thought me and the girls from yoga class might come out for it, and cheer you guys on.”[/color]

Benji pursed his lips in between sips of his smoothie. His mother, unmentioned, hung between them like a ghost. [color=3665b8]“Is she going to come?”[/color] Benji said, gesturing down the hallway. 

Gina sighed. [color=b83665]“Your mom is just taking everything really hard.”[/color] George Michael chirped in agreement. [color=b83665]“I don’t know if that’ll be the best place for her. You know how the Hills can be, right? We just got the reporters to stop hounding the house, I don’t know if we should give them more reasons to.”[/color]

[color=3665b8]“Yeah, no, of course,”[/color] he said, cold and detached. Benji knew exactly how the Hills could be, it was why he wanted his mom to come. While she had been stowed away from the tabloids and the socialites, awash in good vibrations and manifestation rituals, Benji had been forced back to the feeding ground where all the Hills’ spawn grew fat on rumors and scandals. Naomi and the Hive had iced him out of the social scene, Jamie and Trixie had blasted his dad’s indictment all over their socials, and his only saving grace was Ethan Green and the Elite. He was being eaten alive out there, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he’d last. He was closer to college than elementary school, but his life was falling apart and he wanted his mom. [color=3665b8]“Guess the homecoming game isn’t the best spot for fucking meditation,”[/color] Benji huffed.

[color=b83665]“Benji, I–”[/color] Gina’s consolation was interrupted by the toaster, and Benji took the opportunity to run. He chugged the rest of his smoothie, grabbed his toast and gave his aunt a quick side hug before making a beeline out of the kitchen.

[color=3665b8]“I’ll see you tonight,”[/color] he said, before rushing out the door and hopping into his car. He knew it was an impossibility, but as he pulled away from Aunt Gina’s home, he wished for things to go back to the way they were six months ago, when his most pressing issue was who he’d be taking to junior prom. He and his dad still had one thing in common, at least: the two of them were both paying for his crimes.

Twenty minutes later, Benji pulled into his parking spot with only minutes to spare. Ms. Honeycutt, the school’s underpaid and overworked resource officer, was waiting out front, shaking her head as though she might be able to shame Benji into punctuality. He ignored her, the same way he’d done every morning, and rushed towards Ms. Belmonte’s class, thankful that at least people still moved out of his way when he came down the hall. 

He took a seat in the back, with a spot next to him for Mac, and tried very hard not to imagine all the ways he could fuck things up tonight. He would be fine. Everything would be fine. Probably.[/indent]