Christmas came and went. Nothing special. Nothing particularly bad and nothing particularly good. I was still bored, apathetic and tired of life. Christmas cartoons, turkey, and a quiet end to the quiet month of December.

January was approaching, and I was stuck in the house for all winter break. One day, my mom sat down to talk to me, pensive and serious.

“Listen, I know New Year’s Eve is soon,” she said, “And I know it sucks for you, having no friends here, and being _very much_ grounded for your past behaviour… I hate seeing you so lonely and stuck in the house all the time, Elena, but you have to understand _why…_ Because I don’t want you to get hurt, you know that, don’t you?”

“Yeah, yeah, I understand,” I replied, not wasting a second. “I know, it’s alright. I deserve it, anyway, and, Mom, I’m _really_ sorry.”

“Then you have to understand why you are spending New Year’s Eve with your _parents_, right?”

My heart sank. The previous New Year’s Eve was spent at wild yet pretty small party in somebody’s basement, drinking like it was the end of the world, with only one intention: to get as fucked up as possible before 1996 began.

“Yeah. I know.” I paused before asking quietly, “Do you think I can go out just for the afternoon, on January third…? My friend… A friend of mine is coming into town, and… His birthday was a couple weeks ago, you know, but we couldn’t hang out, ‘cause I’m in a lot of trouble still, right? But he can come into town on the third and…”

“Who’s _he_?” My mother cocked her head, raised her eyebrows. She was thinking of Speed, I guessed, while I was wondering what answer would make her most likely to say _yes_.

“Well…” I couldn’t think of the words fast enough, despite the rapid pace of my insides. “Well, he’s…”

“Your boyfriend, I’m guessing?” She smiled softly, but her eyes were pained, which made me feel guilty, for no reason, really.

“No, no, not _exactly_.” _Shut up, shut up, why can’t you find the right words?_ “Uh, but I… I… Uh, can I go out and hang out with him, on January third, Mom? Please?”

She thought about this for a long moment, then replied, “I’m going to talk it over with James, okay?”

“Okay…” My mouth curved into a frown. I was almost certain the answer would be a sharp _no_. 

She patted me on the shoulder softly, stood up, and sauntered away calmly.

The next day, at dinner, with the three of us eating chicken pie, James stated flatly: “I have to go to this work thing on New Year’s Eve. I hope you two don’t mind me not being here.”

“Oh.” My mom sighed. “I was hoping we could all maybe rent a Christmas movie to watch together, like a family…?”

“I’m sorry, Wendy, but I really have to go to this work party. For my boss, you know, honey…”

I stared at my plate, fork screeching along the china. Everything seemed to depress me more: the sorry state of my family, the dirty snow piling outside the windows, the fact that neither Speed nor Wyatt had called me back…

“Really? Oh… James, that job is hollowing you out, I swear.”

I dragged my fork the rest of the way along my plate, then across the table, brown gravy stains scratching into the cheap wood.

Both my parents looked at me. Confused, worried. At the same time, “_Elena_?”

Unthinkingly, with a blank face, I carved out four shallow lines in the table with the sharp ends of my fork. I looked up, frowning, and said, “Sorry.”

“What was that for?” My mom gaped, a look of shock flashing across her face quickly before it was replaced by annoyance. “Why did you do that, Elena?”

I shrugged and let my fork fall to the floor, a soft metallic _clang_ against the floor.

“Are you okay?” James asked, reaching down to grab the fork. He set it down slowly beside my plate again.

Again, I shrugged, rather apathetically. I didn’t know why I did that. I wasn’t thinking. I wasn’t even _feeling_. I wasn’t… _Anything_.

“Elena, talk to us,” he continued, tense.

“Nothin’ to talk about, James.”

“Are you upset about… Us not having finished thinking about if we’re going to let you hang out with… _Some guy_?”

Was I? I didn’t know. I wasn’t really upset with them for anything. I just felt empty. “Uh, kinda.”

They exchanged a glance, then James went on: “The thing is, we don’t _know_ this guy. We don’t even know his name or anything about him. Maybe if-”

“His name is Wyatt,” I hastily interrupted. “He doesn’t live here, he lives kinda far out of town, you know… Goes to a different school and all that.”

“Which school does he go to?”

“I don’t fuckin’ know, Mom. I don’t know what school he goes to.” I sighed, _feeling_ coming back into every inch of me.

“Okay… Well, James and I are going to discuss it a little more, and we’ll let you know tomorrow. Is that okay, Elena?” My mom spoke very slowly, like a slightly fearful, apprehensive therapist towards a stupid kid.

“Okay. That’s okay.”