Chapter 3: 3. Avery

Morning sun filters through white, sheer curtains of a noiseless room. A small crack where the curtains meet sends a harsh ray flowing over the nest of covers, pillows, and limbs. Avery's brows furrow together above already closed eyes and she flops over onto her stomach. "No, professor. I left them in my room."

A phone on the nightstand vibrates and hums, then plays a ringtone full of clarinets and oboes. It starts quiet, but grows into a raucous symphony capable of waking even the most slumbering of dragons. Avery swings an arm toward the opposite side of the bed. Where is it?

The phone blares a particularly high flute note. Avery rolls her eyes open and blinks a couple times to ward off the light. Right. Home. Not the dorm.

Her bedroom door opens and an apron-clad Dad sticks his head in. "Wakey bakey little lass! Breakfast is done and that's the fourth time that's went off. Moms getting a bit annoyed about it."

Avery grasps out toward the other side of the bed, wraps her hand around the charging cable and pulls. The phone tumbles off the edge of the nightstand and into Avery's hand. She rolls over onto her back, brings the phone close to her face so its at least partially visible, and swipes the alarm off. "I'm already up."

"Yeah, yeah. Hurry up now! It's getting cold!"

Avery kicks the weighted blanket to the end of the bed and puts on her glasses. Teetering stacks of cardboard moving boxes dot the room. She weaves around a few to find the pile of clothes she set out last night. A white sports bra; a matching tank top with arm holes large enough for an ogre; and a pair of black basketball shorts. Avery puts it all on and navigates through the box maze into her bathroom.

Bed head, bad breath, and barely enough toothpaste to fix the latter. Grunting, Avery squeezes the last bit out onto her toothbrush.

Count.

She wets the brush, sticks it in her mouth, and begins scrubbing the outside face of her lower left set of teeth. One, two, three... All the way to thirty.

Wrong. Again.

Avery's chest tightens, a knot forms inside and begins to grow. Tendrils of fear shoot out from it, locking up her arms and legs. She stares into her own reflection's eyes. Don't give in. Sit with it.

Again.

Avery scrubs the same teeth. One, two, three... All the way to thirty again. Then silence. Nothing. Avery finishes up and spits into the sink. Darn brain.

Her hair is a brown, greasy mess. A cow licked one side into an odd swirl and a bird is probably nesting out back. Avery claws at it with her fingers and presses down. Only for some of the strands to spring back up. She wets a thin comb and runs it through the spot a couple times, then down the center and across her crew cut.

Mid comb stroke, a notification rings out from her phone: some dating app announcing a new match. Avery tosses the comb in the general direction of her open toiletries box and judges herself in the mirror. She looks... Good? She forgot what a decent night's sleep can do. No dark, pudgy eye circles!

Another notification.

Avery unlocks her phone and taps on the app. A yellow screen with stylized, white text reading "Humble" flashes; then grey bubbles fill the screen and disappear as real images take their place. One of those is Avery's: nestled in the top right corner. Something churns in Avery's stomach at the sight of it. How long ago did she take this? That wimp probably couldn't even deadlift one-hundred pounds.

A red bubble with the number "2" ticks up to "3". Avery opens her messages. They're all from a single person; a cute person at that. Avery's heart jumps and her eyes dart to her profile picture. No way is she replying before she changes that.

All the lights are on, the counter top is mostly empty, and the mirror is clear of blemishes. Avery raises the camera and... nothing. How do people do this? Memories of vibrant magazine covers filled with people posing in an evocative fashion flash through Avery's mind. She lowers the phone part way and grimaces at her reflection. Well, probably not like that.

Pose after pose, the mirror version of Avery follows along to her awkward dance. One foot up on the counter, an over the shoulder, a slight lean onto the wall. None of them work. Avery sits sideways on the lid of toilet, head resting on the sink counter top. Maybe just shoot one real fast and forget about it?

Another notification pops up. Another message from them.

Avery steps in front of the mirror, flexes an arm with a smile, and snaps the picture. Don't look; just upload.

The upload progress bar crawls along. Conflict plays out across Avery's forehead in peaks and valleys. Her finger hovers over a red "X", ready to pounce if she stops resisting for a moment. The screen goes green and fades into the usual app interface. A sigh of relief escapes. Not half bad, actually.

Dad's voice comes from the direction of the dining room. "Avery?"

Avery slips the phone into her shorts pocket and rushes out the bathroom door. "Coming!"

Did you turn the sink off? Check.

Invisible tendrils of fear shoot from her chest again; they wrap around Avery's arms and legs to freeze them in place. Her chest rises and falls with the rhythm of her heart, each breath more effort than the last. She turns her head to the side and listens. No sounds of running water. The tendrils recede, seemingly abated by the lack of sound. She moves to take a step into the hallway --

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Ice runs through her veins and a weight settles on her chest again. Then her body pivots, tendrils lifting and lowering her legs like a helpless marionette stumbling along on strings. They carry her past the maze of boxes to stand squarely in front of the sink faucet. Gritting her teeth, Avery looks down with her arms stretching toward the silver sweeping handles.

Not a single drop of water.

Sweat beads around Avery's hairline. She holds her hands back and forces a sick chuckle through her mind. The whole place is going to explode if she doesn't do this? Is that it? Yeah... It's going to explode! It'll be horrific and fiery and deadly!

Avery?

Tendrils double back, piercing Avery's heart and mind. Overwhelming pain, can't b- breathe. Faces of mom and dad blur together with her vision. She pushes each handle, punctuating each thrust with a count. "One. Two. Three. Four."

Pain and crushing weight disappear at once. A heavy sigh expunges stale air from Avery's lungs, then she breathes in: letting her stomach expand as far as possible before pushing it all out. Guess that exaggeration technique her therapist just taught her doesn't work for this one.

The tinniest drop of water falls out of the faucet. Another heavy sigh slumps her shoulders and she walks to the hallway. Asshole.

Mom sits at the table with her legs crossed and a newspaper spread in front of her, blocking her view of the breakfast laden table. Her brown hair set into the usual low bun to keep it off the recently pressed blue blazer and black knee-length skirt.

Smiling, Avery pulls out the chair beside Mom and sits down. "Anything interesting?" Dishes clatter on the other side of the still swaying kitchen door. Avery stretches her neck out, trying get a peek through the crack. "Morning, Dad!"

Mom glances at Avery over the edge of the paper, bushy eyebrows coming together. "Unfortunately. There was an incident with a rookie last week where he got a bit overzealous. Some debris flew out of the mandated area and insurance claims keep rolling in."

Avery plucks a hard-boiled egg off a serving dish, taps it on the table a couple times, and starts peeling. "What does that have to do with the paper, though?"

Glaring Avery's way, Mom folds the paper into her lap. "Put that down. We waited for you: you can wait for Dad."

Avery puts the egg down on her empty plate amid half the shell already in shards. "So... Newspaper?"

"The rookie is running around fixing things and paying out of pocket for damages. So I can't tell which claims actually need review. Only a few people have canceled theirs with mentions of him, but judging by the front page article today there are a ton that haven't. Not to mention no one ever answers my calls to begin with."

Avery's head drifts toward the kitchen door and her stomach shifts, letting out a grumble. "Sounds frustrating."

"I just wish the standards for these first timers were higher. The licensing agency should be requiring them to read policy instead of letting them loose to do whatever their hero hearts desire after messing up."

Dad bursts through the kitchen door with a flourish of his hands, apron no longer protecting his plaid flannel shirt and sweat pants. "Good morning! Sorry about the wait, thought I'd wash a few dishes while you did your thing."

Avery's eyes return to the feast in front of her: pancakes, maple syrup, diced fruit, orange juice, blueberry muffins, toast, quiche, and that half-peeled egg. "Can we start then? I've missed this. The cafeteria sucks."

Mom taps Avery on the shoulder with the folded newspaper. "Don't say sucks."

"Sucks."

Dad lowers himself into the chair across from Avery, rolls up his plaid flannel sleeves, and rubs his hands together. "Let's eat!"

No one talks. Mom maneuvers food with grace, avoiding any potential stains. Dad and Avery shovel fork fulls of every dish into their mouths.

Dad's eyebrows raise briefly in the middle of a mouthful of food. He pushes himself up, flashes the "one second" finger, and walks over to the cabinet near the entrance. Back at the table, he swallows the food with a sharp inhale and reaches a brochure across the table to Avery. "They're hiring an apprentice aquarist right now. Thought it'd work for your mentorship thing."

Pain appears in a band around Avery's head. She takes the brochure and slips it into her pocket beside her phone. "Thanks, I'll look it over after my run."

Already. Not even back for a day and already pushing.

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