My name is Guy. I’m 14. I live in a big city. It’s cold here. When I breathe out, a small white cloud forms, and it's almost like I’m part of the air around me. The wind blows through my jacket and sweater, and I can feel it on my bare skin even though it looks like I’m dressed for Antarctica. The cold feeling is a little comforting. I like listening to music, but only whatever’s popular so I have something to talk about with Royal and Luna. I usually listen to the Top 50 USA playlist that Spotify made, but sometimes I check out other countries too. Most days, I go to school and then stop by the library on my way home. This library is right next to my favorite convenience store, and my family never questions me when I say I’m going there because it’s just a library. The chairs aren't that comfortable but they remind me of my desk chair at home. I don’t really do much there. I argue with people online, but only in comment sections. I don’t argue because I disagree with people and their opinions, per se. I think I just like arguing. Maybe I should join debate club or something. 

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alex_meow11111 replied to your comment: sexist much?? Abortion is healthcare u misogynist lmao 

I don’t even know how I’m convincing people at this point. Either I’m a genius or an actual misogynist. I feel kinda bad. 

Guy_slideshows4: it doesn’t even matter lololol it's still banned n nothing u say will do anything [skull] even if u attack ME n doxx me or smth that's not changing any laws is it??

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alex_meow11111 replied to your comment: it's not banned everywhere, n the ppl who r banning it anyways r just old men who don't give a damn about women or anything for that matter.. Is an unborn fetus’s life rly more important than a living one? How can u be prolife if u dont care abt women’s lives?? kys :3

A rather conceited person interrupts me while I am in the middle of responding. “Hey, how much longer are you going to use this chair? You’re not even using the computer.” 

I don’t look up. He has a nasally, annoying voice that grates on my nerves, and I don’t really want to know what he looks like. “Sorry. I’ll get up.” I give a little bow. 

I need to go home anyway. I think the stupid traditional clock over there says it’s 7, but I don’t know how to read those. I much prefer digital. My mom texted that dinner will be ready soon. I think I'll take the long way home today. My house is actually only a couple blocks and an avenue away, so I just walk in a big circle and cross random streets until I get there.

It’s now very cold and I want to burrow into my jacket and live there forever. I think it might be winter already. Honestly, I like the cold, or, rather, I hate the heat of summer and all that it entails. My family and I often go on road trips during my summer break, making me spend days in useless car rides. The places we go aren’t worth it. The sun hurts my eyes, it's humid, there are mosquitos and bugs everywhere, and the destinations tend to look much better in pictures online. It’s suffocating. Although, maybe winter is too, in a sense. The cold makes it hard to breathe and it pricks at your lungs, but I appreciate this kind of suffocation. I read somewhere that the cold increases your heart rate, but I think it lowers mine. Then again, I’m not a scientist. I want to listen to music like I always do on my way home, but I forgot my headphones at school. I might go back to grab them.

I kick a couple of rocks, cross the street, balance along the curbs of sidewalks, and stop off at a convenience store for a pack of gum. I finally make it to my house, only to stare at the door. It’s made from thick brown wood like an average townhouse,

Which is identical to the house next to ours.

And the one next to that one. 

And then the one next to that. 

I fumble with the keys; I’m terrible at opening doors. Warm air and the smell of my mother’s lasagna welcome me. I head for the stairs, attempting to get up to my room without her seeing me. I’m not fast enough, and my mother catches me in a tight hug before I can reach the second step. Beaming, she congratulates me for “making it through the day”. She proudly declares she’s cooked my favorite food for dinner. Before I can feign gratitude, my father calls me into the living room to give me a present for being “such an amazing son.” My little brother tackles my legs and exclaims that he missed me. It’s too warm in this house. 

“Sorry, I have a lot of homework today.” It was a lie. I finish my homework every day in the library.

My mother smiles. “We understand. You study so hard and are such a hard worker. You’re the best son we could ever ask for.” 

I try to walk slowly upstairs, but I think I might have ended up running. I go up to my room and quietly walk inside, carefully avoiding the 3rd and 7th floorboards because those are the creaky ones that make the most sound. I open my desk drawer and drop the present on the growing pile of presents my father keeps giving me. There’s a breeze from my window that didn’t close this morning; thankfully, it’s cold. I wanna sleep. Being with my family makes me tired. I haven’t done anything to earn their praise. Last year I forged a report card with 3 F’s, but they were still proud of me. How can anything they say be authentic if I’ve never had to earn it? 

1 new notification from Tiktok

alex_meow11111 replied to your comment: digital footprint :3 

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alex_meow11111 replied to your comment: what, not gonna answer? buddy thinks i cant doxx :33

 Guy_slideshows4: add me on disc. Verycoolguy44

I bet he won’t add me.

The next morning, the sun is bright. I rub my eyes. I think I sat down on my bed last night and just fell asleep, but I don't remember. I forgot to brush my teeth so my mouth tastes sour and my teeth feel like they’re coated in fur. I don’t want to get ready for school. I put on some jeans and a white shirt that has some paint stains, but I don’t think anyone will notice. I don’t wanna brush my teeth so I just rinse and spit then head downstairs. As I near the first floor I hear my family's voices. My little brother is screaming that he doesn’t wanna eat, my mother is humming while she cooks what she thinks is my favorite breakfast, and my father is typing on his computer. I take a minute to steel myself, and manage to stumble a bit on the last few steps.“Good morning! Guy, sweetums, are you alright?” my mother calls. 

“Yeah. What’s for breakfast?” 

“Your favorite, pancakes! I didn’t add blueberries because I know you prefer the plain ones, even though those are your father's favorite.” She laughed warmly. “So, sweetypooks, I know you’re a teenager and all now, but don’t forget you promised to help your brother with his math homework last week!” Did I promise that? I don’t remember. 

“Ok.” I don’t really want to teach my brother math, and I don’t think I ever promised. Though, lately, I’m pretty forgetful; the entirety of last week was a blur. The only thing I clearly remember was Alex. Maybe I’ll purposefully teach my brother badly so they don’t ask me again. I check my phone to see if Alex has replied yet. He hasn’t.

“I’m leaving for school. See you later.” Halfway to school, I realize I may have forgotten my history textbook, but I’ll just borrow Luna’s. 

Luna and Royal are waiting for me on the fifth floor. Luna calls out to me. 

“Hey. You never texted me back about the math homework so let me copy it now.” The way she talks isn’t condescending. She's been copying my homework for years, and whenever she asks, it still sounds like a compliment. It kinda reminds me of my mother, but oddly enough, I don’t really mind it. I actually kind of appreciate it.

Royal shouts at me with his obnoxious, cracking voice, swinging his backpack at my stomach, “Bro, you never text back. You’re always on your phone, and we can literally see that you read our texts. Touch some grass,” he laughs. I should probably take his advice. 

Luna is tall and has straight, jet-black hair that reaches her waist. Her skin is alabaster white and she wears lots of brown and beige. Royal, on the other hand, I think is colorblind. None of his clothes match and the bright, garish colors hurt my eyes. He’s shorter than Luna, and his skin is a creamy brown.

“Have you heard of the Malaysia Airlines Flight MH17? Do you think it was the Illuminati? I think it was the Illuminati, because honestly? It’s always the Illuminati.” Royal has many theories like this, and I’m not sure whether he’s joking or not.

“Who even are the Illuminati? Are they even relevant anymore… Anyways, guess what? I saw a sign for a club about volunteering and making food for the New York Common Pantry. I really wanna join, but I just don’t have enough time, y’know?” Luna always says she wants to volunteer, but I doubt she’ll ever do it. Last year she said she wanted to raise money for the polar bears or something, but never ended up doing it.

“How are the Illuminati irrelevant? They’re everywhere!! Barack Obama? Illuminati. Joe Biden? Illuminati. All of our government is working for them. You should do your own research, but I bet you won’t anyways ‘cause you ‘never have any time’.” 

“Royal, do you even know what or who the Illuminati are? Gotta go find my headphones. See you after class.” I think I left them in my locker. 

Royal shouts after me, but I ignore him. I get to my locker and slowly open it. My textbooks tumble out like boulders if I don’t open it carefully, and the shelf spaces are broken so I duct-taped them to the walls of the locker. There they are. I put them over my ears and walk to visual arts. Last class, I got a paint stain on the cuff of my sleeve while I was drawing a snowman. I brought it home after that class to show my brother and when he saw it, he ran away in fear.

My second period is history, and I can’t borrow Luna’s textbook since she just texted me that she's at the nurse for a headache ‘cause she’s anemic. My history teacher who kind of looks like my dad yells at me for not bringing my stuff to class, but I don't mind at all.

After lunch, I roam the halls. The school hangs up the 6th graders' art projects. They’re ugly, but when they’re not up, the school feels empty. I’ve grown to appreciate their scary paper mache portraits, though sometimes when I space out in class and see them, I jump in my seat. I don’t think I ever signed in to my study hall, but a couple of absences won’t kill me. I walk toward science class, but I decide to skip and go to the nurse. 

The nurse likes me a lot, I think. She lets me stay in her office to skip class and offers me sour tangerines. Even though they’re sour and they make my jaw feel funny, I always eat them. She tells me about her trip 20 years ago to Bangkok, and about how she was top of her class in medical school. I always act impressed when she tells me these things. She has 2 kids: a boy and a girl, but her husband died a couple of years ago from a stroke. She doesn’t really miss him but feels bad for the kids. I don't want to leave, but I have to go home to teach my little brother math. I promised, after all. 

I make it home in 7 minutes and walk inside to see my brother laughing at the TV. It’s playing his favorite show: Bluey. I walk towards him and turn the TV off. At first, he voices a protest, but upon seeing me, he smiles widely, his front 2 teeth missing. 

“Guy! Are you gonna teach me math? Are ya? I got a 2/10 on my math, ‘n I need you to teach me..” His simultaneously raspy and squeaky voice yells out to me, even though I’m right next to him. 

“Yeah, I promised, didn’t I?” I say harshly, but I meant to say it with a laugh. 

“Did you? I don’ remember. Mom said ya did, though.” I don’t remember if I did either, but it doesn’t really matter anymore. I don’t mind teaching him.

We sat and I taught him how to use addition with his fingers. I think he already knew, but was pretending he didn’t so I would teach him for longer. In the middle of our session, I got a notification from my phone. 

Ping- 1 notification from Discord

Alex :3 sent you a message: lmao, and just for ur patience, i’ll even find ur IP !!

Alex :3 sent you a message: 44.114.13.156

Verycoolguy44: bro.. Where r u making up these numbers.. That's not my IP :)

“Guy! Why’re you always paying attention to the phone ‘n not to me? If you don’t teach me math I’ll cry.” He started scrunching up his face and trying to cry, blinking furiously. I laugh. He starts crying. 

“I’m sorry, I'm sorry. I really have to send these messages.” My brother looks very funny when he cries, even more so when he’s faking. I give him a hug and a sorry and walk upstairs. 

Once I get to my room, I start to look for my IP address. 15 minutes in, I stop. It seems like a waste of time, and chances are it's not my IP. 

I play Minecraft until my mother comes home from the grocery store. I like to play both survival and creative mode, but more so survival. I have never once in my 100+ hours of playtime reached the endgame and don’t plan to. 

The sky is dark and I hear the door open, along with my mother talking and laughing with someone, “I’m home!” she shouts. I head downstairs. On the steps, I hear the same voice, giggling and conversing with my mother. Brenda: my mother's sister who doesn’t really like me. Sometimes she stops by to talk with my mother, but she always avoids me. I run down the stairs to greet her.

When I get to the bottom of the stairs, I don’t see Brenda but a teenage girl in our living room. She looks older than me, maybe 16. Her hair is brown and of medium length with tufts of green that stick out on the sides. She has blue eyes and lots of eyeliner and wears a white shirt striped with navy and some dark blue jeans. Definitely not Brenda. My mother grins at me, “Why have you never introduced me to her?! She’s quite the comic. And, you do know it's rude to keep a girl waiting outside, especially in this weather!” She reprimands me softly.

“Hey, Guy! Wanna go upstairs and finish our science project? It’s due tomorrow, you know. And the only reason I'm even here is because you didn’t finish your portion, but I’m here to help you. It is my grade after all.” She tilts her head to the right and smiles at me. 

As we walk upstairs, her grip on my arm grows increasingly tight. We enter my room, and she quietly shuts the door behind us, locking it. 

“Guy underscore slideshows 4, also known as very cool guy 44, I’m Alex underscore meow 1111, or Alex colon 3.” She smiled, waiting. 

“I thought you were a guy.”

“Now that I'm here, what would you say?” 

Even though I opened the window this morning, the room is hot. My fingertips feel like they’re being cooked and it hurts to breathe.

The pain almost reminds me of the cold.