I race to my bed, tears in my eyes, and shove a pillow over my ears to cancel out the sound of my parents fighting. I began sobbing violently, and shoved headphones over my ears and cranked the volume up on my phone, enjoying the happy melody that insured everything would be all right. I smiled and pulled the blanket over my head. I dialed my best friend's number- 866-0954 (not my number! Don't call it!) and pressed the phone against my ear. Reid answered almost immediately and said, "Are your Mom and Dad fighting again?" I said "How did you know?" And grinned at the clock reading "12:00." His laugh rippled over the phone like a waterfall. "Is it bad?" He said more seriously. "Worst it's been." I replied. "I feel you. My dad hasn't come back, and he was supposed to be back from the militia six days ago," he paused. "I'm trying not to think the worst has happened. What's the point?" A wave of sympathy tugged at my stomach. And hunger. I reached behind my bed and grabbed my stash of corn chips. "Are you still there? He asked.
"Yeah."
"You're eating, aren't you?"
"Maybe."
"Eliza, I told you not to eat when you're stressed. You'll get fat. Or constipated."
I giggled. "I can't help it. I love food. Besides, I'm already constipated and fat."
He chuckled and sighed. "Shouldn't you be asleep?"
"Oh, yeah. Goodnight."
" 'night."
I placed my phone on the nightstand and drifted off into a deep, happy sleep.