02 | In Which Sawyer Goes Shopping

"I found out what the secret to life is: friends. Best friends." — Fried Green Tomatoes

The following morning, I wake up to the sound of my alarm going off for the fifth time in twenty minutes. I'm not exactly a morning person, so I always set a ton of alarms to get up for work. Not so much school, though, because I don't mind being late to school every now and again. But I never want to be late to work.

I sleepily roll over in my bed and grab my phone, turning the alarm off and opening my eyes. And when I see that it's 9:45, and not 9:30 like I thought it was, I immediately jump up out of the bed and run over to my closet. I'm supposed to be at work at 10:00 and it's a ten-minute drive from my house, so I have to hurry.

After a few seconds of rummaging through the closet, I find my uniform top — a red t-shirt with my work's name on it — and a pair of black skinny jeans. I quickly get dressed and pull on a pair of Converse, then run out of my room to the bathroom down the hall. In the bathroom, I brush my teeth and wash my face, then pull my hair out of the bun I slept with it in and run my fingers through it before going back to my bedroom. I would usually put on at least some make-up before going to work, but I'm in a huge rush and it's just work.

Back in my room, I grab my phone and keys and then leave again, this time running down the stairs. And I almost make it out of the house, too, but my mom stops me in my tracks, calling my name from the kitchen.

"Yes, Mother?" I reply with a sigh, walking into the kitchen.

"Sit, I'm making breakfast," she says, gesturing to the stove.

"Can't," I tell her, shaking my head and checking my watch — 9:52. "I'm supposed to be at work at 10:00."

"Well, you're going to be late anyway," she informs me, looking at her own watch. "You might as well eat."

Although she refuses to admit it, I know that my mother thinks that I have an eating disorder. She has never come out and said it, but it's extremely obvious from her actions. She's always trying to force me to eat and on the rare occasion that she makes it home for dinner, she makes us eat dinner as a family and the entire time, she's watching me like a hawk, making sure I'm eating my food. I don't have an eating disorder, but I guess I can understand why she would think that. The truth is, I just don't have a huge appetite these days.

"I'll have a piece of toast," I say, just to appease her. "But that's all because I really have to hurry and leave."

"Okay," she says, handing me a slice of toast on a paper plate, along with a red pill. "Don't forget to take it."

Since the whole Flynn situation last year and the aftermath of it, I've been taking anti-depressants. Dr. Fontana (he practices psychiatry in addition to psychology, which is why he can prescribe me medicine as well as counsel me) was adamant about me going on medication, even though I didn't think it was necessary.

"Alright, bye," I mumble, taking the plate from her and walking out of the kitchen and heading out the door.

In my car, I dry swallow the pill and then nibble a small bite of the toast before putting the key in the ignition and backing out of my driveway. By now it's 9:55 and I know for a fact I'm going to be late for work. Oh well. My boss, Danielle, is pretty cool, I guess, and my mom knows her, so hopefully she won't be too mad.

✿✿✿✿✿✿

"Oh my goodness," I coo a couple hours later, walking into the playroom at my job. "You are all so precious."

I work at a doggy daycare here in town and while I don't love the idea of waking up early on the weekends and working for four hours straight, I do get to play with puppies all day. Dr. Fontana's the one who got me the job here (the owner is his daughter-in-law) because he thought that I needed to have something in my life to look forward to everyday. And as much as I had to admit it, he was right. Before I started working here, I had absolutely nothing to look forward to, which definitely wasn't helping my depression. Now, though, I get to look forward to seeing all of the beautiful puppers and doggos here a couple of times a week.

"Especially you," I say, sitting down and scooping up the Corgi puppy named Apollo. "You, sir, at the cutest."

Technically, I'm supposed to be up at the front desk to help the dog moms and dads check in their pups, but I hate having to do that, so I'm hiding out here in the playroom. It wouldn't be so bad being at the front desk if I didn't have to talk to so many people, but I do, and it makes me extremely uncomfortable. And Danielle understands that, probably because Dr. Fontana told her, so she's okay with me skipping out on it.

I decide then that I'll just spend the rest of my shift here in the playroom. I'm not animal psychologist, but it's probably a lot better for them to have a human to play with sometimes instead of just other dogs, right?

So, for the next two hours, I do just that. There are eight dogs in the playroom, but two of them don't seem to like me very much, so I just let them be and play with the other six. And I strongly consider calling up Carolyn, Odysseus and Apollo's dog mom, and asking her if she'd be interested in letting me adopt them. I resist the urge to do that, though, because it'd probably be inappropriate. I've been trying to get my mom to let us get a dog at home for the last year or two, but obviously she hates me, because she keeps saying no.

Once my shift is over and I've clocked out and said goodbye to the puppers (and the two people at the job I actually talk to), I'm back in my car, this time en route to the Chateau. It's just a little Italian bistro type thing in town that my friends like to go to and meet up for lunch sometimes. It's only a few minutes away from my job, so it doesn't take me long to get there and once I do, I park near the front door and go inside.

"Sawyer, over here!" I hear Aspen exclaim from a table near the back of the restaurant as soon as I walk in.

"Hi, Aspen," I greet my friend with a smile, making my way over to the table and sitting down opposite her.

"I'm so glad you're here, I missed you," she tells me, picking up her menu and looking through it.

"We talked just last night and saw each other at school literally every day this past week," I laugh.

"Yeah, but you didn't come to the party last night and neither did Sienna or Piper, so I was forced to talk to other people and it made me realize that you guys are the only other normal people in the town," she states.

"Okay, Aspen," I reply, shaking my head at her exaggeration. "Speaking of which, how was the party?" I ask.

"It was okay," Aspen replies, shrugging. "I didn't get to hook up with Chace, though, so that was depressing."

"No?" I ask her, raising my eyebrows. "Why not?"

"He and Madison are back together, apparently."

"Poor Madison," I sigh, picking up my own menu, trying to decide what to get.

"Poor Madison?" Aspen echoes. "Poor me! I had to hook up with Jake instead."

"You didn't have to," I assure her with a small laugh. "And poor Madison because Chace clearly likes you."

"He likes what I do to him, he doesn't like me," she assures me. "And I did have to hook up with Jake; it's been a while."

"It has not been a while," I laugh out loud, rolling my eyes. "You spent the night with Travis, what, Monday?"

"Yeah, my point exactly," Aspen confirms. "It's almost Monday again; it had been a little while," she giggles.

Aspen is what you might call promiscuous. And I say that in the most loving, non-judgmental way possible. She's in a lot of pain right now and she has been for the past six months, despite her constant claims that she's alright. Six months ago, in April, Aspen's boyfriend of two years, Elliott, passed away in a car accident.

That was terrible for her, obviously, and the fact that she was in the car with him when it happened makes it that much worse. They were so in love and I, along with literally everyone else who knew them as a couple, thought they would get married at some point on down the line. After that happened, Aspen kind of lost herself. And she started sleeping around with all these different guys, I guess as a way to numb all the pain.

I don't think it's the greatest idea, obviously, but it's not my place to tell Aspen how to handle her grief. And considering the route I took to try to escape my pain last year, I don't think I'm qualified to offer any advice.

A girl who looks like she's our age comes over to the table then to take our orders. Aspen orders some kind of vegan gnocchi and a water, while I order a salad and a soda (because life is all about balance, you know).

"Anyway," I say once the girl leaves, changing the subject from Aspen's sex life. "Have you talked to Sienna?"

"I texted her right before you got here," Aspen nods. "She said she's down in Boston, but she'll be here soon."

"Why's she in Boston?" I wonder. It's only a half hour from here, but I don't know what she'd be doing there.

"She's helping that guy she's friend with and his family move," Aspen explains. "Graham? You know him."

"Oh," I reply, then shake my head after thinking for a second. "No, I don't think I know him."

"No, you definitely know him," Aspen insists. "He's that really hot guy who plays for Volcom."

Volcom Prep is a super-elite private school down in Boston. It's supposed to be one of the best preparatory schools in the state, so a lot of people in Andover (the ones with money, anyway) send their kids there with the hopes of getting their kids into the Ivy Leagues.

It's got a reputation here in Andover as being a pretty wild place, though. Apparently, there's a ton of grade inflation and instances of teachers sleeping with students. Beckett convinced our mom to let him go there his last two years of high school and he says it was the beat two years of his academic career.

"Hmm, no, still don't know who you're talking about," I truthfully tell her.

"Sawyer, you really have to get out more," she sighs, pulling out her phone.

"I get out plenty," I argue, even though I don't really. At least, not anymore.

Ever since the stuff with Flynn last year, I don't really like going out. Before it all happened, I did the whole rebellious teenager thing. I went to parties and I broke curfew and I flirted with cute boys, but those are all things of the past now.

After everything with Flynn, I stopped that. I stopped doing literally everything that used to be fun, not just partying and kissing boys, but I stopped playing volleyball and dropped art club too. It just did not make my happy anymore, any of it. So, now all I do is go to school, therapy, work, and home.

"You don't," Aspen scoffs, showing me her phone. "Here's his Instagram," she adds, handing me her phone.

"Oooh," I say, realizing I do know this guy. Well, I know of him, anyway. He's pretty popular. "I've heard about him."

From what I hear, Graham is one those Perfect People of the World™. Apparently, his family has money and lots of it, he's gotten several offers from D1 schools to play football for them on a full-ride next fall, and he throws great parties. I know rumors aren't a credible source of information, but it's not like I personally know the guy, so I can't say whether or not they're true. Pretty much the only thing I do know about the guy is that he is just as gorgeous as everyone always says he is. As far as everything else, though, I have no clue.

"You and everyone else in town," Aspen laughs. "I cannot believe Sienna is friends with him. He is so hot."

"He's cute," I agree, handing her back her phone and diving right in to my salad as the waiter brings it over.

"No, Sawyer," Aspen sighs, shaking her head. "My new baby brother, Aiden, is cute. Graham is hot. He's a snack. No, he's more than a snack, actually. He's a whole meal. A Thanksgiving meal, at that. A feast, really."

"Alright, Aspen," I laugh. "Well, maybe Sienna will introduce you guys. Is he moving here, do you know?"

"I think she said so, but I'll ask her to be sure," she says. "Speaking of the devil, there she is," Aspen adds.

"Beautiful friends!" Sienna exclaims, skipping over to our table and plopping down in a seat. "I'm so happy to see your two pretty faces," she says, throwing one arm around me and one arm around Aspen for a double hug. "Oh my god, that looks delish. Can I have some? I'm so hungry," she asks, looking at Aspen's gnocchi.

"Sure," Aspen chuckles, pushing her plate towards Sienna and handing her a fork. "Why are you so hyper?"

"I'm not hyper," She denies, stuffing pasta in her mouth. "Just caffeinated. Graham and I went for coffee."

"Oh, Sawyer and I were just talking about your hot friend before you got here," Aspen informs Sienna then.

"Oh God, please don't call Graham that," Sienna shudders. "He's literally a dork, not hot at all," she chuckles.

"Sienna, sweetheart, I think that it's time to go see an optometrist because you're clearly visually impaired."

"You guys are extremely weird, I hope you know," I tell my friends, forking down another piece of my salad.

"Shush," Aspen says, waving her hand at me. "Okay, so tell us about Graham. Why's he moving to Andover?"

"It's complicated," Sienna responds after a couple of seconds. "The thing with his family, it's very complex."

"Okay, scratch that, it doesn't even matter," Aspen decides. "Is he single? Someone that hot can't be single."

"No, he's single," Sienna assures Aspen, shaking her head. "I don't think Graham's really your type, though."

"Oh, why's that?" Aspen wonders, running her fingers through her long, blonde hair with a confused look.

"He's not into the casual sex thing," she states, taking a drink from Aspen's glass. "He's a relationship guy."

"Suddenly I'm no longer interested," Aspen announces, rolling her eyes. "Oooh, but maybe he has hot friends."

✿✿✿✿✿✿

"I really, really think you should come," Sienna tells me a few hours later as we're walking through the mall.

"I really, really don't want to come," I reiterate to her for the umpteenth time, following her into Topshop.

"But it's gonna be so, so fun," she promises. "It's always fun. Remember last year? How fun was last year?"

"It was a lot of fun last year and I'm sure it'll be fun this year, but I don't want to go so I'm not going to go."

It's been a while since we were together for lunch and now the three of us are at the local mall doing some shopping. I don't really love shopping in-store (I prefer to do it all online, actually), mostly because the mall is usually extremely crowded, and it makes me feel even more anxious than usual.

I was totally prepared to go home after lunch and take a four-hour nap, but they wanted me to come with them, so here I am. And now Sienna is trying to get me to agree to come to this year's Homecoming, even though I told her literally a month and a half ago that I had absolutely no interest in going. It just seems like a colossal waste of time.

"I don't know why you're wasting your breath," Aspen says to Sienna. "You know how stubborn Sawyer is."

"I am not stubborn," I argue. "I just already had it made up in my mind that I wasn't going to Homecoming."

"Because you're stubborn," Aspen concludes with a laugh. "But it's okay, you'll be at Spring Homecoming."

For whatever reason, our school is really big on dances. We have two homecomings per school year — Fall Homecoming and Spring Homecoming. Then there's the big Winter Formal, which is right before our two-week holiday break in December. And lastly, of course, there's the Senior Prom, right before the graduation.

"Yeah, no, probably not," I mumble, walking away from my friends and over to a rack of oversized sweaters.

"Honestly, trying to talk sense into you is sometimes just like talking to a glass wall, Sawyer," Sienna huffs.

"I think you mean a brick wall," Aspen chuckles, correcting our friend as she looks through a rack of pants.

"That too!" Sienna exclaims, crossing her arms across her chest like a child. "You're being a party popper."

"I'm not that fun, Si," I admit. "Besides, if I come, I'll probably have a panic attack and it'll ruin the night."

For the past year now, since right after the Flynn thing, I've been having a lot of panic attacks. So many, in fact, Dr. Fontana diagnosed me with not one, but two anxiety disorders — panic disorder and post traumatic stress disorder. So, that's just another pill I have to take every day, in addition to my depression medication.

It doesn't take much to trigger a panic attack for me, honestly. Something as small as being alone in a room with a person I don't know, a guy, especially, can easily do it. And that's why I know going to Homecoming would be an absolutely awful idea. Sure, it's a school-sanctioned event and there will be chaperones and security there, but I just have a feeling it'll be too much for me and it'll probably take me back to that night.

And that night is the last place I need to be taken back to. I think I've made progress since then in therapy, a very small amount of progress, but progress nonetheless, and going back to that night would totally undo all the progress I've made. Which is why on the night of Homecoming, I'll be in my room watching Netflix.

And I know if I took the time to explain that to Sienna, she would understand. I don't want to have to explain it, though, because the last thing I want anyone to think is that I'm using that whole situation as an excuse.

"Okay, fine," Sienna sighs, throwing her hands up in surrender. "I give up, but only because I have to leave."

"Let me guess — about that time for another weekly test?" Aspen guesses, checking the time on her watch.

"Unfortunately," Sienna confirms, rolling her eyes with an annoyed frown on her face. "The perks of NA."

NA is Narcotics Anonymous, a 12-step program that Sienna's parents forced her to join about a year ago. That's when she returned to the States from a six-month stay at one of Switzerland's premier drug rehabilitation centers. She was originally supposed to be there for a year, but her parents (who, by the way, are filthy stinking rich) agreed to let her come home early if she would attend NA and get weekly drug tests.

It probably sounds dramatic and maybe it is, but Sienna's parents only want what's best for her. She's their only daughter, after all, and they almost lost her, just like they lost Sienna's older brother, Matty. He's the definition of a stoner. And from what Sienna's told me, he doesn't mess around with the soft drugs, either, like weed. No, Matty messes with the big-time stuff, like, heroin and meth and all of that kind of crazy stuff.

Sienna says he started when he was a teenager (he's Beckett's age now, 21) and it's only gotten progressively worse. She says her parents tried to help him out as much as they could, shelling out hundreds of thousands of dollars on treatments and rehabs for him, but he's an addict and there's only so much help you can give to someone who doesn't want it.

So, anyway, he was living at the family home when he really got into drugs and early last year, Sienna, who was 15 at the time, decided she wanted to be like her big brother. Needless to say, she got addicted and she got addicted quick. It took her nearly dying from an overdose for her to realize the path she was going down. And that was when her parents sent her to Europe.

And now she's back and she's doing so much better. She hates going to the NA meetings, but I think they help her a lot with temptation and whatnot because she's definitely not the same person she was when she was messing around with all of that stuff.

So, that's great and I'm really proud of her for that. Luckily for her, it didn't have any real lasting effect, other than the fact that it totally ruined her relationship with her brother. She blames him for introducing her to the stuff and nearly killing her, so now they don't talk at all.

"Isn't it better than being stuck in Switzerland, though?" I ask, picking up a cute top I think I'm gonna buy.

"Oh, so much better," Sienna laughs. "But I'm gonna go so I can beat my parents home, but I'll see you gals."

"Bye, S," Aspen and I say in unison then as Sienna skips up to the register with an armful of clothes to buy.

✿✿✿✿✿✿

Later that same night, I'm back at my house and Aspen's with me. She's spending the night (which has become something of a habit for her these past few months) because she doesn't want to see her parents. To say they have a bad relationship is perhaps the understatement of the century. They're pretty strict on her and they always say as long as she's under their roof, she has to follow their rules, so she's always here.

We're downstairs in the kitchen, waiting for our batch of cupcakes to be done. Neither of us are, like, exceptionally great bakers, but whenever we're together, we crave pastries and always end up baking them. And it would be fun, except for the fact that Beckett's here and he's flirting with Aspen and it's so disgusting.

"Oh, my mom's calling," Aspen says, laughing at one of Beckett's dumb stories. "I'll be just a second and when I come back, I wanna hear more about this party," she tells him, grabbing her phone and walking out.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" I ask my moronic brother once I'm sure Aspen's out of hearing range.

"Talking to you and your friend?" He answers with a confused look on his face. "Isn't that pretty obvious?"

"You're flirting with her," I correct in a hushed tone. "And you have to stop. It's gross. Incestuous, really."

"She's not my sister," He laughs, walking over to the freezer and pulling out a tub of frozen cookie dough.

"Um, you've known her since you were, like, fourteen? Yeah, she's basically almost kind of like your sister."

"Nah, I don't think that's how it works," Beckett chuckles. "What's the harm in me talking to her? She's hot."

"The harm is you only want to have sex with her," I retort.

"You say it like it's just the worst thing in the whole world."

"It is, you pedophile," I mutter. "There are thousands of girls at BU to hook up with, so leave Aspen alone."

Boston University is the college my brother attends and he's in his third year there, so he's graduating pretty soon. I personally think that's reason enough for him to move out, but he doesn't seem to agree and neither does our mom. It's not that I don't enjoy my brother's company, because I do.

We're very close, but he's just so annoying and overbearing sometimes. He claims he needs to stay living at home, especially after what happened last year, so he can watch out over me when mom is working, and mom is reluctant for him to move out because she knows that he has no idea how to be a real adult because he can't cook or do laundry.

"Ouch," Beckett replies with a laugh, putting his hand over his heart like my remark really hurt his feelings. "Well, lucky for you, I'm leaving now anyway," he tells me, taking his keys out of his pants pocket. "I'm supposed to meeting up with this girl from my Chem class at 11 up in Boston, so I'm gonna head that way."

"Wait a minute, you have a date tonight and you were hitting on my friend two seconds ago?" I ask in disbelief, grabbing the cookie dough from him. "You really are the reason why girls say men are trash, Beck."

"I wouldn't call it a date," he defends. "It's more of a 'let me buy you a drink then take you home' type thing."

"You're gross," I say, taking out a block of cookie dough. "Stay away from my friend; she's too pure for you."

"Yeah, right," Beckett scoffs and then walks from behind the island. "You guys gonna be okay here alone?"

"We'll be fine," I assure him. "But on the off-chance that something happens, I will for sure call you," I say.

"Okay, good," Beckett nods. "I'll see you later, sis," he says, walking out the kitchen through the living room.

I hear him say something to Aspen, but I can't make out exactly what he says. It's probably something stupid and flirty, though, because Aspen giggles and says something back to him and he laughs at it before leaving.

"What?" Aspen asks when she walks back into the room and sees the disturbed look on my face.

"Please, please, please do not do it," I beg, grabbing a spoon and sticking it in the cookie dough.

"Don't do what?" She wonders, going to check on the cookies.

"My brother," I bluntly reply, shuddering at the very thought.

"I won't do your brother," Aspen laughs. "Well, I will, but when you ask me, I'll say that I didn't."

"I really do hate you," I tell her. "You and Beckett, actually. You're both just terrible people," I groan.

"Nah, you love me," she insists. "Come on, re-reruns of Real Housewives are on, let's go and watch."

A U T H O R ' S    N O T E 

i realize this took a grossly long time and that the new chapter of finding sawyer is taking an even grosser, longer amount of time and i'm sorry for that. like i've said, though, i'm having a bout of writer's block as far as that story is concerned. fear not though i will overcome it and i will be back with a new chapter of it soon enough. it's december 10th now (or maybe 11th depending where you live) so i'm promising you guys right here and right now that i will most definitely update finding sawyer before christmas, even if it kills me. so look forward to that.

anyway tell me what you thought of this chapter, if you want. as i'm sure you've noticed, there are a few changes so far from the original story. nothing too huge has changed and i don't plan on anything too huge changing, but some stuff about the original bugged me (probably because i was significantly younger when i wrote it idk) so i'm changing those things that i don't like so much but that's about it.

don't know when i'll update this again, but i'll definitely see you all over in finding sawyer on or before christmas!!!!!!