One Quirk Later #16~ In Which I Ignore The Fact That I’m Taking A Break…Because I Can’t Just Skip A Quirk, Guys

Um…hello.

I’m not here. I’m definitely not here. I’m in 18th century Paris. But I’m just popping by for a moment because I just can’t skip a Quirk. I tried. I promise. But I couldn’t do it.

So here is prompt:

And here is Quirk:

Okay, Finley—it’s time for us to have a heart-to-heart. I hope you are ready because I had a bad day. I’ve got a lot to heap on you, but I know you can handle it because you’re tough like me.

Don’t look at me like that. Of course I’m tough.

So anyway, this morning I got up even though I didn’t want to because Mom signed me up for that stupid day camp thing. It feels like a betrayal, honestly, since it’s at the school and I thought the whole point of summer was to escape that place and maybe even forget that it exists for a few happy weeks. But no. I am forced to return, and worse, they expect me to enjoy myself. Camps are supposed to be fun, it’s like you’re required to like them, even though they’re actually a kind of twisted form of torture. Who invented summer camps anyway?

Whatever. Like I was saying, I got up early for a thing I didn’t want to go to, so I was already in a bad mood. Then I poured myself a bowl of cereal before realizing we didn’t have any milk. I did tell Mom we’re out of milk, but she keeps forgetting to buy more. So I had to eat my cereal dry, and it was corn flakes, which was kind of depressing. There’s just something really depressing about eating dry cornflakes, I don’t know why.

Mom popped out of the shower, in a rush like always, and asked me if I was ready to go. I waited for her to say something else (something rather specific, as a matter of fact), but she didn’t.

It hurt kind of a lot, not hearing that specific thing—which is stupid, I know. I guess I hadn’t exactly expected her to remember…but I secretly hoped that this time she would.

Stupid.

You’re probably wondering why I didn’t just remind her. Well, it wouldn’t have been the same. It would have ruined it.

So we just got in the car and rode to the school and she dropped me off. She told me to have a nice day. That’s not what I wanted her to say. And also she’d just dropped me off at summer camp, which meant I was not going to have a nice day at all.

You should be glad you’ll never have to go to summer camp, Finley. It’s terrible. First of all, you’re constantly surrounded by kids who would never in a million years hang out with you if they weren’t forced to—and really you’d rather not be hanging out with them either, so why are we here in the first place? Then they make you play all sorts of torturous games together, like capture-the-flag and hungry-hippos-in-real-life (I’m not sure that one should be legal). Not to mention the crafts. My raccoon mask actually made a girl cry, which was not my intention, though her friends seemed to think it was. And the snacks were awful. They were all way too sweet or way too salty and overall just made me feel kind of sick.

I can’t believe I have to go through all that again tomorrow.

Mom was late picking me up. I wondered briefly if she was planning something special, but I knew that was silly.

Remember when you first came to live with us? It was on my seventh birthday. I couldn’t stop goggling. I stared at you for hours. I think that made you a little bit vain for a while.

Mom even bought a cake for my seventh birthday. Maybe Dad used to remind her of stuff like that.

It was his idea to get you. I think otherwise I might actually hate him.

Yeah, you’re right. Maybe I hate him a little bit anyway.

When Mom finally came she was super stressed about something at work, which made me want to crawl into a hole and disappear. It’s hard to do that when you’re strapped next to someone in a car.

She stopped at home to drop me off and grab a few things and then she shot off to an important business meeting that she was already running late for at a fancy restaurant. She told me to heat up frozen pizza for dinner, and that she was sorry I would have to eat alone.

It’s not like I don’t like frozen pizza. I do. Just not when I leave it in the oven too long and it burns.

I’m not really hungry anyway.

Maybe I’ll just have some more cornflakes.

I’m probably too old to be talking to a goldfish. I’m twelve. Can you believe that, Finley? I’m twelve years old.

I just want her to know. I don’t want to have to tell her.

Don’t look at me like that. You’re just a stupid fish. It’s not like you know anything.

But thanks for listening, I guess.

Epilogue

And Jem is the founder and we all think she is pretty swell. We thank her from the bottom of our hearts for creating this flash fiction series.

Y’all should join in. ‘Tis great fun.

But anyway. I’m not really supposed to be here. See you guys in November.

*rushes madly back to Paris shouting incoherently about chopping off people’s heads*