Nate’s music pulsed through the house, a bassline that rattled my tiny bones. If anyone could help, it was him—Mr. Perfect, who always had an answer. His room was down the hall, but for me, it was a cross-country trek. I gritted my teeth and started moving.
The bed was a wasteland, but I slid down a tangled headphone cord to the floor, landing in a pile of lint. The gap under my door was tight, like crawling through a collapsed tunnel. I wriggled through, scraping my elbows, and emerged in the hallway. The wooden floor stretched endlessly, each plank a canyon. Nate’s door glowed faintly at the end, his music a beacon.
I ran, my bare feet slapping the wood. A sudden gust—Max sprinting past—sent me tumbling into a crack between boards. I clawed my way out, cursing. Max never looked where he was going. The hallway was a warzone: a dropped Lego piece loomed like a boulder, a stray sock a hill. I climbed over it, my lungs burning, Nate’s music growing louder.
His door was a monolith, the gap beneath a dark slit. I hesitated. Nate was the golden child, always too busy for me. Would he even care? But I had no choice. I flattened myself, inching under the door. The air smelled of Axe body spray and gym clothes. Inside, Nate’s room was chaos—sneakers scattered like warships, a half-eaten protein bar a mountain. The bass thumped, shaking the floor.
I stood in the shadow of the door, a speck in his world. Nate was sprawled on his bed, scrolling on his phone, his lean frame taking up half the room. “Nate!” I yelled, my voice a pathetic chirp. He didn’t flinch. A sock fell from his bed, crashing inches away, the impact knocking me flat. I scrambled up, heart racing. I had to get closer—maybe his desk, where his phone charger dangled like a rope.
I sprinted across the floor, dodging a rolling pen the size of a log. The desk leg was a redwood, but I climbed, gripping splinters, my arms screaming. At the top, Nate’s phone screen glowed like a billboard. He was still oblivious, humming to his music. I wasn’t just small—I was nothing to him. But I’d fought this far. I grabbed the charger cord, swinging toward his phone. If I could just make a sound, a sign, he’d have to notice me.
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