Page 8 of The Way I Am Now
I shake my head, but I can’t open my eyes yet.
“You sure?”
I nod.
He presses down again, silently.
It’s the opposite of disappearing. Like I’m more here than I’ve ever been anywhere at any time in my whole life. It’s all the rest of it that’s disappearing now, not me. After several more seconds, he lets go. Takes my other hand and does the same thing. As he releases the pressure, I take a deep breath, open my eyes, and look at him again. He’s still watching me so closely.
“How does your head feel now?”
Do I even have a head anymore?I think. Because all I feel is the spot where his hands are touching mine.And this is exactly why I never texted you back, I want to tell him. But that wouldn’t be fair, considering all the very unfair things I’ve already done to him. It’s not his fault he makes the pain go away or the world disappear.
“Better,” I tell him. “Thank you.”
We’re sort of lazily gazing into each other’s eyes, and as I feel myself kind of swaying to the muffled music on the other side of this wall and I wonder if we’re both not saying the same thing, one of our phones vibrates.
“Is that you or me?” he asks, picking up his phone, and I’m grateful for the disruption. “Must be yours.”
Steve:do u need me?
I write back,no, I’m good
He texts back right away:u sure?
Yes.
“Everything cool?” Josh asks. “I don’t want to keep you—well, I mean, I do, actually. But I won’t. If you have to get back.”
“No. I’m not going back in.” I set my phone down again and tug at my wristband. “I didn’t really want to come in the first place . . . but I’m glad I did.” I don’t think I’m flirting; I’m just being honest. I think.
“So am I.”
“Are you sure you don’t have to get back to your friends?” I ask him.
“I honestly keep forgetting the reason I was here to begin with. But I guess you kind of have that effect on me in general.”
Buthemight be flirting.
“I don’t know how to take that,” I say. “I’m not sure that’s a good thing.”
He shrugs. “Feels good to me.”
The way he’s looking at me, my God, I can’t breathe. I laugh involuntarily because it’s the only way I’m going to be able to get air in my lungs.
“Why are you laughing?” he asks, but he’s almost laughing too. “I’m being serious.”
“I know,” I tell him. “I am too.”
He nods and seems to understand this is getting to be too much for me because he clears his throat and sits up a little straighter, changing the subject, if there was one. “So, you’re almost to graduation?”
“Yeah. Um, sort of.”
“Sort of?”
“I mean, yes, I’m graduating, but I’m actually not in school right now. Physically, I mean. I’ve been doing everything online.”
But I don’t tell him why I’m not physically in school. How I had a total meltdown my first week back from winter break— some kid ran into me in the cafeteria line, only I didn’t realize that was all that was happening. It felt like more. It felt like I was being attacked. And I just reacted, kicked him in the shin and threw my tray of food at him. Of all the things to spontaneously do, I don’t know why I didthat. But I did. And then I ran, backed myself into the corner of the cafeteria, sank to the floor, and started hyperventilating in front of everyone. Even the teachers seemed too afraid to approach me. But Steve was there. He helped me to the nurse’s office, waited with me until my mom came to pick me up.
