my heart clenched like a fist. This always happens to me, I look away for a moment and everyone grows up without me.
Doctor Gilyard didn’t look surprised when I asked to see her this morning.
‘Are you ready, Emily?’ she asked when I’d sat down.
‘No,’ I said, but she smiled and opened her notebook.
‘Tell me about Sid.’
As soon as she said his name, my heart started ringing like a bell.
It rang just now, when I wrote it down.
‘When did you meet him?’
I had to close my eyes for a second. Then I took a breath and brought my legs up and rested my chin on my knees. ‘That morning in English Lit, the morning after I dyed my hair.’
‘What happened?’
‘Nothing. He just walked in.’
He walked in and everyone looked up, because when Sid King walks into a room, you look up. Sometimes I wonder if time has softened his edges, if nostalgia has made his eyes darker, his skin a warmer shade of brown. But then I remember how every girl softened, how the boys sat a little straighter, their shoulders back as he walked across the classroom.
He was older than the rest of them, I knew – my age, at least. You could tell by the way he walked, by the way he didn’t care where he sat, he just headed for the first empty seat rather than looking around the classroom for someone he knew.
His hair was long then and that morning it fell in still-wet waves over his ears. ‘Sid plays with his hair a lot,’ I told Doctor Gilyard as I thought about how dark it was, how the too-white fluorescent lights hit it so I could see the threads of brown it would eventually dry to. ‘That’s kind of his thing. He plays with his hair. Juliet pulls the sleeves of her jumper over her hands because she’s always cold and I tug on my ear lobe when I lie.’
‘That’s good to know,’ she said with a smirk, writing it down.
‘He ran his hand through his hair twice before he even got to where we were sitting.’
‘What else did you notice?’
‘His tattoos, on his wrists:
sink
’ – I touched the inside of my right wrist with my finger, then my left one – ‘and
swim
. And he was wearing this black Sonic Youth T-shirt—’
Doctor Gilyard interrupted. ‘Why do you remember that?’
‘Because Juliet was reading a book about No Wave.’
‘New Wave?’
‘No Wave, y’know, post-punk, anti-new wave,’ I started to say but Doctor Gilyard looked bewildered so I gave up. ‘Never mind. It was just kind of perfect, that’s all.’
And it was. I don’t believe in fate – I don’t believe in much any more – but it’s those little things that make me think all of this was meant to happen.
I remember turning to look at Juliet to find her watching him too, her lips parted as he dropped his ink-stained backpack on to the desk in front of ours. Of all the desks. And that’s another of those things: would any of this have happened if he’d sat on the other side of the room? Maybe not. But he sat there, so close that I could smell the shampoo in his hair.
‘So what did you do?’ Doctor Gilyard asked and I smiled to myself.
‘I asked Juliet about her summer.’ She raised her eyebrow at me as if to say,
And
? ‘I called her Nancy. I made her name sound about a minute long.’
‘Were you trying to catch her off guard?’
I nodded. And it worked because Juliet shuddered like I’d just shaken her awake in the middle of the night.
‘What did Juliet say?’
‘That she’d moved in with her aunt and uncle.’ I remember how she said it, stiffly, as though she’d been practising it. She probably had.
‘What did you say then?’ Doctor Gilyard pushed.
‘I asked her why.’
‘How did she react?’
I shrugged. ‘She looked at me like I’d betrayed her. She hadn’t asked me anything about myself, so I guess she didn’t think I’d ask her anything.’
That’s the thing with not wanting to answer questions, you have to stop asking them.
‘What did she say?’
‘She told me that her parents had
Doctor Gilyard didn’t look surprised when I asked to see her this morning.
‘Are you ready, Emily?’ she asked when I’d sat down.
‘No,’ I said, but she smiled and opened her notebook.
‘Tell me about Sid.’
As soon as she said his name, my heart started ringing like a bell.
It rang just now, when I wrote it down.
‘When did you meet him?’
I had to close my eyes for a second. Then I took a breath and brought my legs up and rested my chin on my knees. ‘That morning in English Lit, the morning after I dyed my hair.’
‘What happened?’
‘Nothing. He just walked in.’
He walked in and everyone looked up, because when Sid King walks into a room, you look up. Sometimes I wonder if time has softened his edges, if nostalgia has made his eyes darker, his skin a warmer shade of brown. But then I remember how every girl softened, how the boys sat a little straighter, their shoulders back as he walked across the classroom.
He was older than the rest of them, I knew – my age, at least. You could tell by the way he walked, by the way he didn’t care where he sat, he just headed for the first empty seat rather than looking around the classroom for someone he knew.
His hair was long then and that morning it fell in still-wet waves over his ears. ‘Sid plays with his hair a lot,’ I told Doctor Gilyard as I thought about how dark it was, how the too-white fluorescent lights hit it so I could see the threads of brown it would eventually dry to. ‘That’s kind of his thing. He plays with his hair. Juliet pulls the sleeves of her jumper over her hands because she’s always cold and I tug on my ear lobe when I lie.’
‘That’s good to know,’ she said with a smirk, writing it down.
‘He ran his hand through his hair twice before he even got to where we were sitting.’
‘What else did you notice?’
‘His tattoos, on his wrists:
sink
’ – I touched the inside of my right wrist with my finger, then my left one – ‘and
swim
. And he was wearing this black Sonic Youth T-shirt—’
Doctor Gilyard interrupted. ‘Why do you remember that?’
‘Because Juliet was reading a book about No Wave.’
‘New Wave?’
‘No Wave, y’know, post-punk, anti-new wave,’ I started to say but Doctor Gilyard looked bewildered so I gave up. ‘Never mind. It was just kind of perfect, that’s all.’
And it was. I don’t believe in fate – I don’t believe in much any more – but it’s those little things that make me think all of this was meant to happen.
I remember turning to look at Juliet to find her watching him too, her lips parted as he dropped his ink-stained backpack on to the desk in front of ours. Of all the desks. And that’s another of those things: would any of this have happened if he’d sat on the other side of the room? Maybe not. But he sat there, so close that I could smell the shampoo in his hair.
‘So what did you do?’ Doctor Gilyard asked and I smiled to myself.
‘I asked Juliet about her summer.’ She raised her eyebrow at me as if to say,
And
? ‘I called her Nancy. I made her name sound about a minute long.’
‘Were you trying to catch her off guard?’
I nodded. And it worked because Juliet shuddered like I’d just shaken her awake in the middle of the night.
‘What did Juliet say?’
‘That she’d moved in with her aunt and uncle.’ I remember how she said it, stiffly, as though she’d been practising it. She probably had.
‘What did you say then?’ Doctor Gilyard pushed.
‘I asked her why.’
‘How did she react?’
I shrugged. ‘She looked at me like I’d betrayed her. She hadn’t asked me anything about myself, so I guess she didn’t think I’d ask her anything.’
That’s the thing with not wanting to answer questions, you have to stop asking them.
‘What did she say?’
‘She told me that her parents had
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