dank. They pull my heart out and hold it in their hands. The blood pumps through arteries; it pours onto the floor and puddles around naked feet.
I’m fine.
Pen in hand, I concentrate on the work in front of me and the teachers and papers coming due and I do what I need to do. I determine that if nothing else, I can be studious. Perhaps I am the only senior who cares this late in the year but that’s fine. I’m fine .
Just after third period, Allison finds me by my locker and puts her hand on the pocket of my backpack. Maybe she can’t bear to touch my skin in case I’m contagious. Her bottom lip sticks out. It’s obscene.
Now Sabine surges forward and the two girls flank me and they’re all pouty faces and tin voices which is sort of annoying but then again, it’s a relief to feel tethered to something. Someone. Even them. Allison and Sabine are sisters. Twins. Their claim to fame is that they are twins but have two separate birthdays and were actually born in two different years. Sabine is the older of the two, born at 11:38 on the night of December 31 st , and Allison is the baby, born at 12:04 on the morning of January 1 st . They are both short and curvy with wavy dark hair and round brown eyes.
Along with Dustin, Taylor and maybe Roland, these are my friends. Or, at least they are my group . They belonged to Dustin first. He grew up with them. All of their parents move in the same circle and are members of the same country club where things like the stock market and wine vintages are common topics of discussion. They grew up going on cruises to Alaska together and sneaking Captain Morgan and orange juice from the mini bar.
My family vacations generally consist of tents and sleeping bags or my Aunt Delta’s couch, and my mother thinks that belonging to a country club or living in a preplanned housing community is a sure sign of moral depravity.
Last Halloween it had been suggested (by who I can’t remember) that we girls dress as an ensemble. After much discussion we’d settled on the Spice Girls. Clearly no longer popular, the idea was that we would seem ironic. Allison and Sabine were Ginger and Sporty respectively. This was pre-Hannah and Roland’s girlfriend at the time had long pale blonde hair which meant that she was Baby and Taylor in a dark wig was the clear choice for Posh with her perfect legs and pouty lips. The girls voted me as Scary Spice which I’m still not sure was supposed to mean something or if she was simply the only Spice Girl left.
So, even though these are Dustin’s friends, they are something to me too. We’ve been in coordinated costumes together and I’m pretty sure that counts for something and maybe adds up to real friendship.
“How are you?” Sabine asks.
I try to laugh but it comes out wrong, like a cross between a gasp and a moan. “I’m fine.”
Allison cocks her head to one side. “Really?”
Now I try for a smile. “Really. Of course I’m a little sad but I told Taylor on the phone yesterday that I’m going to be okay.”
The girls share an uncomfortable look between them. Today we have Lunch A and we are walking to the cafeteria. I will not think ahead of this hallway to where I’ll sit or who I’ll look at, or how Dustin will treat me. The cafeteria will be our first encounter since the break-up. Our shared calculus class is after lunch.
Deep breath.
Sure, it will be strange—foreign, but we’ll get through it. My shoes make a clicking sound as my feet strike the linoleum floor and the sound fades into a heartbeat as I let my friends wrap me in a cocoon of girl-speak. I can forget that neither of them called or even texted me over the weekend to check up on me. It was a slight, but one that real friends move past.
My head is starting to unfurl for the first time in days and it’s like a window being opened in a stuffy room. I feel lighter. I try to
I’m fine.
Pen in hand, I concentrate on the work in front of me and the teachers and papers coming due and I do what I need to do. I determine that if nothing else, I can be studious. Perhaps I am the only senior who cares this late in the year but that’s fine. I’m fine .
Just after third period, Allison finds me by my locker and puts her hand on the pocket of my backpack. Maybe she can’t bear to touch my skin in case I’m contagious. Her bottom lip sticks out. It’s obscene.
Now Sabine surges forward and the two girls flank me and they’re all pouty faces and tin voices which is sort of annoying but then again, it’s a relief to feel tethered to something. Someone. Even them. Allison and Sabine are sisters. Twins. Their claim to fame is that they are twins but have two separate birthdays and were actually born in two different years. Sabine is the older of the two, born at 11:38 on the night of December 31 st , and Allison is the baby, born at 12:04 on the morning of January 1 st . They are both short and curvy with wavy dark hair and round brown eyes.
Along with Dustin, Taylor and maybe Roland, these are my friends. Or, at least they are my group . They belonged to Dustin first. He grew up with them. All of their parents move in the same circle and are members of the same country club where things like the stock market and wine vintages are common topics of discussion. They grew up going on cruises to Alaska together and sneaking Captain Morgan and orange juice from the mini bar.
My family vacations generally consist of tents and sleeping bags or my Aunt Delta’s couch, and my mother thinks that belonging to a country club or living in a preplanned housing community is a sure sign of moral depravity.
Last Halloween it had been suggested (by who I can’t remember) that we girls dress as an ensemble. After much discussion we’d settled on the Spice Girls. Clearly no longer popular, the idea was that we would seem ironic. Allison and Sabine were Ginger and Sporty respectively. This was pre-Hannah and Roland’s girlfriend at the time had long pale blonde hair which meant that she was Baby and Taylor in a dark wig was the clear choice for Posh with her perfect legs and pouty lips. The girls voted me as Scary Spice which I’m still not sure was supposed to mean something or if she was simply the only Spice Girl left.
So, even though these are Dustin’s friends, they are something to me too. We’ve been in coordinated costumes together and I’m pretty sure that counts for something and maybe adds up to real friendship.
“How are you?” Sabine asks.
I try to laugh but it comes out wrong, like a cross between a gasp and a moan. “I’m fine.”
Allison cocks her head to one side. “Really?”
Now I try for a smile. “Really. Of course I’m a little sad but I told Taylor on the phone yesterday that I’m going to be okay.”
The girls share an uncomfortable look between them. Today we have Lunch A and we are walking to the cafeteria. I will not think ahead of this hallway to where I’ll sit or who I’ll look at, or how Dustin will treat me. The cafeteria will be our first encounter since the break-up. Our shared calculus class is after lunch.
Deep breath.
Sure, it will be strange—foreign, but we’ll get through it. My shoes make a clicking sound as my feet strike the linoleum floor and the sound fades into a heartbeat as I let my friends wrap me in a cocoon of girl-speak. I can forget that neither of them called or even texted me over the weekend to check up on me. It was a slight, but one that real friends move past.
My head is starting to unfurl for the first time in days and it’s like a window being opened in a stuffy room. I feel lighter. I try to
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