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Twenty feet away.
Even in the crowded hallway, there is something in her that radiates out to me.
Ten.
She is carrying herself through the day, and it’s not an easy task.
Five.
I can stand right here and she has no idea who I am. I can stand right here and watch her. I can see that the sadness has returned. And it’s not a beautiful sadness—beautiful sadness is a myth. Sadness turns our features to clay, not porcelain. She is dragging.
“Hey,” I say, my voice thin, a stranger here.
At first she doesn’t understand that I’m talking to her. Then it registers.
“Hey,” she says back.
Most people, I’ve noticed, are instinctively harsh to strangers. They expect every approach to be an attack, every question to be an interruption. But not Rhiannon. She doesn’t have any idea who I am, but she’s not going to hold that against me. She’s not going to assume the worst.
“Don’t worry—you don’t know me,” I quickly say. “It’s just—it’s my first day here. I’m checking the school out. And I really like your skirt and your bag. So I thought, you know, I’d say hello. Because, to be honest, I am completely alone right now.”
Again, some people would be scared by this. But not Rhiannon. She offers her hand, introduces herself as we shake, and asks me why there isn’t someone showing me around.
“I don’t know,” I say.
“Well, why don’t I take you to the office? I’m sure they can figure something out.”
I panic. “No!” I blurt out. Then I try to cover for myself, and prolong my time with her. “It’s just … I’m not here officially. Actually, my parents don’t even know I’m doing this. They just told me we’re moving here, and I … I wanted to see it and decide whether I should be freaking out or not.”
Rhiannon nods. “That makes sense. So you’re cutting school in order to check school out?”
“Exactly.”
“What year are you?”
“A junior.”
“So am I. Let’s see if we can pull this off. Do you want to come around with me today?”
“I’d love that.”
I know she’s just being nice. Irrationally, I also want there to be some kind of recognition. I want her to be able to see behind this body, to see me inside here, to know that it’s the same person she spent an afternoon with on the beach.
I follow her. Along the way, she introduces me to a few of her friends, and I am relieved to meet each one, relieved to know that she has more people in her life than Justin. The way she includes me, the way she takes this total stranger and makes her feel a part of this world, makes me care about her even more. It’s one thing to be love-worthy when you are interacting with your boyfriend; it’s quite another when you act the same way with a girl you don’t know. I no longer think she’s just being nice. She’s being kind. Which is much more a sign of character than mere niceness. Kindness connects to who you are, while niceness connects to how you want to be seen.
Justin makes his first appearance between second and third period. We pass him in the hall; he barely acknowledges Rhiannon and completely ignores me. He doesn’t stop walking, just nods at her. She’s hurt—I can tell—but she doesn’t say anything about it to me.
By the time we get to math class, fourth period, the day has turned into an exquisite form of torture. I am right there next to her, but I can’t do a thing. As the teacher reduces us to theorems, I must remain silent. I write her a note, as an excuse to touch her shoulder, to pass her some words. But they are inconsequential. They are the words of a guest.
&n
bsp; I want to know if I changed her. I want to know if that day changed her, if only for a day.
I want her to see me, even though I know she can’t.
He joins us at lunch.
As strange as it is to see Rhiannon again, and to have her measure so well against my memory, it is even stranger to be sitting across from the jerk whose body I inhabited just three days ago. Mirror images do no justice to this sensation. He is more attractive than I thought, but also uglier. His features are attractive, but what he does with them is not. He wears the superior scowl of someone who can barely hide his feelings of inferiority. His eyes are full of scattershot anger, his posture one of defensive bravado.
