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“Crappy morning?”
He shakes his head. “Look. Rhiannon. Just let me have two minutes, okay? All I ask is for two minutes each day where nobody wants anything from me. Including you. That’s all.”
“I don’t want anything from you,” I protest.
He looks at me, tired, and says, “Of course you do.”
He’s right, I know. He’s right, and that hurts a little.
Space. I want a boyfriend and he wants space.
Since I have plenty of space—empty space—I guess it’s hard for me to understand.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“It’s alright. It’s just—you should see how you look there. Nobody else is just standing in the parking lot. I’m fine with seeing you. But when you stand like that, it’s like you’re waiting to pounce.”
“I get it,” I assure him. “I know.”
We’re at the doors now.
He sighs. “I’ll see you later.”
I guess I’m not going to his locker. I guess that’s okay.
“Sure you don’t want to run away?” I ask. I can feel the beach, the ocean, talking through me.
“You have to stop saying that,” he says. “Keep giving me the idea, and one day I just might do it.”
He’s not asking me to come along.
—
I get my books out of my locker, get ready for the day. My heart isn’t in it, because my heart doesn’t feel like it’s anywhere near me.
I hear a voice say “Hey” and don’t realize at first that it’s talking to me. I turn to my left and see this small Asian girl looking at me.
“Hey,” I say back. I have no idea who she is.
“Don’t worry—you don’t know me,” she says. “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.”
Join the club, I want to say. But the last thing this girl needs is a view of what’s going through my mind. She already looks overwhelmed.
“I’m Rhiannon,” I tell her, putting my books down and shaking her hand. “Shouldn’t there be someone showing you around? Like, a welcoming committee?”
I feel this is totally Tiffany Chase’s job. She seems to take pride in showing people around. I’ve never understood her.
“I don’t know,” the girl says. She still hasn’t told me her name.
I tell her I’ll be happy to take her to the office. I think she’s supposed to sign in there, anyway.
This does not go over well.
“No!” the girl says, like I’ve just threatened to call the police. “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.”
Oh, you’re definitely freaking out, I think. But I don’t say that, because it will only freak her out more. Instead, I say, “That makes sense. So you’re cutting school in order to check school out?”
“Exactly.”
