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We?!
We missed who?
Who is this we you’re speaking of?!
The nerve.
“Uh, yeah. Thanks?” he said, confused.
Carlton and I sat frozen in place, unsure of what we were supposed to do. Did Cara even notice us? Doubtful. We weren’t hot, popular, or rich enough to be on her radar.
“Welcome.” She smiled, and her dimples deepened as she crossed her legs and leaned in closer to Aiden. “So I’m having a party next weekend.”
Aiden nodded. “Cool.”
“You should come,” she said nonchalantly.
“Who, me?” he asked, pointing at himself.
“Yes, silly, of course.” She poked his chest with her finger, and his skin didn’t bounce back a lick. All rock-hard body. I probably stared too long at his chest in amazement.
“Give me your cell phone,” she ordered, holding her hand out toward him. He didn’t because I think he was stunned at the unfolding situation.
“Aiden”—Cara snapped her fingers—“your phone.”
He shook his head, coming back to reality, and grabbed his phone. He placed it in her perfectly manicured hands, and she gladly typed her cell phone number into his contacts.
Then she placed it back in his grip, stood from the table, and gave him her teeth-whitening-commercial perfect smile. “Okay! See you Saturday. Normally, it’s bring your own booze, but don’t worry. I have a VIP section with your name all over it.” She winked at him before bouncing away. No, really. She bounced.
Our table of three stayed quiet.
Our eyes darted back and forth with one another until Carlton said, “So was that a group invite, or…?”
It wasn’t a group invite. Carlton and I weren’t famous enough.
After school,I found Aiden surrounded by people at his locker. He was smiling and talking up a storm, but I saw the slight trembling in his hand as he tapped his pinkie finger against his leg. His invisible golden retriever tail was not wagging. It was between his legs.
I went into full-blown bodyguard mode. I dashed toward him, breaking through the sea of bodies. I wrapped a stern hand around his wrist and pulled him around the corner, yanking him away from the crowd. I slung the janitor closet open and pushed him inside, shutting the door behind us. I pulled the dangling string attached to the light on the ceiling and lit up the space.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Saving you.”
“What?”
“You’re having a panic attack.”
He blinked a few times, looked down at his trembling hands, and nodded. “Oh.”
I knew my best friend inside and out. I knew when he felt overwhelmed by such small changes in his body language. Most people missed his slight transitions, but I could read that man like a book. He was my favorite novel. One I’d repeatedly reread if given the chance.
“You don’t owe these people any part of you, Aiden.”
“They’re being nice.”
“They’re being gremlins who are trying to suck you dry. Stop talking. It doesn’t help. Just breathe.”
He lowered his head, and I took his shaky hand into mine to steady it. We stayed there for ten minutes, not talking. Sometimes words didn’t help a situation. Sometimes you just have to let time pass on by.
