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But if he’s happy, I’m happy. Right?
TODAY
Thursday, December 8th, 2016
I’m sitting on someone’s right during free period.
My breaths are tightening. I’m so itchy it’s as if an army of ants is launching an assault on my body. I want to scream, but I’m in the library, the place of mandatory silence, a freak-out-free zone. It’s one more thing I can’t control. I try and keep calm by scratching my palm, but the whole thing is ridiculous. I can’t bury my anxiety deep in my hand, like a dog and his used-up bone in a backyard.
I thought this seat was a better spot than the other last seat available, which is to the left of Wade. I don’t know the guy next to me, but the more and more I try to avoid Wade’s eyes as he peeks at me from across the room, the more and more I get to know the guy a little better, like how he hums songs I don’t know and nibbles on his pen cap. These little facts are enough to turn him into a capital p Person, a Person who’s on my left, a Person who should be on my right.
I have to ask him to switch seats. It’s what I should’ve done in the first place. I know myself. I should’ve known that the more and more I push thoughts about Wade and his own grief aside and how guilty I feel he’s suffering alone, the more and more I was going to zoom in on someone else. I lean over, which feels bizarre. I really wish you or Jackson were here right now to distract me from all of this.
“Hey. Can we switch seats?”
The pen cap falls out of the guy’s mouth. “What?”
“Can we trade seats?” I’m eager to get this resolved, eager to be where I belong, eager to get these antlike itches off of me, eager to get my temperature back down, eager to be out of Wade’s sight, eager to be invisible.
He points to a phone connected to an outlet. “My phone is charging.”
“You can leave it there.”
“Yeah, right.”
“No one’s trying to steal your phone.”
“Says you.”
“Are you a freshman?”
“Sophomore.”
That explains his arrogance. “Just give me your seat.”
“Why?”
I shouldn’t have to explain my compulsion to him. But he has what I want. But he’s a stranger who knows nothing about me. But maybe he won’t be such an asshole if I gave him the chance to understand. But maybe people should be kind without reason.
“It’s personal,” I say.
“I personally want to keep an eye on my phone,” he says.
I stand and kick my seat back, losing control of myself in this controlled environment. “You’re not even supposed to have your phone on you!”
The sophomore leans back, surprised, maybe a little frightened. The new librarian approaches with caution. She doesn’t know I’m not normally some troublemaker, and I doubt she’s going to know how to handle me, either.
“See, now we’re both going to get written up,” I tell the sophomore. I bet you anything I’m sitting to his left in detention.
Then I see Wade rushing toward me, his backpack and textbooks abandoned at his desk. I’m catching fire. The librarian is about to say something, but Wade jumps in between us.
“I’m sorry about him,” Wade says, and his apology makes it sound like he’s sorry for my entire existence. “He’s grieving right now.”
The librarian’s eyes widen. She nods in understanding about who I am. I wonder how she knows. I’m not close with her, but on the other hand, I would’ve bet everything that for the past few days, I’ve stunk of grief and looked like a poster boy for depression.
“I understand and I’m sorry for your loss, but you have to keep it down in the library or—”
“We’re going right now.” Wade grabs me by the shoulders and steers me out into the hall. I take a deep breath, ready to cry.
