I repeat the mantra for what feels like forever, until my brain finally goes quiet.
I wake up in the morning feeling drained. Thoughts pulse in my mind, nothing clear, just shapes circling below the surface, waiting to strike. My group turns in our history project,but I just watch them as they high-five. At lunch, I eat my food quietly, listening to my friends talk, and when I come home, I sit at the table and stare at my homework like it’s written in another language. I copy the answers out of the back of the book for math, not bothering to even try to show my work. My rough draft for English sits untouched on my laptop. I’m afraid. Afraid to move too fast, afraid to try too hard, afraid whatever I do will wake the thoughts up again and this time I won’t be able to stop them.
Dad texts me that night.How’s it going?
OK, I say.
Just OK?
I’m just feeling kind of anxious,I type, then stare at the words for a second. Confiding my feelings in Dad is not something I’ve ever done, but I did talk to him about Forrest on our hike, and that turned out all right. Helpful, even. I send the message, and wait for his response.
About anything in particular?he asks.
I don’t even know where to start with an answer to that one, or if there is an answer at all, one that would make sense to my dad, anyway.It’s more of a general feeling,I say.
That’s a tough one,he says.
Yeah, I say, and all of a sudden I wish he was here, hugging me.Do you want to go hiking again soon?
I sure do!he says.I know we talked about doing Olympic National Park next. How about Sunday?
I say yes without a second thought. Being surrounded by trees, as far away from my life and my thoughts as possible, sounds like exactly what I need this weekend.
On Thursday, I’m at my locker between second and third period when someone pokes my arm. I turn and Forrest is standing there, hoodie cinched tight around his face for some reason. We’ve been texting back and forth all week, sending memes, songs, pictures of our pets, and the odd snarky comment about school. His messages are little anchors in my day, something I’ve started to anticipate every time I pick up my phone.
“What’s up?” he says.
“Not a lot,” I say. My voice sounds flat, and I hope he doesn’t notice.
“I just realized we didn’t meet this week,” he says, doing a little dance move in place. It’s so random, and so silly, and it makes me smile. He’s right, and not only that, but the idea of meeting didn’t even cross my mind.
“Do you think we still need to?” I ask. “I feel like things with Queer Alliance are going really well. And you don’t annoy the shit out of me anymore.” I smile again, to show I’m joking.
“What a compliment,” he says, placing a hand over his heart. “Yeah, maybe we don’t need to?”
“OK,” I say, and we both stand there. I should feel glad, I think, but I kind of wish I hadn’t said anything at all. The little energy left inside me deflates.He’s glad to be rid of you NO STOP.
STOP.
STOP.
I look at my locker, then at him, and he scratches the back of his head.
“How’s your essay going?” he says.
“Ugh.” I close my eyes and bang my forehead lightly against my locker door. “Don’t ask.”
“That bad, huh?”
I side-eye him. “Sounds like yours is going fine.”
“I mean...” He grins. “It’s coming along.”
“Can you...” I can’t believe I’m about to ask this, but the words come out of my mouth before I can think twice. “Help me?”
His eyes widen. “Wait. What? You wantmyhelp? You. Want my. Help.”
“I don’t know! Never mind.”
