But maybe that’s how it gets you?
I replay the movie and check again, scanning my chest, my shoulders, my stomach for any trace of desire, and the more I look, the less sure I am of what it even feels like to want something, but it doesn’t matter because I need to keep going, I can’t stop, I have to figure it out somehow, before it’s too late.
At school, I skip my locker and dawdle in the bathroom until first bell rings. When I walk into class, Forrest is alreadyseated. His face lights up the second he sees me, and I can’t help smiling back, even as my stomach lurches. In my seat, I can feel him looking at me, and I pretend that whatever Ms. Lundahl is saying is the most fascinating thing I’ve ever heard.
My phone vibrates in my pocket. When I slip it out, it’s a text from him.Can’t wait to run the event with you later,he says, and my heart sinks. I want to respond, I want to tell him the same thing, I want to co-moderate the panel and kiss him afterward in front of everyone, but every time I imagine it, that romantic movie’s catastrophic sequel rolls through my mind right behind it. Our breakup, breaking everything in its path, including me.
Forrest wouldn’t even want to date me anyway if he knew what the inside of my head was like. I don’t know what’s happening to me, but it’s not good.I’mnot good—for anyone, and especially not Forrest. He likes me, and I like him, and I can’t even text him back. Jayden has a crush on Alexander, and instead of being excited for him like Makayla and Anna, I’m worried about how it’s going to affect me.
Maybe I don’t have anxiety at all. Under my desk, I open a search browser on my phone and type in “sociopath symptoms.”
My phone buzzes again. It’s Dad this time, the first time he’s texted since this weekend. Why is everyone texting meright now? I slide the phone into my pocket without looking at the message. At the front of the room, Ms. Lundahl is droning on about something I should probably care about,but all I can feel is the fluttering in my chest, the churning of my stomach.
I have to stop getting anxious, or I’m going to break down in class in front of everyone, and everyone will know what a freak I am.
Stop,I tell myself.
Stop.
Stop.
It doesn’t work.
I take my time at my locker once the lunch bell rings, longer than I need to. I never got to finish my Google search in class and it’s been itching under my skin ever since, the need to know, the need to figure this out. If I’m a sociopath, my friends deserve to hear it, so they can get away from me. I click on link after link and scan the articles: “6 Traits of a Sociopath,” “Here’s Why Spotting a Sociopath Is Harder Than You Think,” “Antisocial Personality Disorder Signs and Symptoms,” and on and on.
“Sidney!”
I close the browser as fast as I can and look up. Anna is coming toward me down the hall, a big smile on her face as she waves at me. I shut my locker and fall into step beside her.
“How was your morning?” she asks, linking her arm through mine.
I shrug. “It was fine.”
She squeezes my bicep. “You OK? You seem down.”
“I’m just tired.”
“I feel that.”
The hallway in front of the library is busy, lockers opening and slamming shut all around us in rhythmic cacophony, clumps of people talking and laughing as they push through the crowded corridor to the cafeteria. Anna leads me around a group and then we’re passing through the library’s double doors, into an eddy of quiet outside the wild current.
“Hey y’all!” Mx. Prager calls out cheerfully, waving from their desk, and I smile weakly as we hustle past them toward the back of the library. Nyx and Stef are already there setting up for the panel, one at each end of a table as they slowly slide it out of the way.
“Hi,” Nyx says breathlessly as we approach. The two of them push the table lengthwise against the bookcases, and Anna and I take the cue to grab another one and do the same. Together, the four of us move all the tables aside to leave a large area in the center.
“Where’s Forrest?” I ask as casually as possible.
Stef fixes me with a pointed stare. The corner of her mouth twitches. I wonder if he told her. “He’s making up a quiz during lunch,” she says, pushing the first few chairs into a row.
“Cool,” I say, nodding.
I can feel her eyes on me as we set up the rest of the rows, but I ignore her. We leave a square of carpet at the front for a stage area, with three chairs facing the rows, angled slightly toward each other.
We’re just finishing up as Jayden and Makayla join us, and the others trickle in as we eat lunch. Most of the Queer Alliance is here, and they fill the first few rows, eating andchatting. More people join, some of them friends with our members, others I don’t recognize.
I hear him before I see him.
“Are! You! Readyyyyy?!” Forrest bellows over the chatter. We all turn, and he’s there at the back of the rows, posed like he’s the Hulk ready to smash.
