There it is. A whole thing, and we built it. Well, Shar did a lot of it. But I helped.
Shar bends to start replacing the books, and I follow her lead. Brekky keeps trying to climb into the open shelves, and each time we remove him, he meows in complaint, making us laugh.
“What’s going on out here?” Mom asks behind us.
Shar spins around like she got caught doing something she wasn’t supposed to. “I wanted to get it all done before you came out here,” she said. “But—ta-da!” She steps aside, gesturing at the bookcase, and Mom squeals, clapping her hands.
“You finished it!” she says, throwing her arms around Shar.
“Told you I would,” Shar says, and they kiss.
I smile, shoving more books onto the shelves. Mom grabs a stack to help, and one book at a time, we put the bookcase back together.
On Monday morning, I stand in the bathroom, staring at myself in the mirror. My hair is brushed and so are my teeth;I’m fully dressed and my backpack waits by the door; all I need to do is walk out.
“You can do this,” I tell my reflection. I don’t look like I believe me, but I turn away and head for the living room.
Outside, it’s chilly, the sky still dark as I walk to the train. The car is crowded when I get on, like usual, and this time I have to stand, holding onto a pole as the train zooms through the tunnel. I’m spaced out, music loud in my headphones, and it’s not until I get to my stop that I realize I haven’t had a single suicidal thought. Well. An OCD thought, I guess. Since I’m not really suicidal. It’s just an intrusive thought. One that everyone has, apparently.
I stare at the people riding down the escalator next to mine as it rises. There’s a tired-looking businesswoman on her phone, a young guy texti ng someone, an old man bent over his cane who smiles at me when I look at him. Do all of them really have intrusive thoughts too? I need to ask Tracy about that tomorrow, because it doesn’t seem possible.
I push through a door at the back of the school and into the echoing tornado of the hallway, snaking through the chaos to my locker. I stuff my coat inside it, put my lunch box on the top shelf, and shut the door, swinging my backpack onto my shoulder.
When I turn, I see Forrest.
He’s at his locker, doing the same thing I was just doing, minus the lunch box, because he eats in the cafeteria. I want to say hi, but he asked for time. Maybe the time isn’t up yet.
He looks up and it’s too late to walk away, because he sees me too. He lifts a hand and waves. I wave back, and he motions me toward him.
I walk along the bank of lockers until I’m standing right in front of him. “Hey,” I say.
“Hi.” He shuts his locker and shoulders his backpack.
“How are you?” I ask.
“I’m good.” His eyes are a mellow brown in the light. “I thought about you a lot this weekend.”
“I thought about you too,” I say. “And I’m really sorry. Again.”
“I know,” he says. “I just wish you would have talked to me.”
I nod.
“I hope...” He swallows. “In the future ...you’ll tell me if it gets bad again.”
I go completely still as he rubs a hand over the back of his head. If he wants me to tell him, does that mean—
“Do you want to go out with me?” he asks.
“Yes!” I shriek, and he bursts out laughing. His face lights up, and seeing him happy makes my heart expand until it feels like I’m going to explode, because I’m happy too.
“So you’re my boyfriend?” I reach out and poke his shoulder.
He pokes me back. “Yeah. And you’re my ...date ...person? What should I call you? Co-president?”
I snort. “Oh my god, no. I like partner.”
He smiles. “You’re my partner.”
