“I respect that opinion but, I’ll be honest, I personally believe that adults should move on from someone they had a crush on at ten or twelve. I’m not talking specifically about you or Jimmy.” Nat lifts his hand as if to prove that he’s not trying to fight. “But, for example, I once found this journal filled with poems thatsomeone wrote about their crush. It wasobsessive. Every page, every line, everything was about this guy on my hockey team.”
The fork plops into the tamales.
My stomach drops into the void that has suddenly opened beneath my feet.
“Based on how bad the poems were,” Nat says with a little laugh, “I’m guessing the poet was maybe seven or eight…”
I was TWELVE.
“… And while that poetry book was cringy, it’s something to look back and laugh at…”
I don’t think that’s funny at all. I poured my soul into that journal.
“… but imagine if that poet wasstillobsessed with the guy after all these years?”
“Maybe it’s fate, man,” Jimmy argues. “Like, what if she caught the vibe before he did?”
“I guess you could call it fate, but I’ve heard too many frightening stories. Professional athletes and celebrities get it real bad. These fans build an entire relationship in their heads based on what they see of someone on screen. It gets dangerous and creepy.”
“C-creepy?” I hasten to defend myself. “It’s not like whoever wrote that poem wrote it without ever meeting the person. I mean, that’s what it sounds like to me.”
“But the truth is that she probably never had a relationship with this guy, so why is she still feeding the obsession? And what if she’s still hanging around him, never moving on, never looking at other options and seeing if there’s better out there? What if she’s been putting this guy on a pedestal for decades?”
“Thatiskind of weird,” Jimmy agrees.
Carlos nods. “I’d be uncomfortable if it were me.”
Even Blade mutters, “Psycho alert.”
I can’t swallow.
There is no oxygen hitting my lungs.
Soon, I’m going to turn blue.
Then I’ll go unconscious.
Then my head will fall straight into the tamales and the ambulance will have to be called and Nat will hold the hand of the girl who wrote those ‘obsessive poems’ about him while they try to bring me and my tamales-splotched body back to life.
“That kind of devotion is stalker-level,” Nat explains, looking at me with a wry grin as if he expects me to laugh. “I’d be kind of scared for my life.”
A sick, twisted pain slithers through my chest. I do my best to laugh, but it sounds like an old man suffering with tuberculosis.
Nat’s smile transforms into a worried frown. “Are you okay?”
I shake my head because, at this point, I truly feel like I’m going to be sick.
Nat slides my tumbler over and I take a big swig. It doesn’t dissolve the knot in my throat.
“It’s the headache, isn’t it?” He deduces. “I’ll get you something from the store.”
Nat rises resolutely, a determined expression on his face.
And I’ll be honest, I’m kind of glad to see him go.
Chapter Thirty-Six
NATHAN
