Damn, I’m proud.
Probably more proud than anyone else.
But I’m also drowning.
Because the more she rises, the farther she gets from the world we used to share.
And she still keeps me at arm's length.
Touches everyone else with ease.
Laughs with everyone else.
Lets everyone else orbit her.
But me?
A look.
A glance.
A brush of attention.
And she bolts like I’m fire.
Maybe I am.
AND I? I’M LOSING MY MIND.
At practice, coaches yell. Balls hit the court. Sneakers squeak.
But I only see her shadow through the gym window.
In class, I can’t sit still.
My knee bounces like I swallowed lightning.
At lunch, I barely eat.
I watch her across the room laughing with Shani, Tristan, even Mindy.
My friends see it.
“Bro,” Xavier mutters, grabbing my shoulder. “She’s killing you.”
“Shut up.”
“I mean it. You’re pale. You look like you haven’t slept since 1994.”
he next weeks unfold like some deranged romantic war fought through ring lights and trending hashtags.
Jade posts soft, warm, authentic snapshots of her life:
Aunt Susan laughing in the kitchen
The cats weaving between their legs
Flour on Jade’s cheek as she tries (and fails) to roll cookie dough
