“I’ll look some up. Or do you want to do that yourself?”
I nod.
“Okay.” He stands and kisses my forehead. “Love you, Jackson.”
He puts his coffee cup in the dishwasher and wanders upstairs to finish getting ready, passing right by Jasmine, who’s still standing at the edge of the kitchen. She looks away when I catch her and goes to the pantry for her cereal.
I grab my stuff and walk to the bus stop. It’s warm today, T-shirt weather, and I’m in a light blue one Bowie got me for the Friendsmas before last. I haven’t worn it very often, since I’m almost always in black; the tag is still stiff and scratchy where it sticks up. I tuck it away and swallow back the wave of sadness that threatens to drown me.
***
Bowie’s waiting for me at my locker, like usual. And even though I knew he wouldn’t be there, I still kind of hoped I’d see Liam. Ready to tuck in my tag.
I hand Bowie two shmoodies.
“Uh. Thanks.” They scrunch up their face and smack their lips after tasting one. “What is that?”
“Lemon, ginger, and kale. And a bit of honey.”
Bowie shakes their whole body. “It’s got a kick.”
“Yeah. We’re running a little low on fruit.”
“You need a ride home today?”
“I’ll take the bus.”
“You sure? The GSA meeting won’t run that long.”
“I don’t want to be a hassle.”
Bowie rolls their eyes. “Just meet me after school.”
“All right.”
I keep my head down the rest of the day. It’s not like I talk to anyone but Bowie, anyway.
Theatre IV is a nightmare. Again. But I stay in my corner, out of everyone’s way, and they all ignore me as they pair up to do scenes from Tennessee Williams. A few times I look up from my chemistry homework and think Dr. L is watching me; but maybe I’m just imagining it.
It’s honestly a relief when class ends, and I make a hasty escape. I join the tide moving down the stairs, jostling each other, until the crowd parts, some heading toward the student parking lot, others toward the Arts wing or the gyms.
The crowd thins, and for a second I think I’m hallucinating, but no: feathery black hair, broad shoulders. Liam’s ahead of me, when he should be heading for rehearsal. I almost say something, but what is there to say?
Would he even answer?
I’m not sure I could handle it if he ignored me. So I stay quiet, following him with my eyes, until he waves at someone down the hall.
It’s Jasmine.
He steps close, says something to her, and she says something back, and then they duck into the pottery studio.
What is going on? Why are they talking?
They can’t possibly be getting back together. There’s no way. But I can’t stop thinking about them, alone in the studio. Wild scenarios spin in my mind, like a revolve gone out of control, flinging actors and set pieces off it into the wings. I’m so distracted, I don’t realize what I’m doing until Bowie waves to get my attention.
“Jackson?” Their brow furrows up. “Everything okay? Did you need something?”
“Huh?” I shake myself off. I’ve wandered into the choir room. Not only that, I sat down.
