“No, he just asked me to dance because he was the new kid.” I say, and it’s not really lie. Mostly.
“Shame, you could use a boy friend.” I say, “maybe you wouldn’t bother me as much then.”
I stop and turn to her. “Char, are you okay?” I ask.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” I say.
Except I’m not.
I am so so far from fine, I am a million miles from okay, and oceans away from alright.
I want to scream it, I want to scream it right in his face, I want him to know how much I love him.
I want him to know that I love him more than words can explain.
I can’t make my mouth form those words, I can’t speak them, I can’t look him in the eye and say I love him.
As much as him not knowing breaks my heart, telling him could completely destroy me.
Except I’m not.
I am so so far from fine, I am a million miles from okay, and oceans away from alright.
I want to scream it, I want to scream it right in his face, I want him to know how much I love him.
I want him to know that I love him more than words can explain.
I can’t make my mouth form those words, I can’t speak them, I can’t look him in the eye and say I love him.
As much as him not knowing breaks my heart, telling him could completely destroy me.
“Charlotte Jem Cassidy, I have known you practically my entire life, I know when you’re lying to me. What’s wrong?”
And there, I think I see something, in his green eyes.
A glimpse of hope, perhaps?
A shred or something real, maybe? For a moment I let myself think that maybe my love isn’t one way.
I quickly push that thought from my mind, I don’t let myself think like that.
It just seems to make everything a little more tragic, and I have enough tragedy in my life to write a million John Green books, I don’t need any more.
A glimpse of hope, perhaps?
A shred or something real, maybe? For a moment I let myself think that maybe my love isn’t one way.
I quickly push that thought from my mind, I don’t let myself think like that.
It just seems to make everything a little more tragic, and I have enough tragedy in my life to write a million John Green books, I don’t need any more.
“I’m fine, really Joseph.” I say, my house is just a few yards away, keep walking, don’t look at him, survive this, just get home, then fall apart. Fall apart anywhere but here.
“You’d tell me if something were wrong, right?” I ask.
And there that glimmer is again.
That little unidentifiable feeling that I can’t quite place.
I’ve never seen it in his eyes before, and I’ve known him most of my life, I could probably have a conversation with him just through looks.
Our own little code, our own little secret language.
That little unidentifiable feeling that I can’t quite place.
I’ve never seen it in his eyes before, and I’ve known him most of my life, I could probably have a conversation with him just through looks.
Our own little code, our own little secret language.
“Of course.” I lie, my temporarily rebuilt heart breaking a little bit again.
It doesn’t crumble, or shatter, it’s just right on the edge.
Like something sitting just on the edge of a cliff, one little gust of wind will break it.
It’s like that, one more word, or look, or glimpse of a feeling in his eyes, and I’ll shatter.
I’ll turn to dust, and the wind will carry me away, hopefully to a better place.
It doesn’t crumble, or shatter, it’s just right on the edge.
Like something sitting just on the edge of a cliff, one little gust of wind will break it.
It’s like that, one more word, or look, or glimpse of a feeling in his eyes, and I’ll shatter.
I’ll turn to dust, and the wind will carry me away, hopefully to a better place.
I push past him and do my best to resist the urge to run into the house, run away, lock the door, and just hide under my bed like I used to. I used to love doing that, mostly when my parent fought, but other times too. Joseph and I used to make pillow forts under our beds. We would bring flashlights, and books, and snacks, and we would build our little fort, lock ourselves away from the world, even if only for a little while.
When I reach my room I grab a piece of paper and a pencil. And in my careful neat handwriting I write. Steps To Surviving: Love
It’s something my dad taught me to do, back when we were closer. When you’re confronted by something scary you think it out carefully and write the steps down.
Brennan wasn’t on the bus the next day, which made me hope that maybe he wouldn’t be at school.
But as I’ve already established fate has it out for me. So as I’m closing my locker I turn to see the one and only person I wish would disappear.