you, then at me, then at Eva behind me. Bye, she says. Just “bye.”
MY BEDROOM. THAT EVENING.
I close my door on the world and collapse onto my bed to stare at the ceiling. I stretch my arms out beside me, finding the button on the radio with a fingertip to fill the pressing silence so I can quell the ever-present rising hum of thoughts in my head. Music fills the room. Everything, it seems, is against me! I listen to the song that shouts back at me as if it can hear the thoughts pursuing me. It started out as a feeling, which then grew into a hope, which then turned into a quiet word, and then that word grew louder and louder …
MOM
Honey!
Mom, calling from downstairs. I press my hands to my temples to keep out the words that reel through my head anyway. I have a crush on a girl?
MOM
Supper!
I swing my legs to the floor, prize myself up off the bed, ignore the static tuft of sticking-up hair caused by dragging my head across the duvet, and head downstairs to stoke the embers of the fire that keeps me going.
PEELE’S. AFTER SCHOOL. THE NEXT MONDAY.
Settled on a stool at the counter near the window, hands curled around a chai tea, I’m tired of feeling sorry for myself. We said good-bye earlier at the school gate but, tempted by the pleasant anonymity of girl sits alone at coffee-shop table, I came in here. Sitting behind my cup, amid passing shapes and the tinkling of spoons in saucers, I can dream about my romanticized future self: the free-to-be-me, respected, celebrated self, catching behind my sunglasses the stolen glances of people who recognize me from my illustrious film career. I see my reflection in the polished chrome of the coffeemaker: girl with a milk-froth mustache watching the indifferent world go by, and heroically concede the point to reality. A new influx of people moves past me in a blur, a hazy backdrop to my thoughts. There’s a figure beside me, a wash of deep red, too close for me to see. Her voice:
MIA
Phyre. It’s nice to see you.
Mia! Here! This is where I have to speak. To remember words. I’m trying to make the transition from thinking about her seconds ago to seeing her smiling before me. Still no words! It’s like I’ve never said anything clever in my life.
ME
You’re here.
Ah, blessed as always with the ability to make statements of genius at just the right moment. Did I expect her to evaporate out of context?
MIA
Yeah, I love this place.
She holds up her cup.
Have you tried their chai?
I overzealously pick up my own.
ME
Have I ever!
I do plenty of unnecessary laughing and more gesturing until:
MIA
Well, I should be going.
ME
Okeydoke.
Crap! I haven’t said that since I was five.
She waves good-bye and leaves.
ME
(Head in hands)
HOMEROOM. THE NEXT MORNING.
Sitting in front of you, I relive the embarrassment with agonizing clarity and redden at the memory. Chin resting on your forearms on the back of my chair, you look up at me with sympathy as we settle into a stupefied silence. Here’s your chance to tell me it doesn’t sound that bad …
…
… You take a ponderous breath.
YOU
She said no excessive gesturing onstage. She didn’t say anything about real life.
I can’t even bring myself to hit you.
ME
That’s all you’ve got!?
The retelling didn’t even do justice to the catastrophic nature of my performance. I find words for everyone else, sometimes they’re even clever, but with her … I needed something that would leave her thinking of me, and she probably will. Because I’m a crazy person! Now the possibilities are flowing. Sit down, have a drink. Tell me about your life, how you radiate something that makes me care so much.
You’re suppressing a smile. I glare at you, clearly not ready to laugh about it yet, and you bite your lip.
ME
She probably thinks I’m crazy, right?
Any more pearls of wisdom? Great. Thanks! No need to protest or anything: Course not, Phy. I’m sure you seemed really clever …
Your eyes have glazed over and now I’m not sure you’re even listening. I puff out my breath and stare out the window.
CUT AWAY: THE SILENT SCHOOL GROUNDS, THE LAWN, A MOTIONLESS BLUE SKY.
FRONT GATE. SCHOOL. THE NEXT MORNING.
Sitting on the wall before first bell, I watch you walk toward me with a smile on your face, holding two cardboard cups, the early-morning sun behind you. We often meet at the gate to eke out the last moments of