Between You & Me - By Marisa Calin Page 0,42

thirty seconds, I start rising to the surface against my will. Mia reaches into the water and brings me gently into the air, supporting my chin on the surface. I float there. She smiles.

MIA

Yes, I think you’re ready.

SCHOOL LIBRARY. BREAK. THE NEXT DAY.

I’m hiding: sitting at the window and watching people collect in the courtyard below—still avoiding public places. Silence sounds louder in a big room because it echoes back at you. I rest my forehead against my hand as the sun comes out and casts a long window-shaped shadow across the table in front of me. It’s strangely peaceful. Looking down, I notice Cara’s face, amid a group of people, turned up to my window and I meet her gaze. Almost immediately she disappears from sight. I’m not surprised to see her at the top of the library stairs moments later. She makes no effort to be quiet.

CARA

Hey, rock star. Why are you hiding up here?

ME

You didn’t see the site?

CARA

Are you kidding? Sure I did. I’d be out there taking a bow.

This is a genuinely befuddling moment.

ME

Why?

CARA

You scored a hottie. So what’s the problem?

She is so matter-of-fact I almost can’t help agreeing. I don’t even see the need to set her straight.

But sure, be like everyone else. See if I care.

She smiles and, for the first time since all this happened, I actually do feel normal. She turns toward the door.

CARA

Are you coming?

I hesitate, glancing out the window at the pack of people.

Come on. They’re probably just jealous. And you can’t stay in here forever.

ME

I figured I could at least sit here until this class graduates.

CARA

You’d get hungry.

She smiles again. Perspective. I think of Mia and everything I’m hiding from. Sitting here isn’t going to solve any of it. I push back my chair—the screech deafening in the silence—and I follow Cara out into the sun.

SCHOOL COURTYARD. MINUTES LATER.

Cara gives my arm a reassuring squeeze and I cross the courtyard toward you. I am a sitting duck, the bobbing downy underside before it gets swallowed by a crocodile, leaving a single floating feather on the surface of the water. Grace looks over. Her eyeliner today is almost raccoon-like.

GRACE

Hey, Phyre. You didn’t mind about the picture, did you?

Me? Mind? No!

We were just messing around.

And it was hysterical! I bite my lip and smile, as she seems halfway genuine. She babbles on, then rests her forearm on my shoulder. I cover my surprise with a sound a horse might make. I consider pretending to go with this, to play at being jovial as if the whole thing has amused me, but I don’t see why I should pretend that it’s all fine. I stand as casually as I know how for about thirty seconds, and then I press a decisive fist to your arm and start toward the door. We walk.

As we reach the hallway, you break into a smile, a partial celebration of my survival and, partly, I can tell, residual amusement at the sounds I make when under pressure. You used to name them: angry hippo, confused parrot. This time, I let it slide. You’re one of the few people I let laugh at me, and only sometimes! Hands in my pockets, chin to my chest, I peer at you. You let yourself look happy for the first time today. After a minute, your focus shifts past me to the wall, and I look too. It’s a poster for the play; they’re pinned up all around school. It looks like a 1950s movie poster, my silhouette in profile, and the caption: Will she recognize true love before it’s too late?

YOU

Looks good!

You smile.

You look good.

I smile.

ME

Thanks.

We stand in silence for another moment and I realize how lucky I am to have someone I can be myself around, in all my melancholy glory. The bell goes. I sigh.

Well, gotta get my books for class.

YOU

Okeydoke!

This time, my smile trumps my impulse to cringe. Despite all this, you made me smile. And here in the hallway, tired of this seriousness, everything suddenly strikes me as funny.

ME

Okeydoke!

Pathetically funny but it’s a relief to laugh, and I do. Helplessly, for the first time in days. I laugh so much I have tears running down my face, till my stomach hurts and I’m gasping for air. You laugh too but instead of your laughter being tinged with hysteria, it’s tinged with sympathy. You give me a hug.

YOU

Hey, you want help with the swimming-pool scene for the play? We could practice on the weekend.

ME

Sure.

And as we walk,