“We’re going to the cafeteria,” Kurt tells him. “You’re never there. Where do you eat?” It sounds like an interrogation.
Josh’s smile wavers. “Uh, my room. Usually. Not always.”
“You’ll get detention. We aren’t allowed to leave campus while school is in session.”
Josh’s smile disappears altogether.
“You should join us sometime.” I say it quickly, because I’m embarrassed about Kurt. He’s so rigid. And awkward. But the shame that follows these traitorous thoughts is instantaneous. “Or now. Or, you know, whenever.”
As if I’m any less awkward.
My best friend frowns. It’s not that he doesn’t like Josh. But this invitation would mean a change in our routine, and Kurt is a creature of habit.
Unfortunately, Josh catches the expression. He crosses his arms – uneasiness in every line of his body – and turns back to me. “Yeah, maybe. Sometime.”
My blood ices.
Sébastien.
He was my first, last, and only boyfriend. He attends another school nearby. We dated last winter, and I thought he was a decent guy until I introduced him to Kurt. Sébastien was uncomfortable around Kurt. This made Sébastien aggressive, which intensified Kurt’s nervous habits, which turned Sébastien cruel. Which made me dump Sébastien.
Josh knows that Kurt has high-functioning autism. Everyone here knows. When a stranger misinterprets Kurt’s behaviour as rudeness and reacts poorly, I can usually forgive them. But when someone who knows him doesn’t even want to try to understand him?
No. I can’t forgive that.
My heart plummets with dead weight. “Well. Thanks for the drawing.”
Kurt pulls down his hoodie – laundered the evening of the soup incident, no longer stained – and his sandy hair sticks out in a hundred directions. “You finally saw your portrait? The one from summer?”
I glance at Josh, and he takes a step backwards. “No,” I tell Kurt. “It was a drawing he made in class. Just now.”
Josh rubs the side of his neck. “I should get going.”
“But I wanna see the drawing of you.” Kurt turns towards Josh. They’re both tall, about the same height, but Kurt is broader, and his stare is forceful. “Do you have it?”
“N–no,” Josh says. “No, I’m sorry. I don’t.”
“It’s okay. Maybe some other time.” I press my lips together.
Josh crosses his arms again, and his muscles tighten. “It’s just that I don’t have that sketchbook here. In France. That’s all. Otherwise I’d show you.” And then he rushes away. We watch him until he disappears from view.
“Was that weird?” Kurt asks. “I think that turned weird.”
“Yeah. It was weird.”
But it wasn’t. It was a moment of truth buried inside a lie. I saw Josh’s sketchbook less than an hour ago. He wanted to get away from us. Or, more likely, he wanted to get away from Kurt. My chest constricts. It’s sudden and painful, but I hold back my tears. I don’t want to have to explain them.
After lunch, I resume the habit of not looking at Josh. It’s easier now.
It’s also not easier.
I think he likes me. I don’t even know how that’s possible, but I do know that it doesn’t matter any more. It can’t matter. In physics, I feel his stare – a string as delicate and gossamer as a spider’s web, gently tugging at the back of my skull. I imagine snipping it loose with a pair of sharp scissors. I don’t know if he’ll try to talk to me after class, and I don’t know what I should say if he does. When the bell rings, I bolt.
He’s not at school the next day. I don’t know why.
I don’t see Josh over the weekend. I remove his drawing from my government textbook and carefully place it inside the top drawer of my desk. I open the drawer. Shut it. Open it. Shut it. Open it, and touch it, and worship it.
Slam it shut and feel so disloyal to Kurt.