It's been two long weeks since the party. Normally, I'd be sitting here complaining about how awful everything's been—how I can't sleep, how I can't eat—but lately things have felt lighter. Almost too light.
I glance over at Amy's paper beside mine, our desks touching.
"What's the answer to number three?" I smirk, tugging at her page. It's a playful move I haven't made since before Smith's death.
She dramatically presses her hand to my forehead like she's checking for a fever."Oh no. We need to call an ambulance. Are you feeling okay?" she jokes, jabbing my side.
I groan and roll my eyes. "Just give me the answers," I whine.
That's when Kyle walks past and casually sets my favorite drink on my desk. I stare at the can, then at Amy. She looks just as confused.
"You saw that too… right?" I whisper.
How did he know that was my favorite?
I look back at him, but he's already deep in conversation with his friends, not even facing my direction. That night flashes through my mind—how close he was, his face inches from mine. Heat rushes to my cheeks and I hide my face. Amy watches both of us, clearly puzzled.
"So," she says slowly, "what part of this story am I missing?"
"Are you busy later?" I ask, a little too quickly.
"Yeah… I'm free," she says, skeptical.
"Come over after school." I turn back to my work, my face still flushed. Without looking, I crack open the can and take a sip. I really needed it today. Were energy drinks good for me? Absolutely not. But the buzz made everything feel manageable. I'd noticed Kyle always drank the same kind.
The bell rings, pulling me from my thoughts. I pack up fast—I hate these four walls, always closing in. I feel like a lab rat. I'd rather be outside, doing anything else.
Instead of heading out, I stop by the art room to check on one of my unfinished paintings. Mr. Greg walks in behind me, setting his steaming coffee on the desk.
"Long time no see, Emma," he says.
I dropped his class after Smith died, leaving my projects abandoned and hidden. Art was how I processed things—how I said what I couldn't out loud.
"Yeah… it's been a little while," I reply dismissively.
He studies me. "Anything new?"
"Nope. I just got worse at being a person," I say, rubbing my face.
"Care to elaborate?"
"I can't. You'd have to tattle on me," I joke.
He chuckles softly, shaking his head, and lets it go.