Chapter Thirty-Two

                                    

                                          
Chapter Thirty-Two
                          
You know that scene in Toy Story 2, about 15 minutes into the show when Woody tears his arm? And he starts dreaming that Andy can't take him to this cowboy camp thingy because he's broken? He starts falls into the darkness and ends on up junk, right? And the dustbin lid closes to leave him in the dark.
                          
Yeah. Multiply that by, I dunno, ten times and you'd get the general idea of how I was feeling.
                          
Rejection.
                          
Dejection.
                          
Fear.
                          
Depression.
                          
Anger.
                          
Disappoinment.
                          
Jealousy.
                          
Shock.
                          
Heartbreak.
                          
Pain.
                          
Sadness.
                          
Regret.
                          
Confusion.
                          
Wonder.
                          
Stupidity.
                          
Reluctance.
                          
Acceptance.
                          
Disagreement.
                          
Unhappiness.
                          
Lost.
                          
Darkness.
                          
Emotionless.
                          
It was like this neverending void of feelings and emotions mingled and messed up into one crying mess that was me. I refused to believe my eyes, taking to read the sentence over and over, but it all  translated into one simple message: he's leaving me.
                          
Yeah, he's doing it because his dad asked him to and with all the crap that was going on and his exams and his fucking Stephanie and this being his last year, but yeah, so what? He's gone. Bye-bye. Adios. Do svidanya. Ciao. Auf weidershen. What other fucking languages do I know?
                          
The paper on my desk scrawled with his uneven handwriting in blue ink sat on my table, moved only by the fan that was directly above me. My jacket only covered it partially, but I was only touched by Sara and Summer when I didn't move. Mr. Flynn ignored me, probably well aware of why I hadn't reacted to him. He left the three of us in class without a word, trusting that we'll be upstairs after turning off the lights and the fans.
                          
When Summer knelt in front of me, eyes wide with an unspoken question, I broke. Shoving the paper aside and burying my face into my jacket I let the tears fall freely. The thick material absorbed them easily, but I couldn't care less about anything else. The crackling of paper alerted me to Sara's picking it up and reading it aloud quietly. I wanted to snap at her, tell her as if reading it wasn't enough, but I knew it wouldn't be fair.
                          
I choked when she hit that one stupid line, and she stopped talking, both of my best friends now aware what was wrong. Summer gripped my hand in support, and Sara threw a firm arm around my shaking shoulders. Time passed, but it felt like too soon they were tugging me and trying to get me to go upstairs.
                          
I entered the audi, red. Nothing was processing, except the fact that Mr. Flynn was running the practical half of our phys-ed final. I approached him from behind as Sara and Summer joined the rest of the group, but before the muttered apology could escape my mouth, he asked in his naturally low voice, "You okay or not?"
                          
I took a deep breath, carefully choosing an accurate answer. With him I could be perfectly honest, crude even. "No," I said finally. "Shocking to say the least, but in a way expected." With that I moved to join the group, but he held me back.