forty-four

                                    

                                          
He's sitting by the window when I try to sneak into class unnoticed.
                          
"Nice of you to join us," my teacher says in a sarcastic snarky tone, the kind that if I used would get me sent to the principal's office.
                          
"Sorry Mrs. Ranaldi," I say, as I try not to look at the judgmental stares from the other students. One person's stare though, catches my eye. He sits straight up when I enter and watches me walk across the room as I slide into a desk a few seats away from him. I catch his glance just for a second, but I'm too embarrassed to look back and make solid eye contact. We haven't spoken since it happened, and by it, I mean the day I completely humiliated myself and betrayed my best friend's trust. I've been avoiding him ever since that day we kissed, which hasn't been easy to do. It seems like he's been seeking me out, determined to have the awkward talk I've been desperately trying to avoid. Why did I have to ruin everything? For such a smart girl, I sure made a colossally stupid mistake. Nothing would ever be the same now. We had always gone everywhere together, done everything together, the three of us. Some of the kids at school even took to calling us The Three Musketeers. We were best friends. But when Lex and Wyler started dating, things were different, not necessarily for either of them, but for me. It was difficult to be around the two of them and pretend like my feelings for Wyler didn't exist, and I clearly did a horrible job at hiding my feelings, which is why I'm in this mess to begin with.
                          
I try to fixate my stare on the board in front of the room, but it's useless. It's like the gravitational pull of the earth is forcing my eyes toward his. I figure I can afford one quick look. I glance over my shoulder and he's looking right at me. He mouths the words, "we need to talk." I just stare at him, unsure of what to say.
                          
"Ever!" Mrs. Ranaldi shouts. "Are you listening?"
                          
I'm not really listening, but I still know the answer to her question. I always know the answer. It's one of the reasons she's allowed me to arrive late every day. Unlike the other students, who seem to only raise their hand to ask to use the bathroom, I have the answer to whatever question she asks. My homework is flawless and completed on time. I keep to myself and I don't cause problems in class. I'm the model student, but the world's worst best friend. I open my mouth to speak, but before I can give the answer, I'm saved by the bell.
                          
"All right everyone, make sure you read Chapter 7 by tomorrow," Mrs. Ranaldi hollers at the class, but they're already halfway out the door.
                          
I can see that Wyler is headed my way, so I try to mix in with the other students. Just as he's about to reach me, Mrs. Ranaldi steps in his path to confront him about his lack of effort lately. I hurry and dash out the door while I can. I blend in easily with the hordes of students pushing and shoving each other as they move through the hallway like a herd of cows. I dip into the girl's bathroom, seeking refuge from my crush. I figure this will be the safest place to hide for a while. Normally, I would hang out in the quad with Lex, listening to her complain about why she thinks her math teacher is secretly out to get her, but I've had difficulty acting like myself around her ever since the kiss and I feel like she's starting to notice that something is up.
                          
Girls shuffle in and out of stalls, hurrying to use the bathroom before their next class. A five-minute passing period is hardly enough time to get from one end of the school to the next, let alone pee. A girl in all black, stands by the window, blowing smoke through the crack. It spirals up into the moist morning air. Part of me wants to ask her if I can bum a cigarette, but that annoying survivor guilt kicks in, and, as usual, I choose to make the right decision. I wait for the one-minute passing bell to chime before I make my way out of the restroom. I keep my eyes to the floor and round the corner to head up the stairs to chemistry when I run straight into him. You've got to be kidding me! Two thousand students and somehow, I wind up smashing right into the one I'm trying to avoid. I attempt to move past him, but he steps in front of me, blocking my route of escape. He grabs my arm and pulls me under the stairwell.
                          
"You can't keep avoiding me, you know," he says looking me straight in the eyes.
                          
Oh god, his eyes. Those eyes are what got me into this mess.
                          
"What do you mean?" I say coyly, as if I have no idea what he's talking about, but I hear my response as it leaves my mouth, and not even I believe what I'm saying.
                          
"Come on Ever," he says incredulously. "We need to talk about what happened."
                          
"Do we?" My voice goes up an octave in protest. "Or should we just pretend it never happened?" It's more of a suggestion than a question.
                          
"Is that what you want?" he asks earnestly, as he gently lets go of my arm. 
                          
I can tell he's hurt and disappointed by my response, although I don't know why. I figured he regretted kissing me, but maybe I'm wrong. Even though I'm pretending to make light of the situation, I've been desperate to know how he's been feeling since it happened.
                          
"I don't know," I say, and I genuinely mean it. "She's my best friend."
                          
"Believe me, I'm aware."
                          
"Did you tell her?" I ask, afraid to hear the answer. He isn't the only one I've been avoiding, as of late.
                          
"Not yet. I wanted to talk to you first."
                          
The sound of loud footsteps thumps above our heads. Someone is running down the stairs, most likely late for class. He pulls me further under the stairwell and into the corner. We stand there, staring at one another, each waiting for the other to speak. He moves closer and I take a step back, but the further I back away, the closer he gets. I can feel his breath blowing on my face, just inches from my lips. Today was a bad day not to shower. I wonder if he can smell me, but he doesn't appear to notice or at least he doesn't seem to care. He lifts his hand and touches the wall behind me. He's backed me up against it, and is moving closer, just an inch now from my face. I know I should tell him to stop, but I don't want him to.
                          
Another set of footsteps can be heard above us, this time someone is running upward and there are voices. I can't make out what they're saying, but it sounds like they're in a panic. Wyler seems oblivious to the commotion. He brushes a strand of hair out of my face, steps closer and leans in towards my mouth. 
                          
That's when the first siren goes off. It's deafening and we immediately cover our ears. We look at each other, first in disbelief, but then with an understanding that there's no time to waste. A voice comes over the loud speaker, directing students to safety.
                          
"Follow me," he says, grabbing my hand.
                          
We wind our way up the stairs through the shouting and the panic. Terrified students run every direction. Years of practice drills have done little to quell the terror.
                          
This is not a drill, the recording repeats again over the loud speaker. Quickly and calmly make your way to the bunker.