I nodded. “Mm-hmm. Boy troubles during science experiments. I think I’ve got a new podcast, don’t you? That’s what I was talking about, by the way. Podcasts and boys.”
The classroom snickered and laughed as the teacher’s face fell.
“Ah, well uh. Just—keep your head focused and in the game. You’ve only got fifteen minutes left in class and I expect the two of you to be through that list of experiments.”
Allison sighed. “This is our last one, Mr. Abernathy.”
He nodded curtly. “Well, good then.”
I shook my head as our very uncomfortable teacher hunkered his way down into his chair. He crossed his arms over his chest, glaring at us from beyond his invisible-framed glasses. I wasn’t convinced by Allison’s reassuring words, but it didn’t stop me from hoping she was right. I mean, I couldn't bear to lose one of my best friends over this stupid thing. This stupid, idiotic boy thing.
Stupid and idiotic. Sounds like something you’d get yourself into.
“You think I should go over to his house after school sometime this week?”
Allison poured the clear liquid into the beaker. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“Look, it’s bubbling up.”
I watched the bubbles turn all sorts of fluorescent colors as it climbed up the neck of the glass beaker. It overflowed and we quickly moved our notes before jotting down what we’d witnessed. I kept stealing glances over at Allison. I watched her pen move quickly across her notepad. Something looked different about her. I couldn’t place it, but I knew it.
She was hiding something from me.
“Allison.”
“Hmmm?”
“What aren’t you telling me?”
And when her pen faltered, I knew I had her.
“Rae, don’t do this now. Okay?”
I scoffed. “So you have been talking to Michael.”
“Rae—”
“Just tell me the damn truth, Allison.”
I kept my voice at a hushed volume, but I still felt people’s eyes on me and Mr. Abernathy lingering around us. I still felt as if the world was shining its great, big beacon directly into my fucking face.
And after Allison was done jotting down her notes, she turned her attention to me.
“No, Michael hasn’t talked about the incident between you two. But yes. We’ve talked, a lot, over this past weekend. Which was the first reason I knew something was up. He called every day, multiple times a day. Came over a few times. He talked about anything and everything other than this one thing, and you know Michael. You know he’s just not like that. He’s not a chatterbox about his life.”
I paused. “Is he okay?”
She nodded. “He’s fine. He’s angry. He’s hurt. He’s upset, clearly. But he’s fine. So, when I tell you to give him time, that’s what you need to do. From someone who spent practically all damn weekend with him? Give. Michael. Time.”
Then the lunch bell rang, causing the class to scatter and rush for the hallways.
Just like the entire world seemed to rush around in my mind.
28
Clinton