P.S. I Hate You

Sunday is spent… sleeping. And studying. And cooking. And playing with Devin and Benji in the front yard [yes we got that rotten word off] with a football. We also did a little baseball and soccer. Unevenly, it was usually me against the two of them, which is just unfair, and when I finally convinced them to come inside for milkshakes, I had several new bruises and many more grass stains.

But it was actually fun.

Later that night I helped Benji with the rest of his homework, and then we watched some old cartoons that we used to watch on weekends, back when he was really, really little. After saying good-night to our parents, we went on to bed. A pretty boring day, in all.

Monday… I reach school, feeling really tired after all that tossing and turning. My thoughts were again dwelling on the other day with Benji, when we were talking about my friends. I take a deep breath and shuffle over to Jaz. “Um, hey…” I mumble, looking down and holding onto my backpack for support.

She glances up from loading her locker. “Yeah?” She says, barely looking at me.
This is harder than I thought.

I take a deep breath but I can’t get the words out as I shuffle a foot, trying to feel less awkward… pretty impossible, I’m afraid. “I just, uh…”

“Go on,” she says, her eyes boring into mine.

I glance up at her, and see she’s darkened her hair again and cut her bangs to be sharper around her face with spray gel and all… going more gothic, I suppose. Except for her bright pink converse with yellow laces, that is. I know she’d never get rid of those.

“Well…” I start but I can’t finish. My fingers twitter, itching to get away.

Jaz snorts, shaking her head, then looks up at me who’s standing there uneasily. Then she suddenly grins. “I get it.” She says like my old friend. “And it’s all good.”

“Yeah?” I ask hopefully.

She nods, grinning again. “Yeah.” She puts out an arm and I stand next to her so she can wrap her arm around me as we walk down the hall, friends again. “So…” she finally draws out. “Heard something happened at the party.”

I wrinkle my nose. “Unfortunately.”

“Yeah? Like what?” She asks curiously, her eyes straying around but her head is slightly inclined towards me, meaning she really is focusing on my words, but pretending not to.
I sigh. “Claustrophobia.”

“So?”

I glare at the ground. “During Seven Minutes.”

She winces. “Ouch.”

I nod. “It’s worse.”

“Nu-uh! How?” She looks at me, eyes wide.

“They shoved him in the closet, too,” I mutter.

“Him…. Him, him? As in him?” She asks, stunned.

I nod.

She whistles. “Wow. I am… stunned that you didn’t kill yourself,” she says bluntly.

I give her a look. “Thanks,” I tell her sarcastically.

She rolls her eyes. “I’m just saying…”

I shrug. “Yeah, yeah. I get what you mean. But it doesn’t help.”

“Does it help that I haven’t heard anything yet?” She offers. “No rumors, no nasty pictures…”
“Hm.” Is all I say. What else can I say? I mean… it’s actually pretty true. It is true. Curious, I peer around. No one is pointing and staring, or anything. I mean, I suppose many of the people at the party were drunk and don’t really remember, but I know Caleb wasn’t, so… it’s weird. The moment something bad happens to me, everyone finds out and it gets worse. He always tells them nasty stuff about me, anything to humiliate me.

So why hasn’t he done anything?

“That is weird,” I say blandly.

She nods absently. “Right-o. Anyways, though, gotta run to class,” she winks and heads off into the crowd and I watch her go before wandering into my first class.

I don’t see him… okay, well I do. With Rhea. And there’s no way I’d ever really confront him myself or anything… I can barely stand to look at him without flushing- with embarrassment and anger, of course. I still can’t believe I fainted…

But the question keeps in my mind and its all I can think about. Why didn’t he say anything?