Invisible

"I'm not going too, so you can stop. I'm not pouring my soul out to some random guy I just met," she said quietly, staring at her plate.

"Yeah, but I just saved your life."

"Was it really worth saving?" She snaps.

"I think so. And thats the kind of mentality thats keeping you from leaving. You know, in all those books and stuff people feel better after they vent."

"This isn't a book! I'm a freaking statistic!"

"No, you almost were."

In the silence, I can hear my dryer ding.

Corrie gets up silently, and comes back in her shorts and t-shirt, which is one of those breast cancer awareness shirts, and it says 'Save the ta-tas!' "Where's your phone?"

"We don't have a home phone. My dad bought that stupid MagicJack thing, but we never use it."

"Can I borrow your cell, then?"

"No. I'm not gonna let you just go and shoot yourself or something. Please, Corrie. Give me something."

"How about a promise that you'll see me in English tomorrow?" she asks tiredly.

"I'm giving you a lot of trust here," I say, defeated. "Come on, I'll drive you home. That way you don't have to fess up to your folks."

She blinks, a little startled, so I shepherd her towards the door, but then I hear two car doors slam and Corrie makes a little squeak. "I shouldn't be here!"

In comes my mother, her arms full of grocery bags. She stops at the sight of us. "Hello. Aaron, I thought you had football practice today."

"Canceled," I lie.

"And who is this?"

"Corrie. We're partners for English. We just came here so we could grab your copy of Othello." I think I should be congratulated on how well that worked.

"Oh, alright. Do you know where it is?"

"No."

"Well, I'll go grab it, just let me set my stuff down." Mom rushes off and Corrie lets out a breath I didn't know she was holding.

"I know, great right?" I ask, grinning. "I really am on a roll today."

Mom comes back downstairs, holding a really beat up book. "Here you are, dears. But, sweetie, what happened to your hair?"

"Got soaked outside. Aaron dropped his keys," Corrie said with a grimace. "And I hate wet hair."

Mom made a noise of sympathy. "And those shorts?"

"I was late this morning. They were the first thing I could find."

"You aren't bad either," I say approvingly as I pull down the driveway. She shrugs noncommittally.

Five minutes of awkward silence broken only by directions, I say, "I'm really glad I ditched today."

"Thank you, Aaron," Corrie responds. "That took some guts, grabbing me right out of the air."

"I don't know how I did it. I think that was like, God. He's giving you a second chance. don't waste it."

She smiles a little, staring at her lap. She's wearing my jacket again.

I pull into her driveway, the rain now a light drizzle. "I'll see you tomorrow, then?" I ask.

"I'm good for my word," Corrie sighs, then she looks me full on for the first time. "Listen, Aaron, I really do appreciate all you've done for me, so you can stop. You don't have to feel any sort of responsibility for me. I was just having an awful day." She tries to take off the jacket, but I shake my head.

"So was I," I say. "Why do you think I ditched in the first place? And this isn't a burden. God chose me, didn't he?"

"I stopped listening to God a while ago," Corrie says in a dead voice, sliding out of the car before I can respond. She slammed the door and cut across the yard to her front door. I sit there for a long time after.