Sequel: The "You're Not Fat" Campaign ›
Ana
Laura
Cassie is sitting across from me in Art. Usually she and I talk, laugh, make fun of Mr. Leone, our oddball teacher. I say usually. I mean, we used to. Now, it's mostly me talking. She smiles a little, and I run out of things to say within five minutes of class starting. It sucks, basically. And I have no idea what is going on in her head.
Cass and I used to be the kind of best friends where we could look at each other from across a classroom and have a conversation without ever opening our mouths. Eyeball Talking, we called it. Yeah, we were weird. Now, I can't understand what she's trying to tell me. Sometimes she looks up at me with those big, pleading green eyes and I can almost guess what's going on. Like when you know you're forgetting something, but you can't remember what. It's right on the tip of my tongue, and instinctively, I know she is asking for some kind of help. But with what?
Cass and I used to be the kind of best friends where we could look at each other from across a classroom and have a conversation without ever opening our mouths. Eyeball Talking, we called it. Yeah, we were weird. Now, I can't understand what she's trying to tell me. Sometimes she looks up at me with those big, pleading green eyes and I can almost guess what's going on. Like when you know you're forgetting something, but you can't remember what. It's right on the tip of my tongue, and instinctively, I know she is asking for some kind of help. But with what?