Tom laid on his bed, thinking. The blanket and the mattress felt hard, old, flattened after years of laying on it. The air in his room was still and hot and dusty. He remembered and stewed over everything from today. He felt he might gain a fever from all this stress. He couldn't focus.
He needed to fix everything. He needed to talk to Becky. But... she wouldn't want to speak with him.
His only chance was to go to school and try to talk to her, despite how sick of school he was. Despite how she might avoid him. He needed Becky back.
Tom tried to do his homework, but he just couldn't. Becky would usually help him with it until it was finished, or he would know it enough to finish it fast. Now, neither were options.
Tom looked at the rough papers, hardly even reading the words on the pages, until the sun turned red-golden and he gave up. What did it matter, anyway? It was just math problems and English trivia and things that didn't matter. His whole life was falling apart and everyone expected him to fill out these papers? It didn't matter, whatever he did-- his teachers would either give him a good licking or leave him alone.
He just laid, staring at the ceiling, until his hunger went away and that mixing dark feeling in his stomach went away, replaced with tiredness and sleep.
He woke up with the sun, tired and wanting to go back to bed. But he had to talk to Becky, and he was already late-- school would be starting soon. Tom got dressed, and thumped down the stairs, putting items in his bag as he went. He slung the bag around his shoulder and ran out the door into the rising air.
Hardly past dawn, he ran through the mud of the town, past Amy's house and Becky's house and the Widow Douglas' and the church.
His breaths were loud, and the sun was rising in his eyes, and his heartbeat was moving through him. He was tired, but didn't want to get beat. Tom's bag bounced against his hips roughly, swinging all around and slowing him. But he couldn't be late to school or he would get another beating and he would get discouraged; if he was late he wouldn't be able to find Becky; he would lose his chance.
And so he ran through the town, through mud and gravel and dirt and grass, to get to the schoolyard. He needed to apologize.
Tom got to school, his legs so tired he felt he had to sit and lay down and collapse and rest. But he got to school and saw everyone standing around the courtyard, waiting, and he couldn't. The sun had just risen, and Tom felt that darkness come back into him, being back here. Without Becky, without anyone. The bell rang and he searched for Becky, but couldn't see her past the waves of people going in. And so Tom went to class. He felt an ache through him, an adrenaline making his legs to his fingertips tired. And he felt a sadness wash through him, seeing all these people together while he was without Becky.
He decided to sit in the back of the classroom-- nowhere else to go. He searched for Becky as he walked, and saw her sitting with those girls again. He tried to meet her eyes but she wasn't looking at him. That was better than it would've been, if he saw her look away. She was laughing with those girls, happy, without him. And, Tom sighed, that was better than seeing her cry.
Tom sat at one of the warped, scratched desks. And the whole class period, he just wanted to go outside and lay under that tree, holding Becky's hand like he had done so many times before.
Tom couldn't pay attention to math. He couldn't even see the board. His eyes kept wandering to the walls and ceiling, wishing he could see sky. And to Becky, the back of her head, her hair curling nicely over her shoulders. The ache in his heart stayed.
Eventually, class ended. A bell rung and everyone got up. The teacher didn't have time to give them homework. They hurried to their next classes.
Tom got up quickly from the wobbly desk, his long legs feeling tangled and weak as he got up. He kept Becky in his sight, putting his bag on and moving past the aisles and rows of people. He scooted and stretched past the swarming and pushing crowds, trying to get to Becky.
But there were too many of them and by the time they reached the courtyard, pulling out to the open bright air, he had lost her.
He looked and looked, turning his head, seeing the vibrating masses of people talking, laughing, smiling.
Tom stood, looking past all these moving people, trying to see to where Becky could be. He looked over to Amy and Joe and them, but of course she wasn't there.
Tom looked for those girls she was with. Couldn't find them. Tom glanced and walked and searched for Becky's long curls, for one of her perfect dresses, for her dainty and calm and happy face.
He still couldn't see her.
Tom gave up eventually, going to the tree he usually went to during break. His stomach turned, weightless and weight-filled again. But that's where she was.
Becky was there, with those girls. And she was looking around nervously, talking with them, messing with the bottom hem of her skirt. A relief came over him. He had hardly any time before the bell would ring, but there she was. The air was white, glowing on her. Tom headed over.
He could see Becky looking around, and he could see Becky look at him, at his eyes. Her's gained a sadness, a bitterness, as she looked at him. And she turned away, saying something to the girls.
Tom walked faster, reaching them.
"Becky, I need to talk to you." Tom said breathlessly. He felt desperate searching air in his throat. She shook her head. He felt the looks of everyone on him. He knew he shouldn't be hereâhe knew they were all siding with her, all believing what she believedâthey thought he had purposefully cheated on her. And the idea of everyone thinking badly of him made his stomach swarm. Made him feel sick to his soul.
"I don't want to talk to you."
"Becky--"
"Leave me alone, Tom. Don't you understand? Why would I want to talk to you? It's been like a day since I even found out." She said, eyes not parting from his. The girls murmured to her, their hands on her shoulders and back, now. Pulling her away.
"But Becky, I--" The bell rang. It always rings before it should. He needed more time. He always needed more time. "Becky, it ain't because of me. Ask Amy, she'd tell you it was all her. I don't like her-- I like you."
"Then you shouldn't've kissed her, Tom." His name in her voice, in a horrible tone. Angry, harsh, without anything it usually had, without anything it should've had. It curled his stomach and turned his heart, and he wished she said it in a different way.
"I didn't, Becky." Tom said. "Why don't you believe me?" He asked, pleaded. How could he ever fix this between them? That awful shine that had been in her eyes was now in his, and he hated that. He wanted to be strong in front of her. To hold his ground and say, 'Becky, she kissed me and I couldn't stop it, and I love you, and I've loved only you.' But he couldn't, and she wasn't listening.
"Because I wasn't there, and I should've been, and because of what you didn't tell me. Amy told me herself that you two kissed. And that you kissed her back." Becky said.