Eighteen

Weeks had passed since the bonfire at Gibbs' place, and to me, things just felt different now. In my head, everyone around me was secretly talking about me, or giving me side glances. Even being around my friends made me feel uncomfortable, which had a way of making me feel a dangerous type of darkness. What happened that night at the lake house had created a turmoil that now sat heavy in my stomach, just growing and growing...

And now, all I feel is alone.

Over the past few weeks, I had basically avoided everyone as best as I could. Soccer took up my time after school and on the weekends, I bailed on the mural during art, blaming it on having to study for finals, and I skipped out on lunch most days. I knew my friends noticed my changed behavior, but they refused to acknowledge it, which made me feel relieved and even more depressed at the same time.

And on top of it all, I couldn't find enough ego to face Jamie.

The fear that what happened that night had been spread by gossip throughout the entire school was crippling. I was on edge every second of every day, waiting for someone to bring it up. Whether it be a student or teacher. The anxiety of believing everyone knew the truth had a way of fucking with my mind, and it was driving me insane.

"Peyt," I hear.

I snap out of it and realize I had been having lunch with my friends for the first time in a while. The sound of cafeteria chatter fills my ears.

"Hmm?" I answer.

"Don't you agree Gibbs should cut his hair?" Gwen asks, acting almost oblivious to my weird behavior.

"Whatever he wants," I say hollowly.

"See." Gibbs leans back into his chair with a smile. "Whatever I want."

The conversation continues as if I'm not even here. I don't mind. Everything feels forced and fake anyway. And if they're playing dumb on purpose, well, then it only makes it worse. I stand, which causes the attention of my three friends to fall on me.

"I'll see you guys later," I say. "I've gotta study."

"Awe, come on Peyt, you know you'll pass calc with flying colors," Gibbs pleads. "Hang out for a bit."

"Yeah, I'm sure I will," I agree. "If I study."

Then I give them a forced smile and leave, heading for the door. I walk outside and let the frigid air hit me, sending shivers through my body. It's exceptionally cold today, and I can faintly see my breath as I exhale from my mouth.

I make it to the corridor I hadn't been to in weeks and reveal the key I had been granted that hangs on my keys. Then I let myself in.

Ever since the mural had been ruined, the two entryways had been locked, for safety. The principal had granted me a key to access it, which meant that no one could get into the room unless you were him, the janitor, or myself.

But it also meant Jamie couldn't work on the mural without me.

I slump against the wall across from the mural and stare up at the nearly blank canvas. We were so far behind at this point that it would be a miracle if we ever finished, but I couldn't seem to find the motivation or courage to work on it anymore. Then I pull out my calculus book and start going over our final study guide.

It takes all but five minutes for someone to interrupt me.

"You can't tell me studying math is more fun than painting," Jamie teases.

"It isn't," I reply without looking up from my book. "But my art skills won't get me into college."

"Says who?"

"Says my mom," I finish.

I hadn't meant to stiffen the mood, but hey, I wasn't lying. My mom expects a lot of me, but my art was never one of them. It was always the grades, or the sports, or the clubs... Every one of those had a specific way to do it right. There was a way to measure perfection.

Art, well, that was nothing more than a hobby to her.

"Well, I disagree." Jamie slides down next to me. "If that's something you'd ever want to do, of course."

I remain silent. I had thought about it, but my mom would never let me study art. I wasn't even sure if I wanted to. I enjoy creating without the restrictions of grades or deadlines. The mural is an exception, of course.

"You've been MIA," Jamie continues.

"I've been busy."

"Sure..." Jamie crosses her legs. "But you still find time for things that are important to you."

"Okay."

"And this mural is very important to you."

"A lot of things are important to me, Jamie."

My tone is walking the thin line between annoyed and straight up mean. I didn't want to be mean to Jamie, but I had come here for a reason. To be alone. And that meant I didn't want anyone around. Especially her. She just made the aching in my chest worse.

Jamie is silent for a minute. Maybe she's regretting her decision to come and find me. Maybe she's fed up with my crazy mood swings just as much as everyone else.

"What's wrong, Peyton?" she asks.

It's such a loaded question. It's the question that I could usually answer with "nothing, just tired," but today that isn't the case. Today it is the question that opens the flood gates. Pain squeezes my heart and forces tears from my eyes. I try to suppress as much as I could, but I find the more I hold back the harder it becomes to breathe. As much as I want to tell Jamie, I can't because of the knot in my throat.

She doesn't say anything. She doesn't respond to me crying, or continuously press me to answer her out of worry. She just scoots closer and pulls me into her chest.

I sob into her shirt and wonder if she cares that my tears would ruin it. The fact that she was the only one to come and check on me makes everything I feel even worse. Why hadn't any of my best friends cared enough to do the same?

"I don't know what's going on," Jamie says. "But I need you to know it's gonna be okay."

Her chest is warm against me. Any other day I would be besides myself, being this close to her, but today is clearly different. I quickly realize what's happening and recognize I'm not okay with Jamie seeing me like this. I pull back.

"Sorry," I mumble as I wipe my tears.

"Don't be sorry," she states. "It's okay to cry every now and then."

I laugh cynically. "Not for me."

"Why not?"

"Because..." I lean against the wall. "I'm supposed to be the happy one. The one that helps other people."

"You're not superhuman," she argues. "You have your own shit just like everyone else."

I fall silent. She's right, but it doesn't make anything different for me. I still feel like I have to be strong. That I have to keep my act up. I wonder if that would ever change for me.

"You know, I felt the same way once," Jamie says. "About having to stay strong."

I study the contour of her jaw as she stares up at the unfinished mural. She seems to go to a different place.

"My dad left when I was ten," she reveals. "I'm not sure why, my mom never gave me a straight answer, but I think it's because she doesn't really know either."

I watch the sadness wrap around Jamie as she tells her story.

"It crushed my mom." She looks down into her lap. "And ten-year-old me felt the need to always be happy to make her feel better, but... my dad leaving crushed me too."

She falls silent then, probably remembering the time in her life where she had felt most vulnerable. Maybe, in a twisted way, her dad walking out granted Jamie the strength to come out and be herself, because hiding would've been too painful.

I once again find myself admiring her.

"I hurt in silence for years," she confesses. "And I can tell you it doesn't make things better. It just makes you cold."

We're still close, and I hadn't realized up until now that my hand is still resting on her knee. I feel a different type of closeness to Jamie now, but I didn't know how to respond to her monologue. I fear I'll say the wrong thing.

Then she looks at me, and it feels like she's studying my soul. I feel exposed and vulnerable, but somehow okay. Jamie is one of the few people who could see past it all, and maybe that's why I had such a bad habit of pushing her away. It frightens me that she can see things others couldn't.

Suddenly the bell rings and signals the end of lunch. I move away from Jamie even though inside I'm just dying for a few more minutes.

"I'll meet you here tomorrow," she demands with a smile. "We've gotta mural competition to win."

I just smile in return. There's a small sense of comfort after the conversation, but I wonder how long it would last. Things had a way of breaking me down easier nowadays.

But there are just a few more days until Christmas break, and if I could make it there, then hopefully things would be okay.