“What are you in for?”
“Pardon?” I glance up from my Financial Management textbook. I’ve thrown myself into my studies for lack of knowing what else to do. Sometimes the easiest thing is to get lost in a book, regardless of the subject matter. Words are always a source of comfort, a true north.
Currently, I’m discovering the nuances of investment strategies, which is both fascinating and terrifying. Thus far, I’ve learned what not to do and why not to do it. I’m suddenly very grateful for Mr. Hochberg’s firm hand. Suspect he’s wholly responsible for the fact that we’re not homeless.
But I’m not the only one who’s circumspect right now. In fact, the whole campus is mired in a proverbial fog. Everyone here is so sad, so quiet.
But no one is more of all these things than Owen.
Owen witnessed what happened to Braden. He saw it. Was standing right there. I can’t even imagine what he’s going through...largely because he won’t talk to me. He has utterly and completely withdrawn from everyone, particularly me. He ignores my texts and calls and emails, refuses to come to the door when I knock. He’s barely attending school and when he’s here, he just looks past everyone, even his closest friends, like we’re invisible.
“Mum, what can I do for him?” I asked last week after my millionth ignored text. “I want to reach him, I want to see if he’s okay. I want him to know I’m here. Do I just camp out in front of his place? Do I bring a pizza? Do I make him talk to me?”
“Grief is a tricky creature, Sims.”
“I’m desperate to help! He doesn’t have to be my boyfriend, I would never put that kind of pressure on him right now, but I’d at least like to be his friend. What else can I do?”
“Simba, you’ve been very clear about extending your hand. Understand Owen’s not obligated to take it, regardless of your fine intentions. It’s possible he’s one of those who heals more quickly on his own. Some people rush to others for solace—people like you,” she said with a small, sad smile as she brushed my hair out of my eyes. “For others, they need time and privacy. Space. They need to process inside their own heads, without any external input. Your efforts might be driving him farther away. At this point, you have to respect the boundaries he’s erected.”
“I just feel so useless, so rejected.”
Mum took a deep breath. “Sim, precious girl, this is not about you, even if you feel like it is. Let him go for now. Give Owen a month or two, he may find his way back to you.”
“What if he doesn’t?” I asked, my lip quivering.
“Then he doesn’t,” she said, but not harshly. Then she hugged me to her and I started to cry.
I hate losses. I can’t stand to give up. But from what Mum said, it sounds like my being stubborn isn’t helping anything. So that’s it with Owen, even though the idea of leaving him alone makes my heart twist up like an origami swan.
Still, I’ll respect his wishes. I won’t be one more complication in his life, but I will be here if he changes his mind. I hope desperately that he does.
The boy next to me, Liam, I believe, repeats his question.
“I said, what are you in for?” He shifts in his seat, attempting to get comfortable in one of the rigid wooden chairs outside the guidance offices, but they’re designed in such a way that this is impossible. Not by coincidence, I’d imagine. He keeps stretching and repositioning his long legs, but can’t seem to find a situation that’s suitable.
I reply, “I’m so sorry, I don’t understand the question.”
Liam grins at me. I notice that one of his incisors is a teeny bit more prominent than the other, and he suddenly reminds me of my first crush. At the time, Cordy was mad for the boys in One Direction—she wasn’t picky, didn’t have a fave—but not me. I was all about David Bowie. My parents found that hilarious, because he was Mum’s first crush, too.
I’m glad to see a person here with a genuine smile. To be honest, this may be the first one I’ve seen from the student body since Braden died. Kent says that life gets back to normal within a week or two, or at least that’s what’s happened every other time.
How incredibly sad is it that “every other time” is a thing.
Liam says, “You clearly do not watch enough shows about the American penal system. That’s what you’re supposed to say to a fellow inmate to find out what crime they’ve committed.”
“Huh. I did not know that. Not sure I’ve heard anyone ask that on Orange Is the New Black,” I reply. “But then I’ve only seen one season. Question—am I supposed to like Piper? Because she whines quite a bit and it’s off-putting. I’m rooting for her to be shanked in the shower. Is that awful? I prefer everyone else, particularly Taystee.”
“Ah, so you’re avoiding the question. You must have done something serious.” He cocks an eyebrow as he leans in and I notice that he smells clean and fresh, like lemon soap and pine trees. I’m grateful that waves of Axe Body Spray don’t waft off him like so many of the boys in the halls. Whoever invented that stuff should be imprisoned with Piper.
When Liam speaks again, he’s assumed a (terrible) German accent. “Ve haf vays of making you talk.”
My bottom’s gone numb in this punishing chair. I’ve been here only a few minutes, yet this furniture is crippling. I tell him, “Five more seconds in this cruel seat and I’ll sing like a canary.”
“Funf, vier, drei, zwei, eins...” he counts.
Liam is a friendly sort, isn’t he? I’ve heard that about him. People keep saying he’s a shoo-in for Homecoming King, which is essentially a popularity contest. Well, if the most popular person is someone who’s very nice and a bit cute with his small dimple, then he has my vote.
I divert my attention back to my book. I’m washed in a wave of self-loathing about noticing if Liam might be cute.
What is wrong with me?
I feel as though I should be in mourning for what might have been with Owen. Yet I know Owen’s devastated. How could he not be? I so want to support him so he can be less devastated, but that’s the wrong call, says Mum. Still, how can he not want caring people around him? He told me his parents are never there, so I just imagine him rattling around that big house, all by himself, and it makes me want to sob. I would be so devastated to deal with something like this on my own.
Wait, that’s not fair. I’ve never experienced anything even a fraction as tragic as what he witnessed, so I can’t say how I’d feel, can’t promise I wouldn’t close up, circle the emotional wagons. Perhaps I’d shut down, too. Perhaps he’s not allowing anyone in because it’s all too raw.
The message I tried to offer again and again to no avail was I’m his friend and I want to be there for him, but he has to let me.