Our ride home is in blissful silence.
When we get there, he ignores everyone.
The week goes by in welcome monotony. Most people wouldn’t like living the same routine, but I find it peaceful. There were too many days in my past that I couldn’t predict.
Would I be able to get out of bed?
Could I go to school?
Would I be able to make it throughout an entire day without tearing up because my body aches so brutally?
Chronic illness gives little wiggle room for peace of mind. Having “good” days doesn’t mean the pain isn’t there, it just means that it’s not as noticeable—like a limb that’s sort of falling asleep but still functioning. Days where I have energy can end abruptly for no reason other than fate playing games with me.
Like oncoming hip pain that feels like you continuously slammed your hipbone into a wall. Or finger pain that feels like you’ve shut your fingers into a door until they’re so swollen you can’t straighten them. I’ve nodded off in the middle of a class more times than I can count, not because the material is dry, but because my body is tired of fighting its own cells. Inside the sad shell of my agonizing existence is a battlefield, and I’m on both sides holding trigger-ready guns waiting for the bullets to leave the barrels.
Yet, I feel lucky. I’m still breathing.
There are a few girls who sit by me at lunch that also share classes with me throughout the day. Sometimes they’ll ask me questions, but usually they leave me alone and talk about the teachers and classmates, like Mr. Nichols and Kaiden. Thankfully, I don’t think they know who I am to Kaiden. I’m sure they’ve seen me get out of his car, even sure I’ve seen a few guys stare and make jokes when Kaiden leaves me behind as soon as the ignition is off.
Nobody says a thing about it.
Knowing that people view him as Exeter High royalty, thanks to one of the lunch table inhabitants, makes it better that they don’t associate us. Then again, it’s a smaller school. Dad told me it only has a little over eight hundred students total, which means that it’s not much bigger than my old district in Bakersfield. We may live in an urban area, but it’s not big enough to keep secrets for long. Not when Kaiden is involved.
Like when one of the girls gives me the briefest looks before leaning into her friends and mentioning some person named Riley. I don’t know who he is, but apparently he no longer attends Exeter. Why they look at me in relation to him, I have no interest in asking. If they wanted me to know, they would have included me in their conversation.
On Friday afternoon, Mr. Nichols asks me to stay behind while everyone else leaves the room. Mentally, I go through a list of possible reasons. I turned in homework, did the readings, and even participated twice in class. I’ve done nothing warranting trouble.
Unlike Monday, Kaiden doesn’t wait up for me at the door. He’s been hanging out in the parking lot with his buddies, who I learn are on the lacrosse team with him. They’ll joke around and shove each other and hit on the girls that linger until I make it out of the front doors. Kaiden always shoos them away, and like loyal followers, they obey without complaint.
Mr. Nichols smiles from where he sits behind his desk. I can see why girls always giggle and gossip about him. His face still screams youth, which isn’t a surprise. He told us on the first day that he only just graduated with his Master’s, putting him somewhere in his mid-twenties. His eyes are a chocolate brown, his hair a dirty blond and chopped short, and his body is in physically good shape highlighted by the button-up shirts he wears with sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and pressed dress pants that seem to emphasize long legs. It’s hard not to notice a cute teacher like him.
“I won’t keep you long, I’m sure you’re eager to start the weekend like everyone else,” he promises lightly.
Shrugging, I readjust my bag strap over my shoulder. “It isn’t like I have any exciting plans. Did I do something wrong?”
He straightens. “Not at all. I’m sorry if I worried you. I actually wanted to talk to you about the paper you turned in.”
On the second day of class, he assigned a short paper for us to write about our favorite novels. It made most people groan to have an assignment so soon in the semester, but I didn’t mind. During my worst days, I’d stay in bed with a book by my side. There’s always two on my nightstand waiting to be loved.
When he told us that we had to explain why we chose the specific book, it seemed like an easy assignment. It was informal and we got to talk about literature in a way that’s personal to us. Yet, I learned based on the muttered complaints and protests that reading isn’t a common hobby among my peers. Another reason why I have yet to make any friends here.
He rests his hands on his desk. “I noticed that you didn’t just choose one book. You like reading, don’t you? The ones you talked about said as much.”
Wetting my lips, I manage a nervous head nod. Maybe I should have just chosen one, but he never said we couldn’t write on more than that.
“The ones you chose,” he says, “they all seem to have a common theme. I’m curious as to why you selected them.”
He knows about my condition. School policy states that teachers must be made aware of all students with chronic illnesses that can impact their attendance and performance in school. Personally, I think it’s an invasion of privacy. Dad and Cam think it’s a good idea though.
You’ll have people in your corner, Dad told me in comfort.
I wanted to say, Like you?
Hostility gets us nowhere though.
“You told us to pick our favorite,” is my reply. It’s quiet and unsure, like I’m not sure what he wants me to say.
“And those are?”
Another nod.
He studies me for a long moment. “They all seem to question mortality. I wonder if it’s a reflection on personal matters. We tend to hold onto stories when we relate to them.”
I shift on my aching feet. “If you’re going to suggest I see a counselor, I already turned down the idea when Principal Richman insisted.”
Despite Dad telling me I had no choice, I never made an appointment with either the counselor or nurse. When I told him that setting aside a free period just to tell the counselor that school is fine is a waste of time, he saw my point. The nurse…not so much. He’s insistent that Ms. Gilly will be a handy ally here.
I told him I didn’t need an ally.
Nichols’ smile widens, making him look even more boyish. “I was actually going to suggest joining Book Club.”
Taken by surprise, my lips part. I didn’t even know there was a book club here. It’s not on the school’s list of activities students can join. Cam convinced Dad I should consider looking into different options to make friends faster. I only looked to get them off my back.
He takes my silence as consideration of his suggestion. “We meet every Thursday after school, usually around three thirty. It’s held in the library, although sometimes it’s moved to the classroom.”
“We?”
“I’m the faculty supervisor.”
Oh.
He feels the need to explain when I make no move to say I’ll come. “The last English teacher was responsible for it, so I agreed to take over for her when I met with her before the year started. It seemed like a passion project of hers that she wanted to see remain. It’s small, the list is only about ten people long. You should consider joining if you love to discuss books. They’re seeing if it’ll last past this semester, and if it does—” He shrugs. “—then great.”