I almost get whiplash from jerking my head to the left. Someone else is in here. I freeze and hold my breath, but I can’t hide now. How could I not notice another human person right next to me! They must have had their feet up so I couldn’t see them. I didn’t put mine up, which means they probably know who I am. Unless someone else has the same Jordans as me. Which they don’t, because I would have noticed and made friends with them.
Perfect. Now someone knows I’m crying in the bathroom. I’ll probably end up getting blackmailed or something. But I’m not the only one ditching class to have a bathroom breakdown. Which is good. I mean, it’s not good, but at least this way I’m less likely to be blackmailed. I mean, I still could, because this person most likely knows who I am, and they could be anyone. Maybe Bo? She did seem to have just as rough a time as I did last hour. . . .
A hand （Bo’s hand?） reaches under the stall, offering me a wad of toilet paper.
I just stare at it. Now it’s weird. I was fully prepared to leave and never acknowledge the awkwardness of this situation. But now there’s a hand full of toilet paper reaching under my stall. If I take it, I’m admitting I’m in here, crying in the bathroom because I couldn’t handle a little debate.
But if I don’t take the damned toilet paper, my nose will keep running.
I give in.
“Thanks.” I say, then blow my nose.
Instead of responding, the stall door next to me opens. Quick footsteps, and she’s gone.
I wipe my nose one more time, then flush down the toilet paper and head to class. As soon as I open the bathroom door, Bo crashes into me.
“Sorry, sorry!” Bo says, then her eyes soften when they meet mine. “Are you okay?”
So it wasn’t Bo who handed me the toilet paper. The thought makes me deflate a little for some reason. It was wishful thinking that she, of all people, would be my bathroom savior.
“I’m fine,” I say. Maybe I should hang out in the bathroom a little longer. At least until you can’t tell I was crying by looking at me. But I can’t follow Bo into the bathroom right after she saw me leave, so I walk across campus to the bathroom by the cafeteria. Then I wait it out until my eyes go back to their normal color.
My mom works late on Wednesdays, so instead of waiting for her to pick us up from school after sunset, Cesar and I take the light rail home. It’s a straight line almost all the way to our house, but it’s a long trip. I stare out the window at the clear sunny sky, ignoring the horns honking and cars whirring in my peripheral vision. If Cesar notices I’m quieter than usual, he doesn’t say anything. I don’t want him to, either. I don’t know what it is, but I can never hold it together when he asks what’s wrong. I just want to be home so I can forget about today and sleep until tomorrow. Crying is exhausting. I’m about to fall asleep when Cesar pokes my arm.
“Yaaaaami.”
I bat his finger away without opening my eyes.
“I’m bored.” He pokes me in the belly this time.
On a reflex, I swing my arm and smack him on the forehead. It’s an accident, but he deserves it. He’s dirty for going right for my tickle spot.
“Damn, you got some quick hands!” He rubs his forehead, but he’s half smiling. Actually, hearing that is weirdly reassuring coming from Cesar. Makes me feel tougher than I am. Like I can handle myself.
“Yeah, catch some of these!” I do a couple of little air jabs by his stomach so he knows I’m not to be messed with.
“Hey, careful! You could break your hand on these abs of steel!” He flexes, and I snort. Cesar has a bit of a pancita, like me. He’s not exactly buff.
“Anyways”—I roll my eyes—“can I take my nap now?”