I Know It's Over by C. K. Kelly Martin

taken, but I can’t. It’s like Sasha said, like it’s not even me.
    “Oh, you have to show me yours,” Sasha begged. “All of them.”
    “No way,” I kidded, but I actually wanted to. Especially that one.
    Sasha and I never had a moment alone at her house. Either her brother, Peter, was hopping into the TV room on one foot, telling us what had happened at school that day, or we were sitting at the kitchen table, sandwiched between her parents. It was a round table, too small for five, and I never felt right sitting there—I felt like an overgrown foster child—and that feeling made me quiet.
    The five of us were sitting there, all scrunched together, one night near the beginning of October. We were having chicken and rice and Sasha’s parents were talking about building an extension onto the house, while Peter methodically scooped up one grain of rice at a time and swallowed, a process that seemed like it would take a hundred years. My cell started vibrating in my pocket, but picking it up in the middle of dinner would probably count as a personality flaw so I ignored it. A couple minutes later the kitchen phone rang and Mrs. Jasinski continued chatting as she grabbed the receiver from the wall.
    She offered a gracious hello and then held the phone out. “That’s actually for you, Nick,” she said. “Someone named Nathan.”
    I jumped up and took the phone, conscious of four pairs of eyes on me. “Hey, Nate,” I said quietly into the receiver, “I’m sort of in the middle of something here.”
    “I know,” Nathan said. “I’m sorry, but I really need to talk to you right now. Holland told me you were there. It really…” Nathan’s voice cut out. “It can’t wait. I told my dad and…I need to see you, okay?”
    “Yeah, sure.” My blood was rushing under my skin, but I didn’t want to give off any signs of anxiety. Everyone’s eyes were back on their plates, but I could sense the whole family listening. “Where are you?”
    “At the mall.” Nathan barked out a high-pitched laugh. “I couldn’t think of where else to go.”
    “Okay. Give me a few minutes to get there. I’ll see you in the food court.”
    “Okay,” Nathan said faintly.
    “Hey, it’s gonna be okay, Nate. Just wait for me, right?”
    “I’m waiting,” he confirmed, and then he was gone.
    All eyes zeroed back in on me. “Is everything all right?” Mrs. Jasinski asked. She looked concerned and that made me like her more.
    “It’s my friend. I have to go.”
    “Do you need a ride?” Mr. Jasinski was already pushing away from the table.
    “It’s okay,” I told him. “You’re in the middle of dinner.” I could just imagine the scene in the car—Sasha’s dad staring expectantly over at me, waiting for me to explain what the emergency was. I wouldn’t even blame him; I’d probably want to know too.
    Sasha walked me to the door and squeezed my arm. “Call me when you get home,” she said.
    I walked down to the end of her street, fishing for change in my pocket. There was a bus stop around the corner and with any luck a city bus would swing by soon. An old woman in a long cardigan was waiting too. She looked through me, making me feel like a juvenile delinquent. “Do you know when the bus will be here?” I asked. She shook her head mutely, still avoiding eye contact. “Do they come by often?” I persisted. Ditto on that.
    When the bus arrived ten minutes later, it had an NYC logo painted on its side that the Courtland bus company hadn’t bothered to paint over and I glanced back over at her, determined to score a positive response. “You headed for New York City too?” I asked with a neighborly smile. The woman glared at me and stepped towards the curb. I started to wonder if she had a couple screws loose, but she began chatting, quite sanely, with the bus driver as soon as the doors had closed behind us.
    Fifteen minutes later I was racing through Courtland Place. Nathan was sitting at a table in the