Underneath Everything by Marcy Beller Paul Page B

distance.Idon’thavetocountmystepsinmyheadtoknowhowcloseIamtothenextassignedseat.At firstit’sweird,nothavingtoavoidJolene.IfeellikeI’mfloating.Notinaweightless,amazedway.More like a drifting-into-the-ether kind of thing. Like I’ve been disconnected from something essential, somethingthatbelongstome.Myshadow,ormyreflection.
    BythemiddleofthedayIstarttowonderifshe’ssick,eventhoughthethoughtisridiculous.Jolene’s never sick. Even when she’s sick she’s not sick. She shows up at school. She doesn’t like to miss anything,unlessshehasareason.
    “Youwalkthroughthehalllikenobody’shere.”
    Istophalfwayintophysicsandturnaround.Someoneslamsintome,curses.Isteptothesideandlet thestreamofpeoplerushpastmeintoclass.
    Hudson’sbackisupagainstthelocker,hisheadphonesdownaroundhisneck.Atiny,tinnyversionof a song surrounds him. Maybe that’s why he seems a world apart from this: the lockers; the classes; the kids shuffling by, doing double takes, shooting us surprised eyes and singing their own, hushed song as theypassby (Isthat Mattie withhim?) .
    Ormaybeit’sbecausewhenIlookathim,hetakesmeawayfromit.
    “Maybethey’renot,”Isay,loweringmychin,lookingupathimthroughmylashes.I’veneverdoneit before,butI’veseenit.Joleneusedtolookathimlikethis.
    Maybewe’rebothnothere, Jolenesaid,mystomachtoherback,ourbodiescurvedtogetherinher bed.
    MaybeIwishedyougoneandyoudisappeared, Ithink.
    Theideastartlesme.
    “Maybenotforyou,”Hudsonsays,liftinghislefthandafewinchesintheair.Minerisestomeetit.
    Ourfingerstwine.“Buttherestofusdohavetodealwiththemsometimes.”
    “Toobad,”Isay,leaningintohimthewayshedid.
    “Yeah,” Hudson says. He ducks his head toward me, and for a second I think he’s going to kiss me righthereintheemptyinghallway;insteadhepauses,hismouthnearmyear.“Meetmeatthebikeracks, onthesouthside,beforetheendofnextperiod.”Thenhestandsupandloosenshisgriponmyhand.It slipsslowlyfromunderneaththeunbuttonedcuffofhisflannel.
    “Okay,”Isay.
    Hudsonnods,bringshishandstohisheadphonesandflipsthemoverhishead.Hetakesabreath,like he’sbeenholdingitallthistime,andshoveshishandsintohispockets.Thenhegivesmethestartofa real smile, but turns before I can see the rest, leaving me alone when the bell rings. I slide inside the closingclassroomdoor.Icanalreadyseethediagramoflensesontheboard.
    Istuffasad-lookingfryinmymouthandroundmybackasIleanoverthecafeteriatabletowardKris.I checkedmyphoneagainonthewaytolunch,butIdon’thaveanynewmessages.It’sbeenoveraweek.
    ThisisthelongestJolene’severgonewithouttexting.
    “Bellawascryingonthethird-floorstairs?”Iask,lickingthesaltoffmylips.
    “Cryingdoesn’treallydoitjustice,”Krissays,examiningtheoutsideofherburger.“Itwasmorelike keening.Youknow,thatkindofpiercing,high-pitchedcrythatsoundslikeasickanimal?Itwaslikethat.”
    Kristakesatinybite,thenmakesafaceandputstheburgerdownonherplate.“Shewasreallyfreaking out.”
    “Shemusthavebeen,”Isay,sortingthroughmyfriesforthecrispyones.
    “Meaning?”
    “Nothing,” I mumble. But Kris has her green eyes on me. I meet her gaze, picture the cafeteria spinningbehindher,aroundus.ThenIfinishchewing,swallowmyfood,andsay,“It’sjustthat,youknow, therewasatimeyouwouldn’tbeseentalkingtoher.”
    “True.”ShetapshernailsontopofherCoke,liftsthetab,cracksitopen.“ButtherewasalsoatimeI wouldn’tbecaughtdeadatoneofherparties.”
    “Noted.”
    Krislooksoverthetrayoffoodinfrontofherbeforeshovingitasideindisgust.Shewrapsherhands aroundthecoldsoda.Frostformsonthecanintheoutlineofherfingers.
    “So,youtwojusthungoutinherroom?”Iask.
    “Prettymuch.”
    “Romantic,”Isay.Myeyesdrifttowardtheclock.There’sonlytenminutesleftintheperiod.“Then what?”
    Kristakesasipofsoda,bendsthetabonhercanupanddown,upanddown,untilitbreaksoffinher