The Story Of Us

6. Isaac

6

ISAAC

I know I should look away from her, but once I see that single tear sliding down her cheek, it’s impossible. I did that to her. She can’t even look at me. The regret and guilt hit me all at once, and I feel like I can’t breathe. I clench my hands into fists at my side, my fingernails digging into my palms as I try to ground myself, try to direct the pain in my chest to somewhere else instead.

Violet turns her head to look out of the window, but I see how she lifts her arm and pats her cheek with her sleeve. I think of the times I used to do that for her, when she’d just finished a sad part in a book or when she was overwhelmed with schoolwork. I hated seeing her cry, but I liked that she wouldn’t hide it from me, that she would let me comfort her. But now I can’t even do that. The ache in my chest just gets worse, and I keep my hands folded tightly, finally dragging my eyes away from her as Mrs. Harper starts speaking.

“My dear writers, can I have your attention for a moment? Mr. Hale and I have a very exciting announcement to make regarding club activities this year.”

As soon as we were all gathered in the art classroom, we were told to follow Mr. Hale to the English classroom. I spent the five-minute walk torn between praying that Violet wouldn’t be here and praying that she would.

It’s like a form of torture, having to watch her go about her day and not being able to say even a word to her. If this was last year, I would have been jumping at the chance to see her during this hour every Friday, thought of it as an extension of the time we’d spend with each other after, and been ecstatic about it. But I changed everything between us, and I don’t know how we can ever go back to that or if we even can.

“For a while now, we’ve talked about ways that we can get our groups together. You’re all wonderfully talented creatives, and we’d love to see what could happen if you combine your skills,” Mrs. Harper continues, and I finally realise what’s about to happen.

“In the end, we came up with the idea of doing a joint project.” Mr. Hale takes over from her and continues. “You’ll be paired up and have until May to create any kind of media you’d like that combines your skills. It can be a comic strip, an illustrated story, a short animated film, anything at all as long as it’s clear that you’ve both worked on it.”

I look at Violet again and wonder what the chances of us getting paired up are. It makes sense for everyone to work with someone their age, so I quickly scan the room and realise that Violet is the only person from our year group in the writing club. There are a few of us in the art club, though, so one of us will end up working with her, and I desperately want it to be me.

“Now, of course, this won’t be graded, but we considered making it a competition and having some prize winners. How do you all feel about that?”

Everyone looks around at each other, and then there are murmurs of agreement as people start to whisper about the prizes, but my eyes are still fixed on Violet.

“Wonderful!” Mrs. Harper says enthusiastically, clapping her hands together. “We do have a mix of year groups, so we did our best to pair everyone with someone from their year. However, for the Year 13s, all but one of you will have to work with someone younger, as Violet is my only writer.”

She finally turns her head away from the window to look at Mrs. Harper, but I see her eyes shift towards me for just a second before she looks away again. My mind screams at her to just look at me, talk to me, so that I can work out how to fix this.

“My writers are already seated so when we start calling names out can you raise your hands and then Mr. Hale’s artists can go and sit next to them.”

I listen intently as they go down the list, starting with the youngest students and taking turns calling out names. The group starts to dwindle as everyone finds their partners, and then there are not many of us left, and the odds of getting paired with Violet are three in one. The other two names are called, and I’m the last one standing, my heart feeling like it’s about to beat out of my chest.

“That leaves us with Violet Ayaz and Isaac Evans.”

She’s not even looking at the teachers anymore. She faced the window again as soon as the names started lessening, probably when she realised we’d be put together.

I start making my way towards her desk, and my legs feel like they’re moving by themselves, like I’m on autopilot and she’s always been my destination.

I finally reach her desk and pull out the chair to her right, but she acts like I’m invisible. I wish I was because she moves her chair away from mine as soon as I sit down. A slap in the face would hurt less than this.

I stare straight ahead at the teachers, barely listening as they explain a few more conditions for the project. The last time I was this close to her was on Monday, but she told me to leave her alone then, and so I did. But now, sitting next to her, the floral scent of her perfume, which always used to make me so happy because it meant she was close to me, hits me, and I miss her.

I miss her so much, and she’s right next to me.

“Okay, we’ve pretty much covered everything,” Mr. Hale says. “Start discussing, and we’ll come around to check in with you all.”

I don’t know what to do. While Mr. Hale was talking, she turned away from me completely, putting her right arm on the desk and then resting her head on it, facing the window again. A thousand thoughts run through my mind of what I can say to her, but nothing feels right, so I just open my sketchbook and continue on the sketch I was working on last night.

Ten minutes pass, and we haven’t said a single thing to each other, but I can see Mrs. Harper coming towards us, so I clear my throat, hoping she’ll get the hint. She lifts and turns her head and then finally sits up once she sees them coming. I took the chance to look at her notebook, and it was empty, but she had another fuller one hidden under her left arm. The colour of the cover alone is enough for me to know that it’s the one I got for her. Now it’s my turn to look away from her because the thought of her still carrying a journal with my words in it, just like I still carry her pencils and a sketchbook that is filled with too many sketches of her, is too much to bear.

“Violet, Isaac, how are we doing over here?” Mrs. Harper’s eyes look down at the desk, and she notices Violet’s empty pages just like I did. “Everything okay, Violet?”

From the corner of my eye, I can see her nod, and then she finally speaks for the first time. “Yeah, I’m just trying to figure out what to write next.”

The sound of her pen tapping against the page draws my eyes to it, and the dots she’s leaving look a lot like the freckles on her nose. Freckles that I counted once when she fell asleep while we were studying together for exams last year.

Mr. Hale comes to join Mrs. Harper, and I give them both a placating smile, hoping they won’t ask too many questions because we haven’t discussed a single thing with each other about what to do.

“How’s it going over here?”

I sit up straighter in my chair, but before I can speak, Violet does.

“Actually, I was wondering if there’s any chance for the pairs to change?”

My head instantly snaps to her, and I know I should do what she said and leave her alone, but then I start thinking about how much I don’t want our last year together to be like this .

I already know we won’t end up at the same university or in the same city, and we might never speak again once school ends, but I can’t let the memories of the time we shared end the way they did. I think about how us getting paired together out of everyone feels like another one of the invisible strings that keeps us tied together, like the universe doesn’t want us to be apart either.

“You don’t want to work together?” Mr. Hale’s tone is worried, and he looks to Mrs. Harper, a silent conversation passing between them.

“No-”

“We do.” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. “We’re fine working together.”

That’s what makes her finally look at me, and I don’t care about the hatred I can see in her eyes because at least it means she feels something towards me. Her dark brown eyes bore into mine, and I hope that she can read my mind and realise this could be a way for us to repair our relationship and we can go back to the way we were.

“Violet?” Mrs. Harper says, and we can all hear the unasked question: is this fine ?

I don’t know what’s come over me, bravery or stupidity, but I knock my knee against hers and hope she hears the message in that, too. The ball is firmly in her court now, and if she decides she doesn’t want to work with me, I’ll respect that and take it as the final sign that this thing between us is unfixable. But I don’t think it is.

And neither does she.

“It’s fine, sorry, just a misunderstanding.”

I close my eyes, taking a deep breath and trying not to focus on our knees still touching. She hasn’t moved away and she hasn’t asked to work with someone else. That has to mean something .

“Well, okay then. Make sure you two don’t overwork yourselves. We know it’s your last year, but we want you to have some fun with this,” Mr. Hale says, and they both leave to move on to the next pair of students.

She finally moves her knee away from mine and I have to stop myself from chasing it. It’s the first physical contact we’ve had in months, and my skin burns from the touch like her knee has left a physical scar on mine. I wish it would because I worry it won’t ever happen again.

“Violet,” I say her name quietly, and when she looks at me, I wish I could tell what she’s thinking. She’s closed off to me now, a barrier between us that leaves me clueless as to what she’s feeling. I decide to just say what I want to say because even though she’s agreed to work on this project with me, that doesn’t mean she’ll actually talk to me. We both know there’s ways to do group projects without ever interacting, and that’s not what I want. “Can we please talk about it?”

I don’t expect her to push her chair back and stand up, but she does, throwing her things into her bag. I sit frozen, watching her, and realise I’ve pushed for far too much at once.

My hand moves towards her before I even realise what I’m doing, my fingers closing around her wrist as she tucks the chair back under the desk. The last time I held her like this was a few months ago, and she freezes, her hand gripping on to the chair.

“Let go of me.”

I drop my hand, and she rubs at her wrist like she can erase the feel of my fingers .

“Please.”

I don’t know what else to say, and she doesn’t wait to give me a response. I sit frozen and watch as she walks to the front of the classroom. I watch as she talks to Mrs. Harper with her arm crossed over her stomach. I watch as she turns to leave the room, and I watch as my heart walks out of the door without even sparing a glance in my direction.