Chapter 10
At lunch on Monday, forrest isn’t on his phone when I get to the library; instead, he’s watching the door, and he grins when he sees me come in. I’m dragging today, eyes squinty from lack of sleep, a dull headache forming behind my eyes.
“I couldn’t let you scare me again,” he says when I get close. I crack a smile, but it’s half-hearted, and his expression shifts to a questioning frown. “What’s up with you?”
“Nothing.” I sit across from him, opening my lunch.
“I was just up late finishing the outline.” Actually, I was up all night, writing the entire outline from scratch, but I already feel like enough of a failure for falling behind in the first place; I don’t need Forrest to know about it too.
If I want to keep the presidency, I can’t show the cracks.
“Same here,” he says.
“Really?”
“Yeah. I actually, uh . . . didn’t start it until Sunday morning.” He rubs the back of his neck.
I burst out laughing, and he purses his lips, tilting his head. I wave my hand. “I’m not laughing at you! I started it Saturday morning and then forgot about it until you texted me.”
He nods slowly, lips curling upward again. “Niiiiice.”
“School is just a lot sometimes,” I say, biting into my apple.
“Agreed.” He leans backward in his chair until the front legs lift off the ground, then lands with a thump.
“So. About the exhibit,” I say. “I’ve been thinking about it.
How about on Friday, we bring it to the meeting and get everyone’s input, vote on what we want to include, and figure out when we can have a work party to put it together.
Maybe this weekend? My house is too small for a big group, though. ”
“I can host,” Forrest says, then pulls a face. “Actually . . . no, yeah. It’ll be fine. I’ll host.”
I tilt my head. “What do you mean?”
He waves a hand. “Nothing.”
“Are you sure?” I say. “I don’t want to inconvenience anyone.”
“It’s all good. It’s just my parents.” He rolls his eyes.
“Oh, are they strict?” I ask.
“Not really, not with friends,” he says, then lets out a long sigh. “They’re getting divorced. And they fight. A lot.”
“Oh.” I didn’t expect Forrest to tell me something like this, and my brain scrambles, trying to think of the right thing to say.
“Yeah.”
“We can go somewhere else if it’s awkward,” I say.
“No, it’s really fine.” He scrubs his face with his hands. “I think my dad is out of town on business this weekend anyway.”
I watch him, with his face still buried in his hands. I want to tell him something comforting, and the impulse surprises me. He exhales and sits back, hands coming down, face blotchy from where he rubbed it.
“Sorry,” he says. “I know we’re not friends or anything. You don’t need to hear about my family drama.”
We’re quiet. I look down at my notebook, at a small flower I doodled on the cover.
When Mom and Dad divorced, I didn’t have anyone to talk to about it, because I didn’t feel close enough to the few friends I had to say anything.
I thought if I did, I would just bring them down, or even worse, maybe they wouldn’t care at all.
Now I have Jayden and Anna and Makayla, and I can tell them anything. And most of the time, I do.
But their parents are happily married, and they don’t know what it was like to live in a house with two adults on the brink of breaking down, where every moment felt like a held breath.
Forrest and I may not be friends, but I know what he’s going through, in my own way.
A few weeks ago, I couldn’t have imagined even listening to, let alone caring about, whatever was going on with him.
And now . . . well. It’s not that I care, exactly.
But I don’t not care. If my parents were still together and fighting the way they used to, I’d feel hesitant to have friends over too.
“I’m really sorry,” I say. “My parents divorced when I was eleven. It sucked.”
“Thanks,” he says quietly. “Yeah. They were fighting more, but I didn’t really think they’d actually do it.”
“Mine fought, like, all the time.”
“That’s rough.”
“Yeah. I didn’t think they would get divorced either, though. That was something that happened to other kids, you know?”
He nods slowly and heavily, staring at the table, tracing the grain with his finger. The bell rings, signaling the end of lunch, and the stampede to fifth period, but we both just sit there for a minute. I don’t know how to move out of this space, this weird and quiet pocket we’ve fallen into.
And I don’t know if I want to. It was surprisingly easy to talk with him this way. Nice, even.
He scoots his chair back, grin coming on like a light bulb. “Thanks for the therapy,” he says, and stands up.
I snort. “You’re welcome.”
We pack up, and I follow him out, both of us still quiet. He disappears ahead of me into the halls, and something twinges in my chest; I don’t know why, but I was expecting him to say goodbye. But that’s something friends do, and we’re not. Even if we both have divorced parents.
On the train home, I get a text from Anna. She’d looked at me quizzically when I walked into fifth period after lunch, and I’d just shrugged at her. Forrest, I’d mouthed, and she’d nodded slowly. We didn’t get a chance to talk.
So ... how was lunch? Her message reads. And I don’t know why, but I’m a little annoyed. She knows I’ve been meeting with him for a while now; why is she asking?
Uneventful, I say back. We talked about what’s next for the exhibit.
We missed you, she says, and my chest warms. She’s just checking on me, and here I am being a jerk.
I missed you all too, I say. How was it?
It was fine, she says, and I know that’s Anna-speak for not-fine.
Annaaaaaaaa, I say.
It was fine! she replies. Really. It was just me and Makayla.
I stare down at the text. That’s weird. Volleyball is an after-school thing, which means Jayden must have been doing something else. But what?
That’s... different, I say.
Yeah :/, she says. Makayla didn’t know where he was either.
Even weirder. What if Jayden is getting into something .
. . bad? That wouldn’t make sense. But that’s how it starts sometimes, right?
He could have tried something, maybe from one of the guys on the volleyball team.
At a party, surrounded by them, and someone presses it into his hand.
I don’t know what a drug looks like, but probably a pill.
Small and white, easy to pop in your mouth, and now he’s pulling away from us.
No Halloween. No lunchtimes. No Queer Alliance.
He’ll fade like a ghost, dark circles under his eyes, avoiding us in the halls.
Signs your friend is on drugs, I type into Google, and wait as the results populate.
I’m being ridiculous, but I need to know.
Just in case. If I know, then I can look for the signs.
If I know, then I can stop Jayden before something really bad happens.
I look through article after article—“Warning Signs of Drug Abuse,” “7 Signs Your Friend Has a Drug Problem,” “Signs of Drug Use in Teens”—and catalog the answers in my head: physical appearance changes, cravings, poor judgment, risky behavior, strained relationships. That doesn’t sound like Jayden.
But what if it’s just starting, and the signs are more subtle, things I’m missing, things that wouldn’t be on any of these lists?
Someone settles into the seat next to me on the train, jarring me out of my thoughts.
I stare at my face in the window, the darkness of the tunnel behind it as we rattle down the track.
I feel afraid, afraid that everything is about to collapse, that I’ll lose Jayden forever, and what happens after that?
That’s not real. It’s not happening.
That’s not real. It’s not happening.
That’s not real. It’s not happening.
My phone vibrates again, but it’s a message from someone else. From Forrest.
My mom says I can host, he says. I was right, Dad’s gonna be on a business trip. Saturday?
That’s my study date with Jayden, but . .
. this is important too. And maybe Jayden will come, and so will Anna and Makayla, and everything will be normal.
Because nothing is really wrong. My brain is just freaking out for no reason, like it always does.
I can miss one study date. And if Jayden is using drugs, then I can watch him, and see if he gives any of the signs, and I can check with Makayla and Anna after to see if they notice anything too.
Sounds good, I say to Forrest.
Hope you like big dogs, he says.
You have dogs?
Just one—Simba. He’s a pit bull mix. A picture pops up, of a golden dog, his muzzle gone white with age, mid-lick with his tongue over his nose.
OMG he’s SO CUTE, I say. We have two cats at home, English Breakfast and Earl Grey.
LMFAO that’s amazing, he says. You must really love tea.
They’re my stepmom’s cats, I say. She had them before they started dating.
Ohhhhhhh that’s cool! he says. So your mom is dating a woman now?
Yeah, she’s bi.
That’s super cool. So was she chill when you came out?
I smile down at my phone, remembering. Yeah. Both times.
Oh you’re out to her as nonbinary too?
Yeah, my whole family knows. They’ve been fine with it. My extended family isn’t the best at pronouns, but they try. What about yours?
They were fine with it too. I kinda wasn’t expecting it.
.. my parents voted conservative when I was little, he says.
But things really changed the last few elections for them and.
.. idk. They’ve been really good about it.
My mom took me to the doctor to get on testosterone like a week after I told her.
That’s awesome.
I know. I feel lucky. Even if they’re being assholes to each other, at least they’re not assholes to me. Most of the time, lol.