Chapter 21
When sixth period ends, I take my time heading to my locker, hoping the halls will be clear and Forrest will be gone by the time I get there.
I stop in front of the library and pretend to look at the exhibit while students stream around me, arm in arm with their friends. Everyone seems so happy and normal.
Finally, it starts to get quiet, and I make my way to the junior hall.
And there he is.
Leaning against my locker, waiting for me.
Walking to him is like trying to run in a dream, when you feel like you’re going fast but your limbs move like they’re pulling through thick molasses. As I approach, he straightens upright, clasping his hands one over the other in front of him.
“Are you all right?” he asks, his eyes soft and worried.
“I’m fine,” I say quietly, stopping a few feet away.
He frowns. “You didn’t seem that way during the panel.”
I look down.
“Sidney.” He steps forward, his hand coming into my line of vision and folding gently around mine. “What happened? We were supposed to co-moderate, but it was like you were on another planet.”
“I have a lot going on, OK?” I yank my hand away, and he pulls his up as if to protect himself.
“So talk to me about it.” He crosses his arms.
“I can’t!” My voice cracks.
He steps back, his frown deepening. “I don’t understand. I thought you liked me.”
“I do! I do.” I’m crying now. “I just . . . can’t do this.”
His face goes completely flat and still. “What do you mean?”
“I’m not . . .” I swallow. “I’m not . . . good.”
“What are you talking about?”
I look away, clutching one hand in the other. The hallway around us is emptying, and a few people glance at us curiously as they hurry out. I could just run away right now, run away, out of the building, down the street, and before the movie can play, I shake my head, squeeze my eyes shut. “Stop.”
“Stop what?” His voice is raw with confusion. I open my eyes. He’s staring at me, head tilted, eyebrows furrowed. If I didn’t look crazy to him before, I definitely do now. I just talked to myself in front of him.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I can’t talk about this. I have to go.” I turn, hurrying down the hall, but he follows me.
“Sid, what’s going on? We kissed yesterday, and now you’re acting like . . .” He trails off. I speed up, but he keeps pace with me. “Sid, talk to me. I like you. I want to date you and shit.”
“Forrest, please.” I push the door open with as much force as I can, taking the steps down to the sidewalk. “Just leave me alone.”
He stops, and the distance between us lengthens, pulling at me like a rubber band as I barrel toward the parking lot and the street beyond it.
“Is that really what you want?” he calls out.
I don’t respond. I just keep walking.