Chapter 26 #2
We each pick up the ends again and move toward the door, turning it on one long side to fit through the door frame, and walk it slowly toward the house.
Shar reaches out one hand, the other gripping the top shelf with all her strength, and opens the back door.
We move through, into the kitchen, and around the corner, careful not to step on any cat tails as we go.
Where the old bookcase used to stand is an open space. For the past few months, the books it used to hold have been piled on top of the other bookshelf and stacked on the floor nearby. We set the new bookcase down and slide it backward. It fits perfectly.
“Yes!” Shar pumps her fist, and I can’t help smiling.
There it is. A whole thing, and we built it. Well, Shar did a lot of it. But I helped.
Shar bends to start replacing the books, and I follow her lead. Brekky keeps trying to climb into the open shelves, and each time we remove him, he meows in complaint, making us laugh.
“What’s going on out here?” Mom asks behind us.
Shar spins around like she got caught doing something she wasn’t supposed to. “I wanted to get it all done before you came out here,” she said. “But—ta-da!” She steps aside, gesturing at the bookcase, and Mom squeals, clapping her hands.
“You finished it!” she says, throwing her arms around Shar.
“Told you I would,” Shar says, and they kiss.
I smile, shoving more books onto the shelves. Mom grabs a stack to help, and one book at a time, we put the bookcase back together.
On Monday morning, I stand in the bathroom, staring at myself in the mirror. My hair is brushed and so are my teeth; I’m fully dressed and my backpack waits by the door; all I need to do is walk out.
“You can do this,” I tell my reflection. I don’t look like I believe me, but I turn away and head for the living room.
Outside, it’s chilly, the sky still dark as I walk to the train.
The car is crowded when I get on, like usual, and this time I have to stand, holding onto a pole as the train zooms through the tunnel.
I’m spaced out, music loud in my headphones, and it’s not until I get to my stop that I realize I haven’t had a single suicidal thought.
Well. An OCD thought, I guess. Since I’m not really suicidal.
It’s just an intrusive thought. One that everyone has, apparently.
I stare at the people riding down the escalator next to mine as it rises.
There’s a tired-looking businesswoman on her phone, a young guy texti ng someone, an old man bent over his cane who smiles at me when I look at him.
Do all of them really have intrusive thoughts too?
I need to ask Tracy about that tomorrow, because it doesn’t seem possible.
I push through a door at the back of the school and into the echoing tornado of the hallway, snaking through the chaos to my locker. I stuff my coat inside it, put my lunch box on the top shelf, and shut the door, swinging my backpack onto my shoulder.
When I turn, I see Forrest.
He’s at his locker, doing the same thing I was just doing, minus the lunch box, because he eats in the cafeteria. I want to say hi, but he asked for time. Maybe the time isn’t up yet.
He looks up and it’s too late to walk away, because he sees me too. He lifts a hand and waves. I wave back, and he motions me toward him.
I walk along the bank of lockers until I’m standing right in front of him. “Hey,” I say.
“Hi.” He shuts his locker and shoulders his backpack.
“How are you?” I ask.
“I’m good.” His eyes are a mellow brown in the light. “I thought about you a lot this weekend.”
“I thought about you too,” I say. “And I’m really sorry. Again.”
“I know,” he says. “I just wish you would have talked to me.”
I nod.
“I hope . . .” He swallows. “In the future . . . you’ll tell me if it gets bad again.”
I go completely still as he rubs a hand over the back of his head. If he wants me to tell him, does that mean—
“Do you want to go out with me?” he asks.
“Yes!” I shriek, and he bursts out laughing. His face lights up, and seeing him happy makes my heart expand until it feels like I’m going to explode, because I’m happy too.
“So you’re my boyfriend?” I reach out and poke his shoulder.
He pokes me back. “Yeah. And you’re my . . . date . . . person? What should I call you? Co-president?”
I snort. “Oh my god, no. I like partner.”
He smiles. “You’re my partner.”
I poke his shoulder again, and he pokes me back, and then we’re poking back and forth, giggling wildly. I can’t believe this is happening. I’m dating Forrest. I’m. Dating. Forrest.
As quickly as my heart expanded, it contracts. We’re dating. Which means we can break up. And when we break up—
His face, rigid with anger, screaming at me about something, I don’t know what it is but I know I did something bad, and I am bad, and he’s done with me—
“Sidney?”
I snap back to earth. Forrest is watching me, hands in his pockets.
“I . . . had a thought,” I say. “Um. An intrusive one. It’s an OCD thing.”
“You looked like you spaced out for a second,” he says.
“Yeah. It’s like a movie that plays in my brain, except instead of something entertaining, it’s a highlight reel of my worst fears.” I give a double thumbs-up.
“That sounds terrible,” he says. “Like anxiety on steroids.”
“Yeah.” The inside of my skull is itching, and I want to ask him to never leave me, never break up with me, we’re OK, right, you don’t hate me, please tell me so the thoughts will stop and I’ll be OK.
But I’m not supposed to do that, I don’t think.
I have to let the thought exist. All of this could end, and I just have to accept that.
I have to live with all the possibilities of us, layered over each other, every branching pathway we could take, and find out where we go.
“Hey.” He holds out a hand, and I take it. His palm is warm, his fingers curling through mine and pulling me closer, until we’re a few inches apart. “I got you.”
“Thanks,” I say softly. His hand in mine is solid. And right now, I know what I want to do. I’m going to open my mouth and ask him what I’ve been wanting to ask him since he called me his partner a few minutes ago.
“Can I kiss you?”
He nods. I let go of his hand and slip my arms around his waist, and he pulls me close, and then we’re kissing.
This is real.
It’s happening.