EnnuiI showed up early to school on the last day before Christmas vacation. I had had clean clothes stashed away in the trunk of my car, so I didn't have to show up in the same blue dress I had been wearing for twenty-three days. I had showered at the local YMCA so I wasn't wearing the same dirt I had been wearing for the past twenty-three days. I didn't really feel clean, per se. It was being here. Back among the bullshit.
At five before seven I was the only one sitting in the cafeteria, reading Fahrenheit 451. Who even knew if my English class was still reading it. I personally had read it about four times in the past twenty-three days, simply because it had been the only book in my car.
At approximately 7:07, Chris Mathis walked through the back doors. Students had started to pass by a few minutes before that, but Chris was the first one to come in here. How appropriate. I mean, I hadn't really thought about my fond farewell, awkward and unnecessary, but seeing Chris just made the irony all come together.
I twitched a smile.
His eyes scanned over the cafeteria casually, out of habit. Then he did a double take. And his glance landed on me.
And his eyes grew huge. Well, wasn't that satisfying?
As he walked towards me, he looked from left to right suspiciously, almost as if he felt he was doing something he shouldn't be doing. Ah, I apologize, Chris Mathis. I'm not that important, not by a long shot. He looked a little shell-shocked.
"Did we have any math homework last night?" I asked him before he could say anything. I didn't want him to ask any questions. Not where I'd been, not why I'd gone, not why I'd come back, nothing. I didn't really have the answers, not in a way that could be expressed in words.
He sat down across from me shakily. Seriously, he had no reason to be like this. Chris didn't know me from Eve, for Christ's sake. "Um, no."
I smiled at him as innocently as I knew how. "Thanks."
A vaguely awkward silence formed between us as I looked back down at my book. Chris cleared his throat. I didn't look up. "Where were you?" he asked quietly, like he was afraid that I would overhear. Chris sure was one odd duck.
For the second time, I gave him that innocent smile. "You have Martins for English, right?" I asked. Then, without waiting for an answer, "Are we still reading Fahrenheit 451 in there?"
He stared at me for a few moments more. The seconds ticked by more slowly than most. And then he smiled a half-smile. And I could tell that he understood, or at least knew what game I was playing. And maybe he wasn't completely satisfied, but at least he got the bigger picture.
All of a sudden Chris Mathis seemed way less surprised, and way less freaked out, and I knew he was the same kid who had sold me my sub sandwich twenty-three days before. But I also knew that he hadn't been completely blind to the fact that I was gone. He may have even noticed. I was vaguely entertained.
"So," he began, and I could tell he was trying to stay within the boundaries while continuing the conversation, "how've you been, Lena?"
Lena. Right. How charming.
"You know," I told him, "you're the only one that still calls me that, except maybe my family."
He tilted his head. "Calls you what?"
"Lena. I mostly get Elena, now."
Was I mistaken, or did this seem to upset Chris? He looked equal parts confused and hurt, as if the addition of a single letter at the front of a name meant anything at all. "I like Lena," I assured him, for no real reason at all. And I did. I wasn't lying to make him feel better, not by a long shot. He looked assured.
He nodded. People were beginning to file into the room behind me, in clumps and drizzles, and maybe I was imagining it, but I thought I could hear mutterings of my name in hushed tones that they thought I couldn't hear. It was loud here already, louder than I'd had to deal with for the last month, and it wasn't long now before I had to deal with the cavalcade. I sort of just wanted to hang out with Chris today, because he was being so chill about all of this. I wondered if I could convince him to skip with me. He was a senior, he'd probably already gotten into college--what could they do if he skipped one day?
"Chloe has a boyfriend," he said suddenly--blurted out.
This distracted me from all my musings of the future, imminent though it may be. "What?" I spat, shocked. Chloe--my Chloe? No, no, my Chloe wasn't the dating type, that was one of her best qualities. She was, I would admit, something of a slut at parties, particularly if I got distracted long enough that she drank, but she didn't get seriously involved in relationships. "Who?"
He winced. "Mike Sullivan." I think I may have gaped at him, somewhat. Mike Sullivan was disgusting.
Things had changed while I was gone. People had changed. I mean, I knew I was different since twenty-three days ago when I decided to leave. But I hadn't expected anything else to change. It was almost hard to believe that the world had continued while I was in my self-imposed solitude.
"Things are different," I said to Chris, utterly shocked. And usually I'm so composed.
He looked at me scornfully, as if I was the village idiot to have expected anything other than change. Maybe I was. And usually I'm so on top of things. "What did you expect?" he asked--definitely scornfully. "You disappeared for more than three weeks. Did you expect that not to affect the people you know?"
An amendment to my earlier comment: Chris hadn't merely noticed I'd been gone; he'd been aware.
"Sorry," I said. And I meant for all of it. I wasn't sorry I'd gone. And I wasn't sorry he'd noticed. I was sorry he'd had to have noticed, which probably hadn't been the most tactful move on my part.
Regardless, I was glad to have Chris Mathis on my side. Or (if he wasn't on my side) around as my eyes and ears for when I'd been gone.
"Okay," he said. He didn't say "It's okay"--because it probably wasn't. It would be, and we both knew it, but it wasn't, yet. But he said "okay"--he accepted my apology for what it was worth.
I closed my book. It was seven-eleven. Time was quickly running out, and then gone: Chloe walked in through the back door, the way she always came, hand in hand with that infantile, health-obsessed, chess-playing Mike Sullivan. She saw me and she dropped all her books.
I saw the shape her mouth made: "Oh my God." She said it twice. Thrice. Or, rather, she mouthed it; even from across the cafeteria, I would have been able to hear the one volume Chloe Hart knew how to muster: loud.
It was too late for me to ask Chris if he wanted to bail, to make a day of it, to give myself and entire Christmas break to put this all behind me. To come back with the new year. It was probably better this way, though. Certainly it was braver. And it was a good prep for when I'd have to go home this afternoon.
Chloe didn't even bother to pick up her things. Mike, her dutiful boyfriend, did that. She started towards me. One step, two.
Chloe wouldn't be satisfied with bullshit non-answers. She'd demand explanations, and I'd have to give her half-truths and lies, and try to justify myself. She wouldn't understand. I loved her, but she wasn't that kind of girl. She just wouldn't understand.
I wrinkled my nose at Chris. He grinned back wryly and then politely looked away. He may or may not have understood more than I thought he would. Or did.
Chloe grabbed me into a hug and it didn't feel like home.
Post a Comment