☽ Peter ☽
"A lot has happened since our last session," Suzanna remarks politely as I tuck my legs against my chin. "Do you want to talk about bringing Evan along? That's a huge deal—allowing someone to know you."
I twist my index finger around a loose thread peeking out from the couch cushion. "I guess." I've let people in before. Look how that turned out. "I know a lot about him, but I've been—I've been holding certain things about myself back. It's... maybe it's a little white lie."
"You're not ready to talk to him?" Suzanna guesses, and she's close to the truth, but it's not quite there.
What I've been doing is somewhat unintentional, and I almost didn't notice it until Evan had gotten into Europa's passenger side. It was too late, though, to come clean and admit that I've been shielding him from me. I've been omitting the parts that I don't want to touch; pretending that I have nothing to confess. It's easier, after all, to pretend to be normal.
I should really stop trying to define normalcy. "It's not that I don't want to tell him," I explain. "He should know. He's..." My friend. I don't know why I struggle to get the word out, so I sidestep it and continue, "He's important to me. Nicole loves me because we've grown up together. This is not like that."
"It's different," Suzanna agrees with a nod. "I don't know exactly what you're not talking about with him, but I know you allowed someone into your life too soon. In response, you've become very withdrawn, and even though you want to be honest with Evan, you're scared of the aftermath."
"Yeah," I say feebly, "but he opened up to me first. I don't even know how I got that to happen. It's not like he hasn't given me the chance to share something in return."
I had endless opportunities to confess to this crime. For all the times I pushed him and ran away when he got too close, I wonder if he's judging me for it.
"I didn't say much about you. He doesn't even know why I'm here. He can guess... which might be worse," I say. "I don't think he treats me any differently because of the anxiety, or anything. I don't know. I'm not used to feeling like I'm guilty."
"I don't think he would take it badly." Suzanna sets her notes down on the table. "And it's okay to feel this way. Those anxious feelings can be unpredictable. It's not a shameful thing to seek help where you need it, okay? I want you to know that."
I sit for a while before we walk across the hallway to the connecting offices. During our weekly meetings, we've been building my skills. It started with small tasks she set for me; approaching receptionists to ask them meaningless questions or conversing with the nurses on break. This week, she wants me to knock on a door.
I hesitate before I lift my hand. Suzanna takes care of the talking for this week—next time, she'll get me to do it myself. It's a strategy of gradual exposure, and like homework, sometimes she gives me tasks to do once I'm back home.
When we reach her office, she smiles and says, "Actually, how is the club going? It looks to me like we're making progress on socializing... making friends..." She stops herself, opening the door, and says, "Are you okay? You're spacing out."
A thousand thoughts fling across my mind like comets raining down from above. I avert my gaze to the floor, taking a seat and digging my hands between the gaps in the cushions.
I have two options:
Option 1: I could lie; pretend like I'm fine, and I just need to recharge before we continue.
Option 2: I could admit that these past few months have been giving me a ledge to cling onto. All this time, it's like I've been on a life raft, and I'm rapidly approaching a waterfall. I can hear the roar of the waves crashing against the rocks. With every second, I advance towards it.
I am going to fall, eventually; I just don't know in which direction.
"It's... it's a lot," I manage to say. "The club is going fine. I wouldn't be able to run it without Evan."
"That's progress. I know you were originally hesitant, but from my perspective, you are working well together. Is that what's on your mind?"
I shrug, offering the default response that I don't know. It's never truly a lie; my conflicting emotions are hard to make sense of. "Sort of."
I tell Suzanna about the candy grams and the single blank sheet. She asks me why I need to know who the sender is, and I do not have an answer for that either.
Before I head out, she says, "That should give you something to do for this week, then. If you're uncertain of who it is, it's a bit like testing a hypothesis. You never know. You might be right."
In the waiting room, Evan is curled with his back against the armrest and his legs sprawled across two seats. He takes my side as we stroll to the elevator. In the silence, when the door eases shut, Evan's hand brushes mine. Slowly, his thumb traces across my wrist, like the symphony of my beating heart.
I squeeze his palm, and I don't let go.
☆ ☽ ☆
My math teacher drones along as I keep my eye on the clock above her desk. A few rows to my left, Lucas copies his notes, kicking his feet against the linoleum.
I try to catch his attention, but it has no use. Either he doesn't notice that I'm internally calling his name, or he isn't a mind-reader.
The bell rings, and I shuffle my notes into my binder. I click them into my place and stand, letting the students behind me exit the classroom before I step forward.
"Hey," I greet softly, tossing my backpack over my shoulder. Lucas is still copying his notes from the whiteboard. He hurries to finish up, then faces me.
"What's up?" He smiles, and we fall into step as he walks through the halls. Our steps are out of sync; every few seconds, Lucas has to slow down for me.
"Uh, I..." I search for the words to explain myself. We left on good terms during the game, and I'm here to wreck it. To test my personal hypothesis. "I know we already worked things out, but did you—maybe—did you send a candy gram?"
Lucas turns his lock in semi-circles, entering his combination. A click emits as it opens and reverberates between us. "No, that wasn't me."
Oh. I freeze; my hands lower to my sides. "Sorry. I just thought..."
"I would have made it obvious if it was me," he says.
I gulp down a breath, rush through another apology, and hurry to the clubroom. Dina is seated at the back of Ms. Crozier's class, getting the telescopes out for us. I move over to help.
"I was thinking about bringing snack food to the eclipse," she says.
"Really? That would be nice."
"Yeah." She nods. "It was Maha Shivratri on the seventh; it's a festival in honour of the deity Shiva. I was visiting my brother to pray, and he is rather devoted to it, so we stayed up all night. I am not as connected to spirituality as he is, but we got to talking about remembrance, and getting through the darkness... anyway, he thought it was a good idea to help everyone in the club feel closer."
"That sounds like it could help," I say. "What kind of food? Maybe I could get the hotel to—"
Dina's head tilts. "Not everything has to include the family business, you know." I mean, hypothetically, if you didn't have the hotel to consider. "Bring something traditional, and not from here."
Are we going through this again? "Traditional isn't easy. Here is the only place I know. My father was born here; so was I. It's... maybe I'm not used to being traditional about it. You were born in..."
"I was born in a place I consider as home," Dina says, finishing my thought. "I think a lot about going back. I miss it. It's not the same. But I have hang-ups with my ideas of religion and doing what I want to do. What is home to you might not be home to me, ever. I like it here, though. Northwood is... well, it takes some time getting used to."
"You've got that right," I admit as Lexa and Jay enter the club room.
Dina shoots them a tentative smile. "Are you both ready for April?"
"I'm not coming back to school after hours," Jay says, for which Lexa elbows him. "Can you stop doing that? It's not funny."
"I think it's hilarious." Lexa stands against the corner of the desk, pressing their hands against the hem of their skirt. It sits above plain black leggings and burgundy converse sneakers to match their shirt. "We will go if I have to drag you along with me. The eclipse is what I've been waiting all year for."
My lips curve into a smile. It's on the horizon and fast approaching every day. The eclipse is set for the twelfth of April, which leaves less than a month for preparation. Lingering anticipation settles within me, and I can't force it back.
Nicole enters the room with Ms. Crozier, clutching a duotang—a folder with metal fasteners—and says, "We have permission forms for the eclipse!"
She opens the folder and passes out navy blue papers, distributing them among the group. As she reaches the last page, I spot Evan headed towards us. The black hair suits him, and he seems happy. It stirs my heartbeat to speed up, although I don't quite know why.
"Here," Nicole says as he steps into the room. "This is for you."
Evan's slight half-smile is gone. He clutches the permission slip in his hands, and I ache to break the silence.
"Let's get started." My voice wobbles, and I can't tell if anyone notices. Out of the corner of my eye, Evan slides into his seat. The paper is still in his hand, and he folds it into squares. The more he sinks into his chair, the smaller the slice of blue becomes.
Ms. Crozier commences the club meeting as usual. We keep it much more casual than it used to be at the start, and it quickly dissolves into a discussion between Lexa and Dina about music, and we fall into a routine. Nicole hovers over Lexa's shoulder as they fold their permission slip into an origami bird.
When I glance at Evan, he's already looking in my direction. Our eyes connect.
"You have time. Twenty-four days, to be precise, until the eclipse," I say.
"Twenty-four?" he asks teasingly. "Last time I counted, it was twenty-six. Did you count by hand?"
"Shut up." I grit my teeth, but a smile finds its way to my face. I get roped into origami with the girls and Lexa as they chatter away about doing homework. I have had more assignments recently, but it's getting progressively harder to focus on it.
"Maybe we should get together and study," Lexa suggests, and points out a free week on their schedule. "I want to keep my average up before the end of the semester."
It all seemed so distant before. I didn't think I would get this far—I don't know why, but my grade twelve year felt like it would never come.
Nicole's arm loops with mine and she smiles, pushing at her glasses of the day, which are similar to my round frames. I guess I assumed our paths wouldn't diverge, but they will. They already have, in a way. I am staying local, and she's been applying to scholarships that will take her to Toronto. Knowing her, she'll have no trouble getting there.
By now, Evan is reaching the end of his countdown. That is not a lot of time. Why does that make me feel like I'm letting go?
When the club is over, we head in separate directions. I float through the day, and when my last class is over, I drive Evan back to the hotel. A cloud in the shape of a boat rolls through the sky like a riptide.
As I approach Daybreak street, Evan breaks me out of my thoughts as he says, "Peter? You missed the turn."
"Ah... sorry." My hands clench against the steering wheel as I search for a place to turn around. The turn signal flickers while I pull into a driveway and back out onto the opposite side.
He stares out the passenger side window and tattles on himself too easily. There was once a time where I couldn't read Evan McKenna like I can now, and I say, "You... you're thinking about the permission slip?"
"Yeah." It sounds like a plea, a quiet beg for something. I must admit that I am not certain what he wants me to do. "Yeah," he says again, cementing it, "I can't get a signature from either of my parents. I won't be able to come."
"Éric—"
"It's fine," he interrupts as I turn into the hotel. "I always knew I wouldn't be able to get parental permission. This is no different."
This is different. I can't say it, but I can't swallow it either. I reverse into my parking spot. "Are you sure? I can make it work. You should be there."
"How?" Evan asks, and I shrug. He keeps one hand on the door handle, but he doesn't open it instantly.
I look at him, and I know which direction I am falling in. It's not tumbling off a cliff. It's like laying on the ground, staring up at the stars, and feeling like I'm falling.
Like I'm falling with him. And it should be utterly terrifying, but it isn't.
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