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AT FIRST Idon't realize that something's up. Izzie and I don't have homeroom in the same wing, so it makes sense that we don't really see each other in the morning.
When I walk by her between third and fourth period and she practically sprints down the hall. I figure that she's in a rush and just didn't see me. Then she's not at lunch-but that could be for a number of reasons, right? Meeting with a teacher. Working on a project for class. Finishing up a test.
But then it's right before seventh period and I'm walking to art class and Izzie is directly down the hall, walking in my direction, and there's this moment when we make eye contact. Then, of course, I break into a smile-because I'm happy to see her, and she promptly turns left into the hallway that leads to the cafeteria.
So unless Clayton Prep has created a new lunch period for juniors that I just never found out about, I think it's safe to say that Izzie is avoiding me.
It takes longer than a day for the reality of this to settle in. On Tuesday, I'm mostly just confused. She didn't seem angry or bothered the last time we were in her car together, and how much could possibly have changed over the course of half a week?
A part of me actually thinks that I'm going to be able to catch her after Dr. Harrison's class and ask her what's wrong, but then she's out the door the second the bell rings, before I've even managed to finish putting my books in my backpack.
"Why don't you just text her?" Evan asks at lunch on Wednesday. The food is miserable today, and it's so cold and windy that it's no longer enjoyable to sit in the courtyard. Some of the athletes are still outside, but then again, they probably have a winter coat's worth of insulation permanently wrapped around their bodies in the form of muscle.
"I can't text her," I say. "I don't have her number."
Sharice stares at me in disbelief. "You're telling me after all of that smiling and ditching school together and you still don't have each other's numbers?"
She slumps in her seat. It seems that my romantic incompetence has really done her in this time around.
I pick at the food on my tray. "You don't have to tell me that I'm pathetic. I already know."
Evan looks at me sympathetically. "You know, the word pathetic derives from the Greek pathos, which means 'emotion' and if you break it down to the roots, the word just means 'full of feeling' or 'emotionally rich.' It's not a bad thing."
