I should skip band. I want to go home. Or rather, I want to go anywhere but home or school. My head is on fire. Small volcanic eruptions blast through my synapses every time I take a step. After last night, I might as well be a walking corpse. I'm a hollowed shell of the person I used to be, and I'm not sure I can justify anything I'm feeling.
Stacy has gone through so much worse, so much more, and I can't stop comparing my petty problems to hers. It makes me feel guilty, like I'm not worthy of having these emotions. I have no right to be upset, not with my life, not after what she's been through.
But regardless of all these conflicting emotions, my brain is still on fire.
Every time one of my teacher's squeaked a dry erase marker across the board, I've winced. I almost collapsed when I had to get up and solve a simple calculus equation. My brain is mush, threatening to flood over the barriers of my skull with each and every step. A small part of me recognizes this isn't normal, but I can manage. I have to. I can't talk to my parents about this. Not now.
I've already taken the maximum dose of migraine medication, and by the time I step into the cafeteria for lunch, the loudness of everything has driven me crazy. I am nothing but the pain inside my head. I stand in the middle of the line for ... What am I doing here? I glance around, trying to make sense out of my fog. Someone behind me fake coughs, that hurry-up sound of an impatient person.
Pasta. I'm in the pasta line, having not packed my own lunch this morning.
I push my tray forward, and the man working behind the counter asks, "Are you okay?" He has a chubby little mustache on his face and white wisps of hair escaping the net stretched across his scalp.
"Yeah, thanks. Headache." I shrug and force a smile, because I probably resemble an ogre who just stepped out from under a very dark bridge. Either that, or someone who has done a lot of drugs. Ironic, how I'm supposed to be the one dating the drug dealer and all, but he's cleaner than my anti-migraine filled body. "Just plain, please."
Thinking of the taste of the acidic marinara makes my stomach feel like it could empty its contents right through my belly button. Split me open like a seam of a dog's abused chew toy.
When I take the tray and swipe my ID at the counter, the lunch lady tells me I have insufficient funds.
"What?" I ask, confused. Her statement doesn't register.
"Says there's no balance. Sorry, dear."
"But my parents—" I shut my eyes. They refill my lunch money once a month, on the first, which was yesterday. Yesterday, when they were drinking and pissed off. Yesterday, when I told them that I was the exact opposite of everything they've always wanted.
"Okay," I say, more because the lady is staring at me with round brown eyes, and I feel obligated to fill the space between us. "Okay. Not a problem, I just need to find some money. How much is it?"
She tells me the total, and I fish around in my backpack. I find some forgotten dimes and quarters, but the coins aren't nearly enough to pay for my meal.
"Are there any exceptions? Just one time?" I ask.
Her pleasant face turns down slightly. "Afraid I've already had my quota for exceptions today."
I can't tell if she's joking, so I gaze at her for a second longer. When she doesn't say anything else, I ask, "How much for an apple then?" Thinking at least something needs to go in my empty, angry stomach, even if it will taste like bitter acid going down.
"Let me," comes a deeper voice behind me. He leans over my shoulder, ready to swipe his card. Carter.
I press my eyes shut out of embarrassment and gratitude.
"You don't have to." I turn to him and strain to keep my voice low and flat. "I know things are hard—"
"What kind of boyfriend would I be if I couldn't occasionally spoil you to a delicious lunch out with—" He looks at my meal. "—tepid, plain pasta?"
I bark out a laugh, which makes me wince. My grip tightens on my tray that holds my pathetic food. It forms a gap between us, which I'm grateful for, because I don't know if I could handle him touching me right now. "Seriously, Carter, you shouldn't—"
"He already has." The lady gives him his card back. "Thanks, Carter." She winks at him.
"Anytime, Mrs. J." He keeps his eyes on me and tilts his head to the side. "Are you okay?" With a single touch of his finger, he caresses the side of my face, tracing a long tingling line down my cheek.
The touch says a million things. I care about you. I'm worried about you. I want you. All that and more. My brain ignites, and I have to blink to keep myself from wincing.
I'm not sure if Carter is aware of the silence that has grown around us, but I am. In this school, we're like animals on display at the zoo, as if no one can believe this type of relationship can exist. Oh my gosh, look at the deadly lion and innocent dog playing like it's no big deal. Isn't that neat? Different species can be friends! How cute.
I shake my head, walking away from the woman who apparently Carter has niceties with, and realize even if this school hates him, he's better than I am at noticing his surroundings. He would have probably noticed something going on with Stacy months ago. He would have been a better friend. Carter is wholeheartedly just good.
I take another step, and a lightning bolt of pain lances through my temple. I pause. Carter puts a hand on the small of my back, and it does a million things to my insides. His silvery blue gaze fills with concern.
"Headache. Really bad this time."
"Have you seen the nurse?" he asks, trying to take my tray, but that would make me feel more helpless, so I edge it away from him.
"No. But I have my own ibuprofen, so it's not a big deal. It's just stress, or whatever." I take a long breath and keep heading to the table with my friends, Carter in toe. I ease into the chair, careful not to jar anything loose in my head, and Carter plops down next to me like this is no big deal. It is, isn't it? The whole world thinks it is. Everyone thinks it is. Everyone except for me and except him. To us, this is just ... us. We're just us.
"Hey, Carter," Mika says.
"Mika. Stacy. Britt. How's it going?"
"I think the last time we spoke was before you showed some girl your dick on the back of the bus in sixth grade," Britt states, her brow furrowed. I shoot her a dirty look. "Sorry, Carter. No filter." She shrugs, as if that explains everything.
He shakes his head. "First, I never showed Jackie anything. She wishes." That second statement makes Mika snort. "And second, I wasn't even sitting next to her. In fact, I think she was three rows up. I think she started the rumor just to seem... more mature?"
"And once someone starts a rumor about you, it seems to stick," Mika chimes in.
"Exactly."
I stare at my pasta, feeling thousands of miles away from this conversation. My body is empty, a vessel where the part that made me me has left. I stab my fork into the pasta and shovel a bite into my mouth. My stomach roils at the taste of it. Starchy, a bit stale and overcooked at the same time. It sticks in my throat as I swallow, and I quickly grab some water to wash it down.
"Are any of the rumors true?" Stacy asks, her voice small. "About you, I mean."
Carter looks at his hands and holds up some fingers, wiggling them. "I think one is."
"Which one?" Britt's eyes grow huge.
"That I'm poor?"
"Oh." Her shoulders sink forward, as if she's actually disappointed by the lack of gossip. "That's ... totally a normal thing."
"I'm totally a normal guy." Carter shrugs, eyeing his own food. It's some kind of moist sandwich, and it doesn't smell that great either. "A totally normal poor guy."
Stacy rolls her eyes. "Not all normal guys are good guys, though. You could still be a normal guy and have all of those rumors be true."
Carter give Stacy a sad smile, but his eyes are clear and focused. "Sometimes I think it'd be easier if they were true, because then I would actually be the monster that everyone thinks me to be. Instead of fighting against expectations, I'd be exceeding them in a way that people deem as natural." He taps his fingers on the table. "I think because I play against what people expect of me, it makes them angry. I'm disrupting the order that they've made out of the chaos. I'm ruining their perception of reality, and that's far more dangerous than being a bad guy."
She narrows her eyes at him. "Huh." Her gaze shifts to me. "I see why you like him."
"Yeah, he's good." My voice comes out flatter than I want it to.
"What's your problem?" Britt asks.
"Headache," Carter says.
I stare at my food as water fills the corners of my eyes. I'm massaging my temple long before it registers that my body is subconsciously doing it. I need to get the pain out of my head. No matter what it takes, I need it to go away.
"That blows," Britt mutters.
"Are you sure you're okay, Emma?"
"Yeah, I mean, do you need to see a nurse?"
"Emma?"
I'm no longer sure which friend is saying what, nor do I really care. Their empathy is appreciated, but this hollow feeling claws its way through my body. My stomach lurches, and the pain and emptiness shocks my system. My sole focus is not puking and not passing out.
"I think I should go home."
"Want me to drive you?" Carter asks, standing up.
I force myself up from the table. My legs are made of gelatin. "No, I'm fine. I just need—" Sucking in a breath, I force my body to still, to quiet, to quit pounding for one second. I open my eyes and gaze down at my friends, then up to the guy that I'm now daring to call my boyfriend. "I'm going to skip the rest of the day and go home. I'll be okay. Promise." I force a smile and kiss Carter gently on the lips despite the pain bubbling out of my temples.
The cafeteria is silent for one precious second of solitude.
"See you all tomorrow." Without further hesitation, I head toward the bathroom. Ducking farther down the hallway, I look behind me.
"Are you okay?" Carter asks, and I feel so shocked that he's there, just a twenty paces behind me, ready to catch up.
"I'll be fine. I ran out of pain meds, so I'll get some more at home." I toss him my best smile, but his lips don't move as he studies me.
"I should come with you."
"If you come with me, everyone will notice."
He winces, but I hadn't meant to hurt him.
"I more meant—"
He shakes his head, solemn. "I know, Emma. Just ... get better, okay?"
I nod, turn away from him, and head out to my car. No one else follows me, and no teachers ask me any questions, despite passing two in the hallway.
Anger wells inside me, because I wish Carter had been able to come, but that's what my school thinks of him. Since he has the reputation for trouble, if I were with him, I'd be trouble too. Or perhaps in trouble. Carter Ortese may be perceived as trouble, but a small part of my addled brain realizes that I'm more trouble than he is. His words float back to me as I turn on my car's engine. I'm ruining their perception of reality.
And as I skip out on the rest of my classes, I think, that makes two of us.
- - - - -
This was a hard chapter for me to write, and I got stuck on it for a while. Sorry about that! What do you think about Emma's current state of mind? What are your thoughts and feelings about what's happening?
More of Carter's story is coming next! Stay tuned!