Reasons

May 3, 2013
        "Good luck," I murmur into his shoulder.

He sighs and pulls away and I meet his eyes and they look so unsure and I’m suddenly terrified. “Tim?”

"I’m just not looking forward to this."

"I know.. sorry.."

"Don’t apologize. It’s my own decision." He gives me a little smile and bites his lip and I swear if we weren’t in the middle of the pool area, I would kiss him like nothing else. Hopefully soon I’ll be able to.

He is still so tense, his eyes refusing to meet mine and this panicky feeling rises in my chest. I can’t lose him.

"Are you feeling pretty sure about this then?" He has reassured me probably twenty times in the past week, but he’s never looked this this unsteady.

He hesitates and Amanda appears by his side, being all stupid and pestering him to leave. God, she hates me. What an annoying little sister. He gives me an apologetic smile and turns to go with Amanda.

Near the edge of the pool gate, he pauses and turns back.

"Jess,"

"Yeah?"

"I promise."

A giddy feeling runs through me and stays with me as I grab my bag and change into my suit.

The giddy feeling does not, however, last through swim practice. I spend the entire two hours with my head in the water. There is no joking or socializing, oh no, not during hell week. The regional championships are a week and a half away and my body cannot take much more of the abuse my coach has the audacity to call practice.

 Directly after swim practice, I scurry over, hair still dripping with chlorine, to the spring musical. Mr. Mack has practically forced me to be in the pit orchestra. I kept trying to tell him that I couldn’t do it, that I had enough on my plate.

His response to this, standing in the too-small hallway on a Wednesday morning, comes back to me, as stale and putrid as his breath in my face. You are damn smart and a good trumpet player. But you are flaky and you’ll never be able to hold a real job because of it.

I joined the pit orchestra.

It’s been fun; there are some great people. They greet me tonight as I unlock my trumpet case and slide the mouthpiece into its spot and twist it a quarter of a circle to the right.

I only miss two notes, but Mr. Mack rubs his forehead and closes his eyes after each one. I cannot make him happy. I’m not looking forward to the other thing he coerced me into: the stupid overnight field trip for band—a class that I’m not even enrolled in, I might add—that requires me to miss classes. Plus a whole two days with Mack. I’m ecstatic.

My lips are numb by the time I’m allowed to put my trumpet away, lock up the case, grab my purse and leave. The second I get home, a pile of practice FRQs for Calculus greets me coldly. And I haven’t even looked at the practice essays for AP English. The AP tests are the weekend after the swim championships and I’m going crazy. I mean, it’s normal for me to lose about ten pounds and get sick during finals week. I just stress way too much. But this stress.. it’s more than ever before.

I’m shuffling through my AP Calculus notes, trying desperately to find the page on L’Hopital’s Rule, when the text comes, the one I’ve been anticipating all evening.

I seize my phone, unlocking it and scanning the message.

“You are going to hate me but we need to remain friends. I know what I said earlier but I chose her tonight. You are still my best friend and nothing will change that."

And with one text, it’s over.

I get through seven FRQs and two practice essays before I allow myself to go to bed. My parents sigh in relief when they see me packing up my binders and papers. They feel obligated to stay up as long as I do, which they don’t need to, but whatever.

I keep myself composed while I brush my teeth, wash my face, say prayers with my parents.

But when I lay down in my bed and pull the covers around me, when there is no FRQs or essays to keep me busy, when there is nothing but a teeny prick of light that is my night light, I cry.