Our Beating Hearts

8

I DESTROY THINGS IN MY dreams.

I scream and argue until everyone hates me, then I wake up in tears from how real it feels. Sunday morning is like that. I sit up in bed, feeling battered and alone. And the first thing I see are those six missed texts from the groupchat.

From Lucas: Hey, you up there somewhere? I don't see you!

From Calum: Yo, are you in the parking lot or something

From Mike: Where are you?

From Mike: The team and everyone is heading to WaHo, you should come!

From Calum: Oh man, I don't know how I missed you today. I feel bad.

From Calum: Oh well, I hope you enjoyed the game anyway. Next time, stick around okay lol. Are you going to the play tomorrow?

Holy shit. I'm the worst.

They think I was there. At the game, in the bleachers, probably wearing a homemade soccer ball helmet. As opposed to moping around my bedroom, ignoring their texts.

I am such a dick. Like, I'm an actual flaccid penis of a person. And now I want to lock myself in my room all over again, but I can't miss the last performance of the play. I'm not that big of an asshole. I don't even mind the idea of hanging out with my friends, in theory. But I don't want to face them. If there's one thing I hate, it's apologies. I don't like getting them. I really don't like making them.

I think it's unavoidable.

I dress myself carefully, like I'm going into battle. I feel stronger when I look cute. I zip into my universe romped (dress but instead it's a tshirt + shorts but it's connected)-the greatest thrift store find of my entire life. It's cotton, blue and black, sprinkled with stars and galaxies across my thighs. My legs are literally out of this world. Then I muss up my hair so it's just a little wavy and spend twenty minutes giving myself eyeliner. It makes my eyes look super green in a way that almost catches me off guard.

Mom needs the car, so she drops me off at school. I'm early. Early is good. I pick a seat near the front, but I can't stop turning toward the entrance-and every time the auditorium door opens, my heart jumps into my throat. I have this feeling that as soon as they see me, they'll know I was lying. And then the guys will be pissed, and it will be this whole big thing, and our whole friend group will implode. Because of me.

There's a tap on my shoulder, and I almost fall out of my seat.

But it's just Brandy. "Can we sit here?"

"We?"

"Crystal's in the bathroom."

Another conversation I'm not ready for. Oh, hey, Crystal! Sorry you didn't get into your dream school. Hope it's cool that I'm totally going there. Panic must be written all over my face, because Anna purses her lips. "You know she's not mad at you, right?"

"Right."

"I think she's worried you'll be awkward."

"I haven't even talked to her."

"I know, I know. She's just paranoid. It's fine. I'm texting her where we are." But before Brandy can hit send, Crystal trails in behind a pack of giggling middle schoolers. She looks miserable. She looks like she just got dumped.

She's in sweatpants and glasses, her blue-streaked hair scraped back into a messy bun. Anna catches her eye and waves, and she cuts down the aisle and across a row of seats.

"Hey," she says quietly.

"How are you doing?" My voice sounds so painfully gentle that I cringe.

"Fine. I'm fine."