no-one saw me (not in the way you did)

Chapter 2

"Didn't you see him? Over there, look, going towards the ice!"

"No way, is it really him?"

"Uh huh. Won't even look our way. What a dick."

"He's so fucking full of himself. I'm tired of it. Just 'cause he was going to Regionals doesn't mean he gets to act like he's above us all."

"Can you guys lay off? You all know what happened."

"Why should I care? He's still just as rude as always."

"I heard he used bribes, too. He's a scumbag, why should we feel sorry for him?

"Guys, seriously, he's-"

"He's crazy. Got such a temper. No wonder Marsh didn't want to be friends with him anymore."

"He's a fucking douche with a massive ego. I don't know why they were friends in the first place."

"Can you guys shut up? You're being dicks."

"Whatever. Just seeing Kyle's face makes me want to die. I hate him."

—

"I don't need a plan, Kenny. How many times do I have to tell you this?" Stan slumps into his seat, the lunch tray in front of him beckoning for his attention. The food is unappetising, hardly filling at all; he can only pick at meagre bits before he has to stop to let his stomach settle.

Stan's realising now how empty this cafeteria feels without Kyle. Even if he didn't speak, it'd still be comforting to have his presence as he scribbled down his homework, his curls suddenly shooting up in a panic to question Stan on whether he'd done his insulin. It had been over a year since he's heard about Kyle dropping out under unknown circumstances; Stan supposes it'd probably be worse to have his judging gaze on his back as he ate as well as when he plays hockey.

"I know, I know, Christ. I just think you'd be a little better off knowing what you're getting yourself into!" Kenny's leaning over the table, his plastic fork loaded with bland food that he stuffs into his mouth. He can't afford to be picky, not like Stan.

"It'd ruin the whole idea of it. Kyle's not some project. He's my best friend."

"Yeah. That you haven't talked to in, what, four years?"

Stan's hopeful expression drops into a look of scorn.

He's still unsure of what he wants or what he should do. Whether what he's chasing is unattainable, his fingertips are brushing against something so close yet so far. If he runs this race, he'll simply collapse before he reaches the finish line.

Stan already feels like he's losing. He's out of breath, his limbs are aching, and his mind is racing. He's barely covered any distance, yet giving up would be so easy.

"It needs to be real, y'know? I need to find out what I did, or what happened, and make it right."

Stan labours over the age-old question for the rest of the day. He's more reserved, sort of stuck in his thoughts. He ponders endlessly over cause, problem, and solution - each twist in the road leaves him more lost than before.

In English, he thinks about what he could've done wrong. He recounts past years, artfully dodging bad memories and combing through the good to search for what he needed. Yet, after all that, there's nothing.

What can we understand from the source material about the impact of the betrayal of Banquo?

Banquo and Macbeth shared similar ideals. I didn't do anything. I called, I texted, I just wanted to be with him all the time. Something that was admirable within Banquo, was Macbeth's true hamartia. Did I spend too much time at practice? Did I leave him behind?