BROKEN GLASS. TOM KAULITZ

x . lifeline

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ON THURSDAY, I SIT THROUGH A MEETING WITH SMITH, GARDNER, AND MY PARENTS. A few things are decided. Instead of having to suffer through an entire math unit, I'll sit for a special test and we'll consider me all caught up and isn't that great?

Friday meetings with Gardner are still on. Smith shares Chris's concerns that I might have come to school hungover that one time, and I don't confirm or deny it.

I don't say anything at all, actually.

Mom and Dad fall all over themselves apologizing for the trouble I cause. The school is too good to me, they say. I don't think they realize how it sounds.

Friday, after history and before art, I find my name on the Honor Roll plaques hanging in the entrance corridor.

Right at the top. Three years running, with distinction.

My parents used to love to tell everyone the story about the time I was in kindergarten and the whole class was coloring these pictures of flowers and every time I went outside the lines I demanded a new picture to work with. I was going to do it right even if it killed me.

Fifteen attempts later, I had the best colored picture of everyone. I still remember being hurt when the teacher made as big a fuss over my classmates lesser efforts as she did over mine, which was perfect. Or maybe not as perfect as I thought.

Talk about your self-fulfilling prophecies.

"Priscilla? Is that you?"

The air leaves my lungs. This horrible feeling settles in the pit of my stomach and I decide I'm in school, but I am dreaming this. And then I turn really, really slowly and everyone else in the hall disappears. I'm not dreaming it.

Jaden.

He stands before me, still as pale and thin as he was the day I saw him, but at least he didn't know I was there then, and now he's here in front of me and I can't speak. He pulls me into a hug and I feel his bones poking through his shirt and I think I'm going to be sick and — God, let me go.

He lets me go.

"Oh my God, Priscilla, it's so good to see you." He brushes a few strands of ratty blonde hair from his face. "How are you? Chris called me a couple times and he told me — I mean, are you still hanging in there and everything?"

I try to swallow, but my throat is totally closed and my mouth is unbelievably dry. I can't believe how long his hair is now or how awful he looks this close up.

My palms start sweating.

"Holy fuck!" a voice cries behind me. "Jaden? Is that you?" Chris and Genevieve hurry down the hall toward us and I think that means their "break" is over, but that's hardly surprising. Genevieve would never give up the most popular guy in school that easily.

Her face darkens when she spots me, but she forces a smile and lets Chris drag her over by the hand.

"Oh my God — how've you been?" Jaden laughs and Chris gives him one of those jock hugs, one of those violent squeezes that end in a brain-rattling pat on the back. I expect Jaden to break. He doesn't.