BROKEN GLASS. TOM KAULITZ

xiii . looking up

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"UH...WHAT'RE YOU DOING?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" I ask, settling into the seat beside Tom. The driver shifts gears, the bus shakes and our shoulders bump. "I'm sitting beside you."

"No, you're not. Your seat is at the front," he says. They say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. I'm so flattered.

"Nice try, though." It's weird sitting in the middle of the bus, but it's my peace offering to Tom for flaking out on him since the kiss.

By 'flaking out' I mean I may or may not have been avoiding him or ignoring him outright when he talks to me, unless it's something to do with our art project, and then I wait, like, five minutes before responding, which I decided last night wasn't very nice of me.

"I'm not moving," I tell him.

"Jaden-," He clears his throat. "Jaden is Chris's best friend. He left before senior year because he had a breakdown or something. Chris told me."

"Very good, Tom," I respond, nodding slowly. "And can you tell me why he had a nervous breakdown?"

"Nope."

"Well, if you can't tell me that, you can at least tell me what any of it has to do with me," I say.

"Chris said he'd tell me what everybody already knows," he says. There's an ungodly pause because we both know what's coming next. "You did try to kill yourself."

"It was an accident."

"Oh, right." He doesn't believe me. "That's why you meet with Gardner, isn't it? And that's why no one leaves you alone and you're not popular anymore and Jaden fits in there somehow. That's your big secret, right?"

"Congratulations, you figured it out. So how 'bout them Mets?"

He blinks. "What?"

"Does every conversation between us have to be like this, with you prying into stuff that's none of your business? So tell me: How 'bout them Mets? What do you think?"

"Oh, they're just great," he mutters. "So are you depressed-,"

I groan. "Tom."

"Okay, okay," he says quickly. "Never mind."

"Do you think I'm depressed?"

"I think it'd explain the bravado."

"You think this is bravado?" I shake my head. "Actually, you know what? You're right. I sit at the front."

I grip the seat ahead of me and stand, but before I can step into the aisle, Tom reaches out and grabs my wrist. I give him a look that says, I don't have time for this.

"You kissed me," he says.

"So?"

"Would you please sit down? I want to talk to you." I do it. "Look, I'm sorry that you-," he doesn't finish and I'm glad because he'd only embarrass us both if he started apologizing for something he knows nothing about.