Beside

42 - scare (part 2)

"Why do we have to go to school every day?"

"So we learn stuff."

"But why every single day? Don't they know we get tired?"

"Adults don't care. They just keep going."

"Well, I'm tired of it."

ｃｈｒｉｓ

We stumble out of the theatre, a little cluster of wobbly legs and weary laughs, stepping into the cool autumn night.

Cam threads her arm through mine, shaking her head. "I swear, if I have to look at puss again this year...this century..."

"Trust me," I whisper, wiping my nose with my tissue. "I'm right there with you."

The sidewalks are bustling with people, the streets damp, reflecting headlights as taxis whiz by. We weave through the crowds, making our way toward the little burger joint down the block.

Whitney drifts along, her head tilted back, her gaze fixed on the stars dotting the night sky. Her starry-tattoo fingers flutter in the air as she gazes up and up.

She's always loved the stars, but it's on her list of things we don't talk about. The recollection aches, so I look away.

Cam lets me go and jogs to catch Whitney, asking, "Do you know how much peanut butter is too much? Is it possible I've developed an intolerance after not eating it? Am I gonna die?"

Whitney shoves her face away, laughing, but Cam says, "I'm not kidding."

A sharp pain flares in my chest, bright and jarring. I stumble, catching myself against a telephone pole. Cam and Whitney are laughing ahead, completely unaware, and that's how it should be. My vision blurs around the edges, but I force myself to stay calm, to breathe slow and deep.

"Come on, Chris!" Cam calls over her shoulder, waving me forward. "Hold up—you good?"

"Yeah." I push off the pole and fall back in step, my head still a little hazy but manageable.

I breathe. I am okay.

We reach the burger joint, walking in. It's a cozy spot with retro 1950s decor that glows warm. Red leather booths line the walls, chrome details gleam under soft overhead lights, and a jukebox hums in the corner, spinning a tune from a time long gone.

We take a circle table near the window. Cam picks up a menu, her fingers drumming as she scans it, but her expression is softer now. I hope she's not too down about the letter. It's just one school, right?"

"What's the order?" Whitney asks, glancing between us with that same wide grin, already signalling to the waiter.

"Chocolate peanut butter," Cam murmurs.

"Pardon? Thought you were scared to death?"

"Gimme it."

"Cam!"

"I want it. Gimme it."

I set my chin in my palm to rest my head, watching them. Their laughter, their warmth—it feels like its own little star, something bright and real.

A young woman with a pink apron takes our orders, and I opt-out. I will puke if I eat. Whit takes a strawberry, and Cam, true to her word, is going for it.

Outside, people bustle along the sidewalk, lost in their own worlds, and I watch them through the window, imagining stories for each stranger passing by.