Read Between the Lines

Silver Shoe

It's the second week of school, which means we're done going over the syllabus and cracking down to actual work. Well, except in my Economics class. When I walked into class, the desks were clumped into fours, and on each desk was a Monopoly box. My desk was moved slightly to the right so that it was accessible instead of being blocked by the bookshelf. Callum's seat was next to mine.

"Hey Stripes!" He greets me.

"Howdy ho, Ranger Joe!"

"Full House, really?" I nod my head and he rolls his eyes. "You are so lame!"

"How rude!"

"Oh my God, please stop."

I chuckle. "You got it dude!" He sighs.

Two football players take their seats in front of ours. One of them is Mikey Hess, the other is Tony Arcaba. They were in my English classes for the past three years because we all managed to get the same teacher each year. Mrs. Tensing taught Freshman, Sophomore and Junior classes. I personally like them as people, not so much as teachers.

"Imagine if we had Tensing this year?" Mikey says to the group.

"Oh hell nah, man. Never again!" Tony says. "How'd you feel about them, Macy?"

Oh shit. Conversation with people I do not converse with. Help!

"They were alright, but if I were to have them again this year I would gouge my eyes out with a spoon handle."

Mikey nods his head towards Callum. "So, where you from, new kid?"

"Crenshaw. I went to Cavanaugh High."

"What's it like over there?" Tony asks.

Callum shrugs his shoulders. "It's alright. It was a new school. When I started, it only had Freshman, so if I stayed this year, I would have been in the first graduating class."

"That's pretty cool!" I say, trying to hide my amazement. "So I guess this is the end of friendship." They all look at me, puzzled. "Monopoly? The game that ruins friendships?"

"Ohhh!" They all say in unison.

"Well, as long as you don't take the dog, I'm good." Tony says.

"I just want the shoe," I say.

Callum shoots me a look. "Not if I get it first."

"Bring it."

So, this version of Monopoly included a lot of writing. We were given a sheet of paper and write down how much we started with -- $2,500 -- and add or subtract the money we gain or lose. We didn't use the actual play money, which is a bummer because I really wanted to fan myself in colorful, tiny slips of paper. Oh yeah, I also got the shoe.

At the end of class we had to turn in our paper to Ralling so we don't use it. I thought it was a good idea because I am highly unorganized.

Callum and I walk to every class together and hangout at lunch, too. I just hope I'm not annoying him with my presence.

Fifth period, we have art. This was when things started becoming a struggle.

Since my cuts were scabbing over, they started to itch -- and you know when you have an itch, you scratch it! So, he sits next to me in art and I can tell he's noticing me stop every few seconds to itch my arm. I scratch it through my cardigan sleeve, but it just feels like I'm rubbing it and it's not satisfying. Since I can't properly scratch it, my left hand begins to twitch.

"Are you okay?"

I snap my head at him. "Huh?"

"Your uh... arm? You good?" He has a concerned look on his face.

I smile at him. "I'm fine. Just really itchy."

"What'd you do? Slip and fall into poison ivy?"

"Something like that."

"Well, just put some Aloe Vera on it, it should be fine!"

It's not fine. I was scratching through lunch, and I had to sit there trying to ignore it, but I couldn't.

I excuse myself from the table and rush over towards the back of the library. I face a corner of books and lift up my sleeve and scratch it furiously. My feelings are mixed with relief and pain, but mostly relief. I can feel pieces of the scab coming off. That's one of my bad habits: picking at scabs.

"Everything okay, scratchy?"

Hearing his voice makes me jump and I quickly spin around forgetting to roll down my sleeve. His eyes lower to my arm, all red and irritated over the scabbed lines. I follow his gaze and slowly pull down my sleeve. A lump in my throat begins to form and I want to vomit, cry and explode all at once.

"That isn't poison ivy."

"I know." I wrap my hand around where the scars are, over the sleeve. My eyes are fixated on the ground. I can't bear to look at him.

He lightly tugs at my sleeve to get my attention, but I just focus on the ground. He holds out his arm in front of me and pushes up his sleeve also revealing scars. Except his were fresh, like a day old.

I look up at him, his blue eyes glistening. "That isn't poison ivy," I say.

"I know," he says.

He pulls me into a hug and I just hold onto him tightly. I don't want to let go.

-------

"My parents divorced," he says walking with me to the student parking lot. "And I didn't know how else to deal with it, so I started this. I was numb for the longest time, and this made me feel."

"I'm sorry," I squeeze his shoulder.

"It's alright."

We walk in silence for a few seconds before I tell him why I do it.

"There's nothing wrong in my life. I have decent grades, a loving family. I should be happy. I mean, I am happy! It's just the sadness I don't feel and that terrifies me. I just... want to feel something that doesn't feel good."

"I understand," he tells me. "Hey, if you ever need someone to talk to, I'm here for you."

"And I for you."

He grabs my right arm and before he pulls up the sleeve, he asks, "Are there any on here?" I shake my head. He pushes up my sleeve and pulls out a pen from his pocket. He writes down his number and says, "I'm a text or call away."

"Thank you," I give him a quick hug.

"So where are you?"

I look around and spot my car in its usual spot. I point to it."It's that black Scion XA over there."

"You're kidding!"

"What?"

"I'm in that Prius next to you."

I scoff. "You drive a Prius?" I burst out laughing.

"What's wrong with driving a Prius!?"

"Nothing." I stifle my laughter. "It's just supercalafragilisticexpiali-douchey."

"It's okay to be jealous of my obviously nicer car."

"Shut up you cow."

He chuckles under his breath. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Later Superfragi-callum-isticexpialidouche-ous."