Stitches

Ninth Stitch

ninth || Perci

I want it on the record that I had not planned it.

I had lied on the grass for what felt like centuries, staring at the sky with wide-open eyes I was too tired to close.

I've had a sudden realization that this place—the entire school grounds—reminded me too much of us. (By us I meant me and Michael. Or me and Michael plus Alex. Or just me and Alex, whatever.) The familiar halls that our footsteps have marked again and again, the trees we used to have picnics under, the classrooms we spent our days in, the library's rooftop. Especially the library's rooftop. (Which I now see as a hellhole. Certified flirt area. Disgusting.) Memories of us are wedged between all the cracks and walls and corners of these places.

I'm now realizing that every place I used to love in Quentin High School, all the good places with my good memories, are now tainted and ruined by my bad ones.

And I can't escape them—at all.

For the past few weeks, I've been trying to pretend they don't exist. It was just easier that way. It lessens the drama and my bitch-slapping tendencies if I just lay off their business.

But as long as I'm here, walking around school grounds that reminded me all too well of their existence, I don't know how long I'll last without going insane.

So I stood up then, before anyone gets suspicious of the dead species called Perci lying limp under the oak tree.

I walk to the Hermes Hall's east wing, where the nearest restroom is. I need to clean up, I'm a wreck.

But that's when I saw it.

It was an ad from the school paper. Fiat Lux needed a cartoonist, I heard Eddie whine about this to Alex and Michael in English the other day. (I just overheard, Eddie was as loud as a car crash.) (Not that I was eavesdropping. Nope, totally not.)

And then my brain runs like clockwork.

I thought, why not, right? I needed two things—(1) to be someplace else without bad memories, and (2) a way to get as far away as humanly possible from Michael and Alex. I've never attempted to join Journalism—I was never good with words. But Fiat Lux's staff lounge was well away from the library, and farther away from Quentin High's auditorium (where Michael and the orchestra played) and the dance studio (where Alex and the dance troupe did routines). Painting is still a pain but the school paper printed in black and white—they don't need my colors. I'll just do with ink and charcoal pencils. Mrs. Garcia would love this idea, she would say I needed the practice. I could practically hear her say, "Brilliant, Perci. You need a breather."

And I did. I needed to breathe.

So I walk over there, and when I couldn't take it anymore I ran.

I didn't know what I was doing. I didn't know where this was headed. I didn't even know where Eddie was—my greatest guess would be at the Newsroom. Did I even have time for this? Between my classes and homework and the masterpiece I should be making?

But hey, if no one from the future comes to stop me from doing it, then how bad of a decision can it be?

I see Eddie in the hallways, and after a few words with him, I'm in, just like that.

"Well then," Eddie says, "It's a done deal. It's a pleasure to have you with us." He pronounces "pleasure" as "pleshah."

"Oh, trust me," I say. "The pleasure's all mine."

He tells me they were off to the Newsroom, and I let him take me there.

"Simon, hurry up," he calls behind him.