Shine

Make Amends

I was taciturn and withdrawn at lunch, and Angela sat next to me to ask me if there was anything she could help with. I raised my head with a start, having lost track of the fact that just because I was lost in my own little world didn't mean there weren't other people in there with me. "Oh. No no, just thinking is all. How was the uh, the hm." I grimaced. "Party?"

"The dance was fantastic!" Jess reassured me with all due enthusiasm. She then loaded her rocket launcher of a blow-by-blow of what I'd missed by supposedly being in Edmonds that weekend, and I made a point to focus on each of her syllables and dedicated myself to formulating logical and attentive responses when necessary. It helped, talking to them about something I'd avoided myself, because it helped me avoid something even more worrisome.

I couldn't truthfully say my aunt was wrong. Or Edward. Or Jessica. But just because everyone else was right did that make me wrong?

I'm shockingly not good at solving my own problems.

And through her life force and there goes her friend.

On her Nishiki it's out of time.

And through the portal they can make amends.

I was sorry Edward had to listen to my internal dialogue as I sorted through this. Feelings weren't something I was fully comfortable with, and it seemed unkind to inflict these ones in particular upon him.

After I'd settled into my chair in Biology he slid me a half-sheet of notebook paper. I'm tough, remember?

My lips flickered toward an attempted smile. I'm sorry, nonetheless.

He fiddled on his phone for a moment before class started, and I faintly heard mine hum from my wheelchair, so I bent to retrieve it. He'd sent me a picture of a statistic: apparently people who say 'sorry' who more frequently are less satisfied with their lives.

I chuckled. Thank you. I'll keep that in .... I shook my head into my hand, skin hot again. Could he understand what I meant even if I hadn't expressed it? Was the word just hiding there, behind a corner where I couldn't see, but he could?

The pencil fidgeted in Edward's hand before he began to write, selecting his words with care. The problem isn't your articulation, Seth.

And I just sighed, biting the end of my thumb. Because I knew that. It was my brain that was sick, not my tongue. It was my memory that wasn't working like it used to. Could be worse though. At least I could usually focus in class. Some kids just couldn't.

He was writing again. Alice likes you.

You sure she's not just like that with everyone?

Most everyone, but she does genuinely like you as opposed to tolerate you for her own amusement.

Haha, sounds like my kind of girl.

She is extremely amusing.

I didn't want to like his sister as much as I already did. It would make it harder to lessen how much I liked him.

Can't stop what's coming,

Can't stop what's on its way.

As Edward drove me home—I don't know when we decided this would be our new routine—he solemnly said, "Don't I have as much right to fall in love as you do? You are only denying yourself that right because you are afraid of the guilt from hurting other people. But doesn't that mean.....that you don't trust them to make the decision that's right for them?"