To the casual observer, the two might have seemed asleep; eyes closed and secluded from the world. Her against the window, legs stretched out over his; him leaned back in his seat, arms resting on her legs. Upon closer inspection, however, one would notice the slow circles he was tracing on her thigh and her periodic acknowledgment of this with an appreciative sigh or slight adjustment of her legs. To anyone on the bus the sight would be strange. The two weren't together, never had been, and probably never would be. Yet there they were in one of their traditional too-close-to-just-be-just-friends positions after the last robotics competition, caring not of siblings nor teammates. They simply appreciated the fragile, fleeting moment of comfort. Should one feel so inclined to ask either what it was that made them feel so comfortable, neither would be able to give a satisfactory explanation. The only thing they knew was that, despite their seemingly overwhelming differences, they understood each other in a way that the others couldn't understand. It was some sort of kindred; a sort of physical, mental, personal reflection that was more comfortable than it probably should have been. All of this was going through her mind as she sat there, enjoying the feel of his fingers on her leg and half wishing he would move them further up. They both opened their eyes and smiled. The team was playing a loud game that involved a lot of laughing and yelling of random words, and the joy in their voices permeated everything on the bus. "Pretty sunset," he murmured. She followed his gaze out the window. "Mmhhhmmm," she agreed quietly. They sat like that for a little while. She turned to find him studying her face. She smiled. "We're home." And it was true. The signs counted down the miles until they would have to disengage from their dreamlike trance. "I don't wanna get up." He said, voicing her thoughts. "Same." They looked at each other a little longer, occasionally laughing along with the team and throwing out their own random words. She slid a little closer to him and leaned her head on his shoulder. He grabbed her leg a little harder in response. They rode the last few miles like this: her slowly moving him closer to her and him holding her lower thigh in his non-broken hand. "We're here." He said. She looked at him and smiled sadly, her expression mirrored on his. The bus stopped and everybody else spilled out, starting to stretch and unload. They sat. "You guys coming?" "Yeah," he answered casually, "as soon as I get her off of me. "And I'll get off as soon as he let's go of me," she smirked. they looked at each other one last time before they separated. He offered his hand to help her stand, which she swatted away, almost falling in the process. They laughed and joined the others in unloading the bus. That night the team played tag in the parking lot by the light of the streetlamps. She smiled to herself. It was a good day.
Two days later was her worst. It was most likely due to the depressing, suicidal teenage literature she stayed up reading all night, but she walked around in a slight daze. She was so out of it, in fact, that she forgot many of her responsibilities (a fact that she was abruptly notified of in the middle of algebra by a hostile parent). After struggling through English, Spanish, Cardio, and US History (where she failed yet another test) she just couldn't take it anymore. She doubled over -- quite unexpectedly and much to the alarm of her nearby tablemates -- and began to cry. For the next hour she sat like that. Unresponsive, slipping in and out of reality. She walked through the halls, counting her steps. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5... On and on. 123, 124.... Eventually she got through the day. In her 6th hour she texted the only person who would understand. The only one who she knew had felt the blackness that was threatening to swallow her now. He didn't ask questions. She appreciated that. She went on a walk, and somehow ended up sitting on one of the block walls that border the steps on the side of the building. She watched the birds. She wished she could fly. She looked at the ground and wondered how much further up she'd have to climb before the fall became lethal. A few boys walked by and stared. A girl from her class asked a few questions, but for the majority of the time she was alone. She sat and thought about how pretty the campus looked when nobody was there. How good and fresh the air smelled without the stench of hormones and youth that gave her headaches sometimes. The bell rang. She hopped off the wall back onto the stairs and reentered the hallway as the flood of hormones returned. In her last class the feeling came back. Smothered. She began hyperventilating. The headache returned. She texted him. He told her that she is not helpless. "Don't let them smother you." So she went on another walk, trying not to think about where she was going. She liked to imagine that she was on an adventure. She passed a few buildings, an unlocked gate, a soccer field, and the exterior of a hallway before she was seen. The outline of the security guard grew larger through the glass doorway and before she could even think she walked quickly out of his line of sight and then took off running -- sprinting -- until she heard him come out of the hallway. She knew that if he caught up with her it would mean serious trouble. An unidentified girl wandering just outside the campus? She thought of turning around and explaining. She kept walking. Her heart rate picked up. She chanced a quick glance behind her. Still following. But he didn't have a cart. Good. She walked like this for a couple minutes, in front of the office building now. As soon as she rounded the corner of the building she took off again, in front of the library and around the other side, not caring about what the traffic or the pedestrians thought, and sprinted straight toward the metal fence. Vaguely she hoped that her parents wouldn't be driving by at this precise moment, but then the thought is gone and all she can think about is getting back on campus. She slipped her foot inside the gate, just on top of the lock, and swung herself over. She walked up the stairwell, past the block wall where she had sat just an hour before and sped walked through the science hallway, the history and math hallways. Her teacher walked out of class and turned her back to her. Before the door had even closed she was back in the room, slipping into a seat and informing her friends that she had been here the past 20 minutes. They looked at her: face flushed, panting, with glittering eyes and a mischievous smile. "Okay." She thought it must be strange for them, seeing her leave in a mess of depression and aloofness and return a while later looking more alive than ever. But if they found it strange they didn't mention it; choosing rather to simply enjoy the fact that they had their friend back. "I'm okay." She texted. "I feel alive." That day she played volleyball. Went home. Faced Parent's wrath, and then layed on her bed, reading another teeny-bopper book about suicide (maybe she can live vicariously through them; learn to love life and live it to the fullest, with adventure and passion and everything she had avoided for the past seventeen years).
