Love is Written

Nightmares

I'd always liked her.

From the first day I saw her, I couldn't look at anyone else. Not the prettier ones, the easier ones, the ones the other boys hounded after.

She was just such a happy person. Sure, I'd seen her cry - I'd made her cry, too - and I'd seen her give in to rage, but she always bounced back. She was the spring-loaded Smile Machine, and all of us - the guys and Jesse - loved her for it. I loved her for it. The joy she brought to our little band of idiots was infectious.

She was a symbol of strength.

She was our rock.

But, when she wanted, she became invisible.

So when she slipped through the library doors and disappeared into the southern end of the massive room without so much as a greeting wave, I knew something wasn't right.

No one noticed her arrival. Not the boys, who were too busy discussing the merits of cricket as opposed to AFL; not the eagle-eyed librarian who saw every forlorn expression and mischievous shove; not even Jesse, who was supposed to be her best friend. The girl was engrossed in texting her latest squeeze, headphones blaring some obnoxious rap song - probably the "in thing" at the moment - so loudly I could hear it from three metres away.

Not a single person noticed.

But I did.

Equally invisible, I stood from the comforting circle of my oblivious mates and trailed after her.

- - -

The library was four stories tall, and filled to bursting with a wide variety of books.

The first floor was split into two areas, the common room and the Social Sciences section, which was where she was currently headed. She passed the Geography shelves, History and Legal Studies, her stride firm and confident. She reached the staircase without pausing to peruse through a particularly eye-catching book. Odd.

Up she went, taking the steps two at a time, with me close on her heels. The second level was occupied by the Science and Fiction sections. She didn't even pause at the Fantasy subsection - her favourite place in the whole building. Up the opposite stairs she walked, those long legs making it difficult to keep pace without letting her know she was being followed.

The third level was set up slightly differently. Two sets of staircases occupied each end of the room, which was divided by a sound-proof wall into the Lecture Room and the Study Area. A hallway led down one side, so that passerby wouldn't disturb the students in their work.

She must be headed to the Literature section, I remember thinking. She'd been found up there a few times, flicking through Shakespeare and God knows what else for and Advanced English assessment.

I frowned in confusion when, instead of continuing up the stairs to the Literature section, she turned down the hallway. Her black leather shoes padded soundlessly across the carpet, and only the faintest tapping sounded as she ascended the stairs once more.

In my five years at High School, I'd never been to this section. I felt almost as if I was violating some ancient rule as I tip-toed into the room.

I spied a flash of pale blue and olive skin as she disappeared behind a divider. When I reached the spot, I saw something that made my heart wrench painfully.

She was facedown in a pile of bean bags, toes barely touching the ground. Her hair fanned around her head in a coppery brown halo, her arms were wound in a secure window around her head too. There was no way of seeing her features.

I remember sitting beside her. Saying her name. The way she only rolled a shoulder to let me know I'd been heard, when she'd normally whirl to attention.

I remember asking those three classic words.

"Are you ok?"

She stayed still for a long moment, but when she lifted her head . . . The years' of sorrow in her normally vibrant eyes made my heart stutter.

"Nightmare," she whispered, and that was the only word I got out of her during our two free periods and recess. But that one word, the vulnerability in her voice, the pain in her eyes . . .

It's that word that made me realise that I didn't just like this girl. I loved her.

And that's enough for me.