The Wilderness

Something More

I need space. I need air; real, living air that fills my soul as well as my lungs. I need empty fields and cold water and my bare feet falling rapidly upon the earth. I need to fall into a deep sleep at sunset and wake, covered in dew, at sunrise. I need to be real and alive.

I need to be free.

My heart beats much faster than usual as I do something daring: I sit in the cafeteria and write in my journal. I must look sick to passerby; I'm shaking just a little bit, and the pen writes in jerky movements. I push my hair nervously behind my right ear as I put these thoughts on paper, only for those few strands to fall again and be pushed back in a mindless cycle. I just need to let this feeling out as soon as possible, even if it means taking my journal to school and risk losing it.

I shiver as I imagine the smirk on Lisa Palmer's face if she were to get her conniving hands on my innermost feelings and thoughts. She'd probably make copies of every page and tape them up around the school. I'd spend my senior year hearing my classmates recite my own stupid, angsty thoughts back to me, I thought timorously. But no, I couldn't worry about every little thing that might happen.

However, I felt that I could worry a bit about this...something. This was something I've maybe felt before, though it's never been this intense. I'd always chalked it up to wanderlust because it's always been my dream to travel the world. I mean, generations of Jenkins have traveled the globe; it's in my blood. 

I've just never physically ached to be anywhere but here. My toes are sore, for goodness sake. It's as if my whole body is being pulled in every direction, and it's starting to make me dizzy and nauseous. And, more than anything, this 'something' is welling up in my chest and spreading through my skin and pushing against the backs of my eyes, and I think...I think I might cry. Which is stupid, because I haven't cried since I was ten and fell down a flight of stairs, breaking my arm in the process. Maybe my period's coming early. That would explain a lot, frankly.

I glance up and see Luke and Molly heading towards our table, trays in hand. I hurriedly finish my written rant and close my journal. I put it on the bench beside me and start to eat my food, even though my stomach is roiling and I can't even taste the sandwich. I blink my eyes too much trying to keep the almost-tears at bay, and I feel kind of pathetic. And I feel even worse when I look up from my food, and Luke and Molly are sitting at the other side of the table, sharing food and swapping silly stories and generally just being lovely. Why can't I just be happy for them?

Luke smiles in my direction. "Hey."

He nudges Molly, who looked momentarily occupied with a daydream. Her big brown eyes quickly shift from some vague place to my pale face. "Oh! Hey, Abby! Why'd you get a sandwich? They're serving pizza today, you know." She looks down at my club sandwich with distaste before taking a huge bite of her favorite food, pepperoni pizza.

I honestly hadn't even noticed or cared that much, which should surprise me considering the only person who likes pizza more than Molly is me. I actually can't even remember getting my food, or much of the classes from earlier. I look down and realize I'm still holding my sandwich, and my hands are shaking. I put my food down and place my hands under my legs. "Um, just wasn't feeling it today. Actually, I think I might be coming down with something."