Honest || h.s.

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Harry.

I can't even look at her. It's been nearly a week since the art show, and I'm back at school, and Jackson is busy with other patients, and Mum is as at the diner later every night, and Gem left this morning to see her boyfriend in the city, and I'm lonely. Also awkward. But that part is pretty normal.

Skylar is waiting for me when I walk into Physics, an angsty frown on her face. She holds her books in her arms, waiting for me to choose a seat. I sink down into my usual, facing the window, and she almost immediately crashes into the desk beside mine, glaring at the front of the room.

My face burns as I glance over my shoulder at her, trying to look small. I know I've annoyed her by not speaking to her and ignoring her since the night of her art show, but I can't bring myself to speak to her. For some reason I don't want her to know about my illness and how bad my social skills are. Maybe she knows. She probably knows. But still. I can't. I might say something inappropriate and scare her off.

She clears her throat, adjusting her textbook and notepad, glancing at me. 

I swallow hard and look out the window, feeling the air in my lungs drop about twenty degrees.

"Did you study for the exam, yet?" she asks softly, leaning slightly towards me while she props an elbow on her desk.

I can feel her eyes boring into mine, but I look instead at the cover of my sketchbook, feeling the spiral binding with my jittery fingers. "...Em... No."

"Would you wanna go study today? After school, at the coffee shop? Or the library?"

"Can't..."

"Okay, the next day?" Her eyebrows tilt sadly. I hurt her feelings.

"I meant," I take a breath. "Em... I meant I can't... study with you."

I want to punch myself. Her head tilts, she scrunches her shoulders. "Why?"

I squeeze my eyes shut, rubbing my wrist. "Em... because... you're distracting..."

She doesn't seem completely satisfied with my answer, but the bell rings, so she faces forward. Thomas and Duce snicker at her from where they sit two rows in front of me. 

I put my head on my desk, hugging myself with my long sleeves. I took my medicine today, but whenever she comes around, or Thomas and Duce show up, I get all flimsy and useless. They put me in such a weird position, such a scattered mindset.

Halfway through the lesson, Skylar passes me a note. I want to punch myself. It reads:

Hey,

I know you've probably had enough of me bugging you for the past week, but I can tell something's up with you, and it has nothing to do with your decarinoma (?) thing. I think.

So she knows. I rub my chin and keep reading.

Are you okay?

Swallowing hard, I readjust myself. I don't get asked that very much. Slowly, I pen down an answer.

Yeah, Dicereanimo. It sucks, but I'm good. 

I'm sorry. I'm not very good at communicating.

My fingers are all trembly when I return the paper, nervously tapping my forearm with the pen and bouncing my knee as she reads it. I quickly get a reply.