NATALIE

Week 5

"Does anyone know what an iambic pentameter is?"

Most of the class is yawning, and I don't blame them. A few of the smarter kids look stumped. But of course, Tommy's hand shoots up in the air.

Mr. York sighs and calls on Tommy for the fifth time in a row. "Yes, Tommy?"

"An iamb is an unstressed syllable followed by a stressed syllable, so an iambic pentameter is five of those in a row."

"Nerd," I mutter.

Tommy claims that he knows all this stuff because his sister reads Shakespeare for fun, but how does that explain the fact that he can quote all of Romeo and Juliet from memory?

Mr. York points at me with his meterstick. "Nathaniel, do us all a favor and shut the hell up."

Before I can respond, my stomach sinks in an all too familiar way. Oh no. Now's not the time. Calm down. Get a fucking grip.

But I can't.

I raise my hand calmly. "Mr. York, may I go to the restroom?"

He eyes me with distrust.

"Please." I try my best to keep the pleading out of my voice. I can't let everyone see how desperate I am to escape. Out. I want fucking out.

"Fine. Make it quick."

"It's not like I can control how fast I urinate," I say for good measure before bolting out of the classroom.

I find my way to a bathroom on the other side of the school. I burst inside, and thankfully, it's empty. I drop down onto the floor and hope that this isn't as unsanitary as I think it is.

I wrap my arms around my legs and hug my knees to my chest. I rock back and forth, trying to think this through. Why is this happening, and how do I stop this?

The bathroom door opens, and I mentally groan.

Tommy looks at me with a raised eyebrow. "You're making a habit out of this."

I guess I am. I've asked to go to the restroom several times in the past few school days, but this is the first time that Tommy followed me. I can't decide if I'm grateful, angry, or scared.

Tommy inspects the ground for pee puddles before carefully sitting down next to me, crossing his legs. I shift uncomfortably.

He reaches out awkwardly. "Nathan..."

I flinch away, then immediately feel bad. "Sorry."

He folds his hands and rests them in his lap. "It's okay."

We sit there quietly, neither of us trying to make conversation.

"We should go back," I finally say, staring at the tile floor.

"Wait." Tommy's hand lands on my arm, but I make myself to stay still this time. "I don't want to force you to talk about whatever you're going through, but the last time I kept quiet for someone, I had to watch both of our lives fall apart."

I don't want to look at him, because I feel like his eyes would stare right through to my soul. I almost want him to be able to do that. Maybe then he can figure out what's wrong with me.

"I know we haven't known each other for too long," he continues. "And maybe you don't trust me yet. Or maybe you don't even know what's wrong. But I'm here, and I'll listen whenever you're ready."

I finally meet his gaze, and his eyes are filled with concern and honesty.

He smiles a little, and it changes his whole face. "I'll probably judge you, since I'm a pretty judgmental person. But I promise to respect you."