Looking At Us

39. shain

I knew Sasha Hawk was a slut. I knew she was this rude, sassy, erotic girl in ninth grade. However, I didn’t know she was suicidal, but it didn’t surprise me at all. 

      During History, Mr. Sanchez made us get into groups with the three people sitting closest to us, and we had to work on our blueprints of what a modern house in Ancient Greece would look like. For me, there were pros and cons to that: I was an absolute nerd on Greece (blame the Percy Jackson books), but the three people sitting closest to me were Megan, Sasha, and a guy called Aleksandr, who was an exchange student from Russia. 

     ‘‘I’ve been to Greece,’’ said Aleksandr, his voice deep and crippled by an accent. ‘‘It’s crowded. Tight. Loud. But it’s very pretty.’’ He glanced at Megan, like he found her even more prettier than Greece, and I cracked a grin. 

     Sasha said, ‘‘Screw this,’’ and she left her seat. 

     I couldn’t stop staring at the scars on her arms. 

     Obviously they were fresh. Cherry-red and ripped, fresh suspicions about the scene of the crime, which I had no information about. While others would cover up the scars and sit dejectedly in the shadows, Sasha wore a stark tank-top, so that the cuts were visible to everyone in the school. Maybe she wanted pity. Maybe she wanted to tell others that life is messed up, so if you’re smart, you’ll follow my lead. 

     Aleksandr leaned forward. He had a mop of curly brown hair and thick, gray glasses that obscured his inky eyes. ‘’Is she suicidal?’’

     ‘’I don’t know,’’ I answered. ‘‘I’ve never seen her like this until now, and I’ve known her since kindergarten.’’ 

     ‘‘She looks . . . broken.’’

     ‘‘She is,’’ said Megan. 

     Aleksandr glanced at her again, grinning, and then started talking about the houses in Greece. He was a seriously awesome Russian kid. 

     During break, I was running from my locker to Megan’s when I collided with someone else: Erick. It was incredibly awkward and incredibly sweet, because he grabbed my waist to keep me from falling, and suddenly our noses were inches apart, and he smelt like green apples, fresh from a shower, and his eyes were so captivating—

     ‘‘Shain,’’ he gasped, wide-eyed. 

     I swallowed. ‘‘Erick. Sorry.’’

     ‘‘It’s okay. It was my fault, I—I was . . .’’ He looked over his shoulder at Megan, who was chatting with my friend Kelly, and I realized what he was trying to say: he’d been mesmerized by Megan, which had caused him to bump into me. The results should’ve made me feel warm and fuzzy, but instead I felt dejected and useless. 

     Erick, look at me. I want you, Erick. 

     He bent down to grab my books, and I was hoping for the whole our-hands-touched kind of thing, but if I tried that it would like I was trying to assault him. 

     I wanted this whole thing to go away. He didn’t love me. I understood that now. So why was I still obsessed with this disturbing crush? Erick was handsome. He was smart, funny, athletic . . . Why would he want to date someone like me?

     At lunch, I hung out with Megan, Cris, and Aleksandr, and we skipped stones across the river and talked about Sasha’s arms and suicide and eventually homicides and murders. Aleksandr bought us ice cream on the way back to school. 

     As I made my way to Math, I passed Levon, my ex-boyfriend whom I’d dated a few months back. He looked depressed and cryptic: his hoody was pulled low over his sunshine-colored hair and his chocolate eyes, and his scrawny figure slumped forward with his hands in his jean pockets. 

     I wanted to say hi. 

     I kept going. 

     Love is an empty void that shatters hearts and keeps them in veils of pain.

     Once you fell, there was no escape.