3. Lane

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As I sit at my desk trying to keep the stupid grin from creeping its way back onto my lips, I can feel the familiar claws of my anxiety sinking its way back in to ruin my happiness.

I still feel like this has to be a joke, because never have I ever in all of my life made a friend this fast, and I can't remember a time when I felt this comfortable around someone new either. Fallon and Tallon didn't even take to me this quickly. It was almost a month into our first semester before Fallon spoke to me, and honestly, I think she only started talking to me because she felt bad for the poor friendless kid always eating alone in the corner.

Now Zuuro shows up, and he's talking to me within minutes, and acting like we're best friends? I mean, I'm not against the idea, I would actually really like that, I'm just trying not to let myself get too attached until I get to know him a little better. I mean, that's not stupid. It's only been a few hours. That's just called being realistic.

Because okay, call me paranoid, but this whole thing does smell a little weird, right? A little too coincidental? What's the likelihood that someone like him is going to look at someone like me and decide they want to be friends? In what universe is that actually a thing?

I sigh. But he gave me his number, and he seems so nice, and funny, and maybe I'm reading way too much into this, but he seemed interested in me too. In getting to know me. Would he really do all that if he was just here as a joke? And then I realize, yes. Yes, he would, because why wouldn't Darin want him to get as deep as he possibly could before destroying me? Before humiliating me? And I know that I can't trust him. Not yet, at least. Not until I'm sure.

I glance over at him, watching him pulling his note taking software up onto his HoloScreen, and punching in a date. I really hope you're real. I say to myself, propping my head up with my hand, and frowning a little.

It's going to be hard keeping my guard up around him, because I know I already feel way too relaxed in his presence. At least as relaxed as someone with crippling anxiety can be. He's an easy person to be around. Really easy, and he's even easier to talk to. He's one of those people that instantly makes you feel safe, even though you've only just met. One of those people that you don't constantly feel the need to keep your guard up around, even if you probably should. He's friendly, and interesting, and funny. He's the kind of person everyone wants to have as a friend, but rarely ever meets. He's all of these things, and yet he still wants to hang around me? Call it poor self-esteem – which I totally have – but it all just seems too good to be true. Like he's a little too perfect to be real. I want him to be, though. I want him to be real more than I've ever wanted anything before.

"Condoms!" the teacher suddenly barks, and everyone in the room – all fifty-seven of us – snap our heads to attention in shock, wondering if he's really said what we all think he's just said.

Mr. Triller smiles, or at least that's what he appears to be doing, though I can't tell for sure from my place at the back of the classroom.

"Now that I have everyone's attention, we can get to today's lesson." Mr. Triller does love his attention grabbers! Hopefully our topic for today won't actually be as uncomfortable as I think it will.

"The importance of safe sex, and how to practice it."

Nope! I'm going to die here... I think to myself as I sink a little lower in my seat. At this point I can practically feel the temperature of the room rising with everyone's collective embarrassment. Because I don't care who you are, talking about sex with a teacher is always going to be a really awkward experience. Kind of like that first talk you get from your parents, where they sit you down on the sofa and start telling you about how your body is going to start changing. It's weird, and it's uncomfortable, and as soon as it's over, neither of you ever want to remember it even happening. I feel like this class is going to have a similar effect.

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