HOW TO DISAPPEAR

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"Did you say something?" She know I haven't said anything. She's just being nice. I throw my eyes to the floor. Forget saying hi. It's all I can do not to hyperventilate. She sighs, stands, Clicks her locker shut, and pirouettes down the hall. Okay, maybe she just walks, but in that ballerina way of hers-toes pointed, feet turned out. I watch her go, exhaling the tightness from my chest. There's a moment of relief as my fear subsides, but it's quickly replaced by a feeling I like to call "I suck". One simple thing. That's all I had to do. I drag my hazel to the interior of my locker, to the photo of me and Jenna taped on the back wall. We are standing arm in arm. I'm wearing her pink camisole dress that was too tight but she insisted fit me perfectly, and we're smiling with all our teeth. I touch the picture, because it helps. I don't know why. Only seven hours to go, and I'll be on the bus home, texting her. I'll confess my failure, but she'll still be my friend. She told me so when she moved away, that we won't let the distance come between us. We'll finish high school. Graduate. Got to college together. Be roommates. Just like we've always planned. I close my locker and head towards my first class, concentrating on not tripping or getting slammed by a backpack or poked in the eye with a drumstick. The latter is a realistic threat, because Adrian Ahn is walking in front of me, twirling actual drumsticks. Adrian is the official rock star of Edgar H. Richardson High School. He's in a band called East 48. They're good, like mosh-pit-diving-fans-screaming-their-heads-off good. Not that I've seem them in person, but they post videos on YouTube.