Relying On Ben and Jerry (Waltham #1)

Chapter Forty-Two: Wait For You

I would have thought that, after a month and a half, my friends would have been pretty used to me wearing normal clothes. I would have thought that I wouldn’t have been mad at Quinton to the point that we barely talked and I would never have believed that I would have been on speaking terms with my brother, not in a million years. But, if there is anything that life has taught me so far, it is that life is nothing at all what I expect, at any time.

My friends were kind of used to it. Sometimes I still caught them looking at me sadly, like they were mourning the loss of my incredibly random wardrobe, but otherwise it went on like a pretty normal day. We were still the same friends as we always had been; I just drew less attention when we walked down the hall together. They didn’t say anything about why I might have chosen to stop wearing the clothes, and I didn’t tell them my reasoning. All in all, life went on.

The worst was with Quinton. The few words that we had exchanged in class that one day had held a lasting impression on our friendship, and for a long time we didn’t really talk. We exchanged some lame smiles in the hallway and we worked together in class, but there was always some kind of tension over the two of us that I couldn’t really explain. I didn’t think that conversation would hurt us but it was like he was a little disappointed in me, like he couldn’t believe that I would let anything get to me. But he didn’t understand; he had always been that cool kid without having to say a word. It was just the way that he had always been.

Quinton probably hadn’t heard the things I had heard said to me, and that was okay. People were different and I knew that.

It was just hard to explain to someone who had never been called a freak why it hurts you. Why it never leaves you.

So we didn’t say much of anything at all.

And I missed him.

Yeah, it was kind of weird to say that, since I had only known him about five months or so and he was just my neighbor, but I missed him so much that just seeing him in the hallway made me sad. I used to know that I could go up to him and start a conversation and we would both be laughing in moments, but now I knew that I couldn’t just do that. It was like I was walking on thin ice, and Quinton was on the other side of the world, but he was close enough that I could have touched him if I wanted to. It wasn’t the same between us—there was something in between us, something unsaid, and it was a torturing me like I was in the Pit of Despair.

I imagine that the last couple of weeks would have been so much better if I would have at least known what it was, but I had no clue, and the slow, life-sucking torture went on to the point I was sure I was going to lose my mind.

But I didn’t, and I was very thankful for that. Because, in the beginning of May, Quinton approached me out of the blue.

“Hey,” he said, leaning against my locker. I started, surprised, and he crossed his arms over his chest and smiled uneasily, looking like he was nervous. I automatically smiled at him and leaned against the bay of lockers the same as him, mirroring his stance.

“Hey,” I greeted, nearly wincing when my voice jumped in joy. “What’s up?”

He shrugged, grinning. “The usual.”

I didn’t know what the usual way, but I figured I would maintain a little bit more of my slightly coolness by not asking.

We looked at each other for a moment, not saying anything. Being this close to him, talking to him even though I didn’t know what to say, it was squeezing my heart so painfully that I couldn’t even breathe. I wondered if it was hurting him too, if a little bit. I wondered if he cared about me at least a little piece of how much I cared about him.