All Our Lives ✔

5|

Sebri fell out of bed.

There was no warning, no signs of restlessness—her body gave a sudden, violent jerk and crashed to the floor.

I was finishing up my homework next to her and almost hit the ceiling, but she laughed it off, tickling me until I laughed with her.

While Sebri showered, I checked out her latest work. (Most of my life was spent checking her out in one way or another.)

Wherever my best friend was, there would be sketches. Some were of me—close-ups, like my hand in the process of straightening a spaghetti strap, or my hair gathered between my shoulder and ear. I liked them, but I also felt her art deserved a more interesting subject...not one who just happened to be around. Other art featured things like beetles and gem-encrusted hilts. Some pieces were darker than I could bear, some were brilliantly complex...all were precious in my eyes.

It was Sebri's written pieces, though, that I looked forward to the most—right down to the slashing capital letters capable of filling a page in just a few words. Most of these were a punch to the gut, rarely offering warmth or comfort, but usually inspiring a smile.

I'd been hit exactly twice in my life, each time while shielding Sebri, and each time, I'd had an inexplicable reaction—I'd smiled. It sprung forth from some...some hidden well. A place I didn't want to acknowledge. Twice I'd stopped myself from striking back—with Sebri's help (she did the striking for me).

Perhaps I'd been a fighter in another life.

I found several pages scattered on her small desk and, leaning over it to read a few, spotted a crumpled piece of paper between the trash bin and the wall. A missed shot from the futon? I took it out, straightening it to read the writing.

The chills were instantaneous.

Crumpling the paper again, I returned it to where it had been, knowing not to be too unsettled—the words, although they would linger in my mind, didn't have to mean anything.

I heard Sebri moving around in the bathroom. She always stepped out fully dressed, as though the police would break her door down the second she was half-naked around me.

"I never told you what you smell like," I called. "Winter, just before spring!"

I was telling her so she wouldn't be disturbed if she heard loud sniffing from her bathroom later.

The sounds of movement stopped.

She emerged a minute later.

"Damn, Seb, Mrs. Poole would faint if you showed these to her," I said from the desk.

Mrs. Poole, our English teacher, never stopped encouraging Sebri to share her work, undeterred by her student's lack of enthusiasm.

"They're not for her." Sebri's expression was a little tense, like she'd forgotten where we were. Like she'd left a kid alone in a car or something. "Let's go out. It's stuffy in here."

I frowned. "Stuffy? Seb..." Jaw clenched, she toweled her hair. "We don't have to leave. Even if your stuff is lying around, I won't look if you don't want me to..." She shook her head, but wouldn't meet my eyes. "I mean...do you not want me here?"

I hadn't asked her for a key—she'd given it to me and told me to use it anytime; that no matter what, I was welcome...and this was the first time I'd used it. And I didn't feel welcome.

Sebri said nothing, which was basically confirmation. She didn't want me here. And she couldn't or wouldn't explain why.

Did she just not want to hurt my feelings? Were we there already?