Another school year started, another year of soul crushing, confidence breaking teachers pitting students against one another, praising those who are naturally gifted; who succeed without any teaching, hoping the average students kill themselves to improve and those who are subpar quit and do something 'more suited' to them than education, all so they can look good.
I looked up from my locker, just before first period started and saw Josh Angevin as he walked down the hall toward me. The sun hitting his deep, ocean blue eyes making them sparkle, his normally dark hair now seemed a light, pure brown, sitting with a perfect spiky quiff. He must have had a recent haircut; his hair usually covered those eyes, but I could see them clearly now. He always had it a bit longer on the top, I never understood why but I never complained either. He had his letterman jacket on, the scarlet red body a stark contrast the royal blue Marble Hills Technical School logo and the cream sleeves highlighting his natural tan. We spent a lot of time on the beach this summer, but I was still somehow whiter than snow, although that might just be a comparison to Josh's tan.
We had been best friends since high school started – since I helped him out in our first AP math class. Of course, I knew him from when we were kids, but we hadn't really clicked until that moment. We always had that competitiveness between us, both academically, where he was edging me out, and athletically, where I had the advantage. So far, we'd kept a good balance, using sport to socialize and spending most of our time together studying – we took all the same courses. You'd think that captain of the basketball and football teams and honor roll student would be king of the school, and in many ways he was. Just walking down the hallway to meet me everyone greeted him, his friends, people who he barely knew, teachers, anyone who saw him. And he was always kind, making time for anyone who asked him, helped everyone he could. But he stayed away from the parties, the drugs and the alcohol, all the activities that the truly 'popular' kids did. He was the kind of person I aspired to be, but I never knew how he could do it; I could barely balance my schedule let alone do favors for the whole school like he did.
'Emma' he called out as he approached, opening his arms for a hug. As he embraced me for the first hug of the school year, I could tell something was wrong. The only other time I had this feeling about him was when we were seven and he came to school the weekend after his mother's death. His father had been drinking and got behind the wheel, a crash that changed Josh's whole life – his father's imprisonment as a result of the incident meant that he had to go live with his grandma. Nine years later and that same cold shiver ran down my spine, giving me goose bumps that had me believing my skin would jump off my skeleton.
We hugged for a few seconds longer than usual, I squeezed a bit tighter, not knowing what to expect. He looked at my hair, his gaze following my black hair from the top of my head (which he could easily see being 6'1") to the bottom of my shoulder, avoiding eye contact as if it might break him. We exchanged the usual niceties, still not revealing the problem as we walked to our first class of the year. I sat down, and he pulled the chair next to me, stopped for a second, as if unsure whether he would stay, and was seated.
To anyone else it would have looked normal, but I could see the hesitation in his eyes, unsure of what move to make next. I knew not to press further during class, but that's all I could think about throughout the lesson. As Josh sat there, uncharacteristically, I couldn't help but think of worse case scenarios – was someone he loved in danger, hurt, dead. When the lesson came to a close, what seemed like a day later, we walked to our lockers – first mine, then his – in utter silence. I looked at him as we walked and all my stresses faded – school, sport, family, friends – all the drama gone, my only concern was Josh.
We headed outside to the courtyard, and went to our table, the isolated one furthest from the main building, where no one could interrupt us. We established that that was going to be our table in our first year, and by our Junior year, everyone knew never to bother us during free periods. The isolation was good, it allowed us to study in peace – but more importantly, it allowed us to have our private conversations.
'How are you?' I asked, concern growing in my voice.
