Sixth period, last period of the day, we are in the cafeteria fucking around. I have a tee shirt on and I've removed the black hoodie. The black of my shirt against the white of my skin against the red of the scars; I'm one big walking contrast. My best friend, a boy I talk to every so often, and me; we're standing around accomplishing nothing when I gesture in the general direction of the other boy. And he sees the contrast. And he grabs my arm. So I do the natural thing. I pull away and walk back to the table to put on my hoodie again.
"Amanda," he says, "we need to talk."
"No," I say. He puts his arm around my neck and tries to walk me out of the room, but I stand in place like a stubborn child. Good luck trying to convince me to do something when I don't want to.
"Come on. Talk to me."
My best friend hovers in the background, but I don't look at him. I don't look at anyone.
I stare at the wall across the room and I say, "Back the fuck off." I can feel the boy and my friend staring at me, but I don't look either way. Not left to the boy, and not left to my best friend turned love interest turned abuser turned protector.
The boy I speak to occasionally wraps his arms around me in this sort of hug, only I leave my arms at my sides and I'm crushed against his shoulder and I can feel his hands moving on my back in a pantomime of comfort. Big brother is still watching from behind him.
"I have to go back to class, Amanda."
"I know." I'm still crushed against him.
"If you need to talk, I'm here."
"I know."
"I love you, Amanda."
"I know.
The boy walks away, leaving my friend and I alone. He doesn't say anything, my friend, just sort of stands there and looks at me, and opens his arms, offering comfort. I take it, and we embrace.
"Hey," he says. The sun floods the windows behind him.
"Hey," I say, and I feel like I should be crying, but it's not that sort of movie.
I curl up back at home behind the theater, on the old couches that used to belong to the teacher I was infatuated with. The technical director, a classmate of mine, comes in.
"Hey, are you okay, Amanda?"
Sure, I say, I'm just tired. He looks at me a moment, then picks up a blanket from the end of the couch and drapes it over me. I laugh a little and smile as he tucks in the ends around me, to keep me warm.
Today was a series of moments that had nothing to do with eachother.