Breathe Me || Completed

13.0 - Snowglobe

We are sitting at our favorite picnic table. The one with all our initials carved into it.

It's Tristan, Ivo, Rosie, Summer, Eric, and Tabitha. And me, I guess. I'm here.

"I know, but he's just so needy," Summer is saying. "I mean, he texts me like, literally once an hour. And if I don't answer, he texts like five more times."

"Gross," says Rosie.

"Aw, cut him some slack, Summer," says Ivo. "He's just in love with you." He flashes a white smile.

Summer blushes hard. "He is not! He's just, like, scared to be alone. Rosie's right. It's gross. I think I'm gonna break up with him."

"Emmanuel?" says Tabitha. "I thought you liked him. He's so sweet."

"I do like him, but, like, I can't have him hanging off me like a leech."

They're talking about Summer. They're talking about Emmanuel. They're talking about drama. They're talking about something.

Ivo says, "He'll calm down, just give it time."

"But I don't want to," says Summer. Her blush resurges. "Besides, I like someone else now. It's not fair to like, string him along."

"Ooh," says Rosie. "Summer has a crush."

Summer has a crush. On a boy. In Stone Harbor. Okay.

Summer shrugs. "I guess so."

"Who is it?"

"I'm not telling you guys! You'll tell him." Summer looks down into her lap like her next line is written there. "Anyway, maybe they're at this table."

We explode into shouts and speculations.

We.

They do. I sit.

I try so hard to smile. I try so hard to say something. Something something something like what Rosie is saying, "It's Ivo, it's Ivo, isn't it! It's always friggin Ivo with his stupid muscles. You girls can't keep your tits in your shirt around him! What's wrong with you?"

Or like Ivo is saying, "Just tell us, Summer! You obviously want to. Yeah, you do. Why else would you have said that? You want to tell us. Just do it. Say who it is. put us out of our misery!"

Or like Eric is saying, "Are you actually a secret lesbian? I bet it's Rosie. That would be like, so hot. I would pay to see that, honestly. Is it? Don't lie, because, like, that's cool, dude, whatever you wanna do."

Or like Tristan is saying, which is nothing, looking at the ground.

But I shouldn't say what Tabitha is saying. That wouldn't make sense. "Sally?" she says in a low voice so only I can hear. "Are you okay? You're acting kind of strange."

She's saying that but I'm not saying anything.

Summer hits her hand on the table. "Stop it!" she says. There is a tiny smile on her face. "I'm not going to tell you guys."

"Then why'd you bring it up?" says Rosie.

Summer shrugs. "You guys are my friends!" she says. "I thought you would be happy for me." She fakes a pouty expression.

She fakes a pouty expression and Ivo fakes a disapproving glare and Rosie fakes an eyeroll and Eric fakes a laugh and I fake that I am alive and anything more than dry, empty husk. Tabitha's hand is on my hand. She is looking at me.

"What, happy for you that you just have a crush?" says Rosie. "Um, no. You have to tell us who it is, first."

"I don't 'have' to do anything!"

"Oh my god you're literally the most annoying person."

Summer, it seems, is literally the most annoying person. But now Tabitha is looking at me while she sits beside me and Summer is looking at me across the table, and Ivo is looking at me across Rosie and Tabitha. They all stare. Tabby squeezes my hand but I can't make it squeeze back. I stare at the table some more.

"Sally?" says Summer. "Um, Sal?"

Sally Um Sal is me, I think. It's me they are talking to. Wake up. Say a think. Look up and smile, laugh, move your eyes. Don't look so dead.

It is all easier said than done. My eyes burn as I stare into the soft, weather-worn wood of the picnic table.

"What's wrong with her?" Summer is asking. "Should we like, get help? Is she having a stroke or something?"

Tabitha puts her arms around my shoulders. I can't feel her warmth. Nothing changes. "No, no," she says. "It's not a stroke."

"Then. . . what's wrong with her?" asks Rosie. She leans forward so she can inspect me around Tabitha's rusty red hair. "Okay, this is really weird. Sally. SALLY!"

Answer answer answer answer answer. Say yes. Say I'm okay. Tell lies, tell innocuous lies, they'll stop looking at you. But nothing in me moves and my lips stay sealed shut. They're all talking, all talking about me. I feel tears. They drop one by one like sudden rain.

Because they talk and talk and talk, but I can't stop feeling like I am sitting on the outside looking in at them, hearing their words muffled through glass walls. They are little porcelain people will little porcelain problems as bleached sawdust snow gathers over their heads like a film of grime.

"Sally. I'm sorry, hey, don't cry," says Tabitha. She stands up from the bench, extending her hands to me. "Come here."

I let her pull me away from the bench. She puts her arms around my waist and leads me away from them.