All I Ever Knew Was Your Name [Nick Robinson]

NINE

thunderclouds by lsd

It's strange.

While it seems like nothing, it seems like something. Does that make sense? I don't know— it's probably nothing. It's nothing, right?

My mind battles itself on the way to school as I hold onto Nick's sweatshirt tightly in my arms. I feel guilty for leaving, and I can't put a finger on my reasoning. I mean, people fight all the time. I've gotten into a few screaming matches with my mom, especially in my early teen years. It's normal to fight with your parents.

Maybe it wasn't even Nick that I was hearing. Maybe it was his dad and a friend. Maybe it was his dad on the phone. Maybe Nick had absolutely no involvement, and I'm just running my mind in complete circles until I absolutely lose it. It seems like a very Mary thing to do, but a part of me can't shake the feeling of dread.

I get to school and shove his sweatshirt in my locker after taking several glances over my shoulder to see if he's made it. When I don't see him, I close my locker and twist my lips to the side in defeat, then head off to my very last first class.

Once lunchtime comes, I'm just as vacant as I always seem to be. Only this time, I notice my vacancy, and I'm not so comfortable with it. All day, I haven't spotted Nick, and I'm beginning to worry that leaving his front doorstep this morning was a bad idea.

I'm interrupted by Tyra nudging my arm, excitement in her voice (as usual).

"So?" she drags her word on quietly so that only the two of us can hear.

I shake my head and scrunch my eyebrows. "So, what?"

"So!" she smiles from ear to ear. "Is Nick taking you to the party tonight?"

"Party?" I ask, then quickly remember that the final senior party is tonight. As far as I'm aware, and solely what I've gathered from Tyra and Katherine, is that it's at Matt Schilling's family's lake house about an hour and a half away from here. "Oh. Right. Yeah, no. He's not."

She sulks. "Well, why not?"

"I don't know," I shrug, screwing the cap to my water bottle back on. "I haven't seen him since study hall yesterday when he talked to the both of us."

"Yeah, but you're, like, neighbors," she scoffs.

As much as I want to tell her about my experience at his front doorstep this morning, which was my attempt at moving forward with him, I know that I shouldn't. And I don't. Not only is it not my business to tell, but it's also unconfirmed. Actually, I don't even know what I'd tell her, because I don't even know what I think was going on. I don't want to spread any false information about him.

Rather than blabbing, I simply shrug again. "I just haven't seen him. That's all."

"Maybe he'll ask you in one of your classes today?" she suggests hopefully.

I laugh. "I don't even want to go, Tyra. Even if he did ask, I don't know that I'd be all that interested."

"Even if he was George Clooney?" she teases.

I look down, pushing a smile. "Even if he was George Clooney."

My stroll to art class seems a million miles long. My legs feel like jello, and my heart is racing in my chest. I feel like someone could see it thudding beneath my skin.

I don't exactly know why I'm so nervous. Maybe it's because I'm afraid I won't see him, which will validate my idea that something is, in fact, wrong. Maybe it's because I'm afraid that if I do see him, I'll say something completely stupid. The mind of Mary Hart is a vast land of confusion and conflict.