Slate | ✓

FOURTEEN | ATHENA

I sleep in John's vacant bed. From the moment I open my eyes it feels like there's a cloud hanging over my head that threatens to descend and wreak havoc over anything that gets in my way.

I don't know what to think. Why did Charlie have to open his mouth? The moment he finished speaking I regretted hearing what he had to say. I wanted him to take it back— to have kept that particular truth to himself. Then, I realized that he's just letting me in on what Will already knows, some alternate knowledge that's dictated everything, everything since. Like we've chosen our fork in the road but can still see across to the other side, to the what if?

It's glaringly obvious, but, from the sheer force of Charlie's recklessness, it could have been Will's face. It's not something I've ever thought about before. Will got lucky, and there's a strange guilt that comes with even thinking that. He could have been disfigured, or blind, or had to eat from a tube the rest of his life. Images that kept rotating on repeat through my head last night as I stared up at the bedroom ceiling.

When I see myself in the bathroom mirror, I stare and stare and stare. We're twins. We used to be inseparable. We've spent every day of our lives together. And it could have been his face.

The pervasive sense of uncertainty follows me on the bus to school in the morning, and no matter how hard I try, my thoughts keep circling back to places I'd rather they not go. I'm not able to participate in the senior-year adrenaline I can feel coursing through my classmates. The nerves and self-consciousness that I'd felt about school only yesterday has been squashed by the weight of everything else, or at least, it's doing a better job of blending in with the waves of conflicting emotions.

I carry a gym bag full of clothing I agreed to pack for Will to my first two classes. When I walk into the cafeteria at lunch to find him, it would seem whatever reprieve I could be afforded from having bigger fucking fish to fry than Patti Harris isn't as substantial as I thought. The more tables I pass, the more eyes I feel falling on my back, and the more my brain compounds the general chatter of the cafeteria into whispers and pointed remarks. I feel the horrible sense of isolated sinking, and it's harder than usual to keep the mask in place.

Half way through my long trudge to the final row of tables, where I can see the back of Will's head, I'm interrupted by something that's six feet tall, grinning, and kind of funny looking.

"Hey," the boy says, his cheeks growing red with embarrassment. "Did you want to go out sometime?"

The group of guys seated to his right begin to snicker, slamming their hands down on the table, and clapping each other on the backs in self-congratulations. I catch sight of a familiar mop of curly blond hair, his head ducked down in laughter.

My eyes narrow, and I ignore the idiot who's blocked my path. "Dante," I flash him my fakest grin, stealing a fry from the plate nearest me. "Wow, you're even dumber than I fucking thought." I take a bite. "You know, people have been saying a lot of stuff about me, but just wait until I tell them how small your—"

"You're crazy." He's sobered up by now. "We didn't even—"

"That's not what I heard so excuse me for being a little confused." The smile continues to curve my face. "You and Patti deserve each other. It's not often that two people with so little self-awareness come together, but I guess miracles do happen."

I turn to the tall one. "Kindly back the fuck up, please and thank you." He clears the way and falls back into his empty seat.

I only make it a few steps when I hear Dante snap, "psycho bitch," to my turned back. A renewed round of laughter follows the remark.