Page 15 of The Story Of Us

There’s a light pressure on my cheek, there and gone in an instant.

He kissed me.

I open my eyes, and he’s so close to me, our noses so close to brushing, and I realise his eyes aren’t completely green. There’s a ring of hazel around them. It looks like they’re sparkling. I don’t move and neither does he. It’s like we’re both caught in some kind of spell, and if we blink, it’ll all be over.

My gaze moves across his face, and I try to speak, but all that comes out is “I,” and I don’t know if I’m trying to say his name or something else. The sound breaks the spell, though, and he lets go of my wrist and takes a step back. I immediately miss the pressure of his hand on me.

“I’m sorry, I just had to do that.”

“No, don’t be sorry.”

“Sorr-”

I roll my eyes before he can finish the word, and he lets out a small laugh. I decide not to think too much about what I do next, quickly stepping up on my tip toes to kiss his cheek. “Happy birthday, Isaac.”

He lifts his hand to cover his cheek, his mouth parted in surprise, and he looks so cute. I smile at him, but he’s still frozen in place, so I grab my bag and leave the room.

I rush back to my room and sit at my desk, placing the journal on it as I hold my cheek, just like Isaac did with his.

Isaac kissed me.

And I kissed him too.

And I liked it more than I should.

I open up the journal, wanting to document it because it feels like a monumental shift has happened, and if I don’t write it down, then it won’t feel real. There’s something already written on the first page, though, in handwriting that I’m becoming too familiar with.

Write me a story sometime

Isaac

I trace his handwriting with my finger, following every curve and trying to memorise it like it’ll sear into my fingertips maybe and change my whole life.

When I open the full journal and see those words written there, I feel the sting of tears building in my eyes. That day changed everything between us and I’m torn between wishing it never happened and hating myself for even thinking that. I hate being in this weird place with him where I have to pretend like he’s not constantly at the forefront of my mind, like he didn’t change my life.

The sound of other students trickling in gets louder and when I look up I notice a whole new group standing at the front of the classroom. Mr. Hale is standing next to Mrs. Harper and it only takes me a second to realise that the art club is here. I find Isaac immediately, that familiar pull between us still there as he seems to find me at the exact same time.

Our eyes meet and I can’t help the tear that slips out.

6

ISAAC

I know I should look away from her, but once I see that single tear sliding down her cheek, it’s impossible. I did that to her. She can’t even look at me. The regret and guilt hit me all at once, and I feel like I can’t breathe. I clench my hands into fists at my side, my fingernails digging into my palms as I try to ground myself, try to direct the pain in my chest to somewhere else instead.

Violet turns her head to look out of the window, but I see how she lifts her arm and pats her cheek with her sleeve. I think of the times I used to do that for her, when she’d just finished a sad part in a book or when she was overwhelmed with schoolwork. I hated seeing her cry, but I liked that she wouldn’t hide it from me, that she would let me comfort her. But now I can’t even do that. The ache in my chest just gets worse, and I keep my hands folded tightly, finally dragging my eyes away from her as Mrs. Harper starts speaking.

“My dear writers, can I have your attention for a moment? Mr. Hale and I have a very exciting announcement to make regarding club activities this year.”

As soon as we were all gathered in the art classroom, we were told to follow Mr. Hale to the English classroom. I spent the five-minute walk torn between praying that Violet wouldn’t be here and praying that she would.

It’s like a form of torture, having to watch her go about her day and not being able to say even a word to her. If this was last year, I would have been jumping at the chance to see her during this hour every Friday, thought of it as an extension of the time we’d spend with each other after, and been ecstatic about it. But I changed everything between us, and I don’t know how we can ever go back to that or if we even can.

“For a while now, we’ve talked about ways that we can get our groups together. You’re all wonderfully talented creatives, and we’d love to see what could happen if you combine your skills,” Mrs. Harper continues, and I finally realise what’s about to happen.

“In the end, we came up with the idea of doing a joint project.” Mr. Hale takes over from her and continues. “You’ll be paired up and have until May to create any kind of media you’d like that combines your skills. It can be a comic strip, an illustrated story, a short animated film, anything at all as long as it’s clear that you’ve both worked on it.”

I look at Violet again and wonder what the chances of us getting paired up are. It makes sense for everyone to work with someone their age, so I quickly scan the room and realise that Violet is the only person from our year group in the writing club. There are a few of us in the art club, though, so one of us will end up working with her, and I desperately want it to be me.

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