Page 14 of The Story Of Us

My stomach feels like it’s doing somersaults, my fingers shaking as I trace the letters and try not to read too much into this. But what else am I supposed to think? This is the most special gift I’ve ever gotten.

“Isaac.”

I say his name quietly as I tear my gaze away from the journal to look at him, but I don’t think he’s heard me. He’s staring at the set of coloured pencils that I’ve bought for him.

I’ve noticed him drawing a lot more this year, and when we’ve talked, he’s mentioned wanting to practice colouring more because he usually just does black-and-white sketches. That stuck in my head and when we decided to get gifts for each other, I knew that’s what I wanted to get for him. I spent hours researching which brands were the best and then finding a set that wasn’t too expensive.

“Isaac,” I say it louder this time, and he hears me, lifting his head. His eyes catch mine, and I think his gaze flickers down to my mouth for a second before dropping to the journal, which I’m cradling in both hands.

“Do you like it?” His voice is low like he’s scared to ask or scared of my answer.

“I love it,” I tell him, and he looks up at me again, that smile on his face that makes it impossible to look anywhere else. “Thank you.”

I don’t know how I can express what his gift has made me feel without making it weird between us. It feels like we’re balancing on a tethered line right now, both of us trying to reach the other end even though we don’t know what’s waiting for us. I lift the journal, bringing it to my chest and hugging it the way I wish I could hug him right now.

He nods as he watches me, his smile dropping and his mouth opening a little. I don’t know why I keep looking at his mouth so much. His eyes flit around my face and then he shakes his head a little and clears his throat like he’s breaking himself out of a trance.

“Thank you, too. I’ve actually been looking at this set for a while, but I didn’t get them.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t think my art is that good yet, so I thought it would be a waste to get them. Not that I don’t appreciate you getting them for me, I don’t mean it like that, I just mean it feels like I can’t use them, but I will use them because you got them for me and -”

He stops speaking when I start laughing, and his nervous rambling is impossibly cute.

“You’re good.” He just stares at me, so I continue. “Your art, I mean. The stuff I’ve seen is really good. I think you should try them out.”

I meant it in a general sense, but Isaac just nods his head and opens the tin, placing it on the desk as he leans down to retrieve his sketchbook from his bag. He places it on the desk and then takes out a light grey pencil, but I can’t take my eyes off him as he opens it and starts sketching.

It’s the first time I’ve ever been this close to him and watched him draw, so I keep my focus trained on him. I notice the way he squints his eyes slightly, how he holds the pencil between his middle and fourth finger, and how his tongue peeks out a little from the corner of his mouth. Why am I looking there again? I focus on his hands again just as he finishes up his sketch, and I realise it’s a butterfly.

“I actually walked past the English room a few months ago and saw you were in the writing club. I know you mentioned wanting to go, but I didn’t know you’d started.” I duck my head to try and catch his attention but he won’t look at me, his eyes focused on the butterfly he’s drawn instead. “I thought it would be nice to get you a journal so you can keep all your ideas in one place.” His voice falters a little, and I can feel his nervousness as if it were my own. Maybe it’s because I feel the same way, too.

“That’s really kind of you.” I don’t know what else to say. My mind is too focused on the fact that he’s just told me he’s been planning this for months now. My stomach feels like it’s tied up in knots, but I decide to confess my own truth to him, too. “Actually, I remembered you said you wanted to try and do more with your art so I thought getting some pencils would help with that.”

At this, he finally looks up at me, and I lean back, not realising how close I’d gotten to him when I bent forward to try and catch his eyes. His eyes are wide, his pupils looking bigger than they did before as he pushes his glasses back up his nose. I wait for him to say something, it feels like I’ve just exposed a tender part of myself, and I need some words from him to cover it up.

We’ve considered each other friends for a while now, starting with birthday meetings that gradually turned into near-daily conversations and random meetings whenever we wanted to see each other. But right now feels like the most real we’ve been with each other, like we’ve laid bare hidden truths about ourselves and the other has picked them right up to protect.

“Thank you.”

That’s all he says, and I immediately regret telling him. I’m scared I’ve made our friendship weird by reading too much into it. I’ve given him more truth than he gave me, and this unbalanced feeling is making me want to leave and pretend none of this even happened.

“I, uh, I’ve got to go now.” I push my chair back and stand up, the journal still clutched in one hand as I reach for my bag. But then his hand covers my wrist, and he’s standing, too.

“Wait.”

The first day we met, we were the same height, but sometime during this past year, he started towering over me. I hadn’t realised just how much until now, and we’re standing so close that I have to tilt my chin up to look at him properly.

“I really love them, Violet. And it means a lot to me that you listen when I talk about this stuff. I didn’t think anyone really paid attention.”

I don’t know what to say that won’t leave me feeling completely exposed. I have been paying more attention to him than I want to, and for reasons I don’t dare to think about. But the journal held tight in my hand is proof that he’s been noticing me too, that maybe whatever’s happening here is the same for both of us.

“Of course, I listen. We’re friends, aren’t we?”

I give him a small smile, and his hand is still around my wrist, his thumb stroking back and forth in a way that makes it feel like there’ll be a permanent mark there later like he’s changed that small strip of skin forever. We’ve never been this close before. He’s never held on to me like this before, as if he doesn’t want me to get too far away from him.

“Can you close your eyes?” he whispers, and I pinch my brows together, my confusion showing clearly on my face but the way he’s looking at me makes me do it.

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