Page 9 of The Story Of Us

I pull my phone out of my pocket, opening and closing random apps just so it looks like I’m doing something because I can still feel the weight of his stare, and I refuse to look back because I don’t know what seeing his face clearly will do to me.

The classroom starts filling up, the voices of twenty-five seventeen-year-olds gradually getting louder to the point where Mr. Victor has to clap his hands together to get our attention. I lock my phone and drop it on my desk but instead of facing ahead to look at Mr. Victor, my eyes go to Isaac.

He still hasn’t turned around.

Our eyes finally meet, and it’s like a thousand questions are being asked.

How are you?

How was your summer?

Can you forgive me?

Did you miss me as much as I missed you?

He chews his bottom lip between his teeth, nudges his glasses back up the bridge of his nose, and tilts his head to the side. I know him well enough to know that he’s trying to think of something to say.

But maybe I don’t know him that well at all because instead of opening his mouth, he just closes his eyes, gives a tight shake of his head, and turns in his chair to face the front of the classroom.

My hands curl into fists. The pressure of my nails digging into my palms is the only thing keeping me grounded right now, as I feel like all the air has been sucked out of my lungs. I drop my head to look down at my desk instead, and I can hear Mr. Victor droning in the background, but my thoughts are completely focused on Isaac and whatever just happened between us.

Mr. Victor goes through the usual routine on the first day back at school, calling us all up row by row to collect our schedules. I take note of the three English Lit classes I have, three classes that I’ll have no choice but to see Isaac in. If I can’t even get through a twenty-minute homeroom with him, I don’t know how I’ll be able to share a classroom with him for five hours a week.

A few months ago, we were ecstatic at the thought of being in the same class because even though we both did English Lit, we’d been put in different groups. Second-year students are always in the same class, though, so there was no doubt in our minds that we’d be able to sit next to each other for the whole year. My favourite class with my favourite person felt like a dream, but now it just feels like a cruel reminder from the universe that I won’t be able to escape him until school is over and we go our separate ways.

The rest of the day passes in a blur, with introductory sessions for each of the three classes I’ll be taking, with English Lit being the last of the day. The teachers have set their expectations and deadlines for us, stressing the importance of this year if we want to get into our chosen universities. Even though taking three writing-intensive classes will mean I’m stuck on my laptop for most of the year, it’ll help me prepare to study English Lit and Creative Writing at university, which has been my plan for years now.

By the time the bell rings to signal the end of lunch and the start of my last period, I’m exhausted, still getting used to being back at school and honestly, still getting used to seeing Isaac again.

I managed to avoid him for most of the day, but I know there’s no chance of that now as I head to the English block and find my classroom. I peek into the room before I enter and don’t see him anywhere, so I walk in and take a seat in the middle row right next to the window, enjoying the view of the autumn leaves falling before I feel his approach.

He’s worn the same aftershave for years now, a citrusy vanilla scent that always felt so comforting. I used to love seeing him every morning before school started, both of us leaving our bedrooms early enough to steal a moment together.

The smell of his perfume was always so strong because he would spray it before coming to see me, knowing how much I liked it. I would hug him tightly, press myself as close to him as possible, and wish that science could find a way for me to crawl inside his chest and always be part of him. I would hope that his perfume would transfer onto my clothes just enough so that I could feel like he was with me all day.

But now the smell just feels suffocating, like it’s replacing the oxygen in the air with something poisonous, and I can’t catch my breath.

I keep my eyes fixed on the window as I hear him pull out the chair next to mine, and I know he wants to sit there to solidify us staying next to each other for the whole year. I would have loved nothing more than that a few months ago, but now it just feels like I’m being trapped.

“I’m saving that seat for Avery.” My voice comes out quiet as if my body feels betrayed by the fact that I’m speaking to him right now and refuses to cooperate.

“Violet.”

He says my name with the soft tone that I got so used to hearing every morning as soon as I woke up and every night just before I slept, with a gentleness that has me wanting to burst into tears because I’ve missed it so much.

But then I’m reminded of the last time I heard him say my name, and the anger overrules it. It has me turning around so quickly to face him. I don’t think he expected it because he averts his gaze away and stares down at the chair instead. I glance down and notice how white his knuckles have turned from the way he’s tightly gripping the chair.

“What?” I surprise myself with how venomous I make the word sound.

“Can we talk?” He lifts his head to look at me, and I can see the sincerity on his face, the way his bottom lip is red from how much he’s biting it, and how his eyebrows are knitted together as he tries to hide his frown.

“No, we can’t. And I told you Avery is sitting there.”

“I know she’s not in this class.”

I don’t know what else to say to him. I hate how easily he can tell when I’m lying, considering I’ve never done it before. He opens his mouth and closes it again, at a loss for words as much as I am. Then he lifts his hand off the chair before patting it once and walking away with a resigned look on his face. He goes to the other side of the room and sits by himself at an empty desk in the row behind mine.

The rest of our classmates filter in and once everyone has taken their seat, the one next to mine remains empty. I don’t pay much attention to what Mrs. Harper says, focusing all my attention on making sure I don’t look at Isaac because I know his eyes are on me.

---