Page 33 of Encounter

Tapping the end ofmy pen over the edge of the economy book, I finally gave up on trying to read the same paragraph for the sixth time. Putting it down with a deep sigh, I earned an understanding smile from Zola who sat across from me. The library was so quiet, I was beginning to fall asleep, especially after yesterday’s training which completely destroyed me, no matter how much damn protein I ate or how long I overslept.

My arms ached so much I didn’t want to move them ever again.

Zola closed her laptop and leaned on the table, as caring and kind as always, blinking at me with those long lashes. “You always look so preoccupied, Gale,” she said, pursing her lips.

No wonder she was spending so much time with her new gal pals. It wasn’t like I was a joy to be around.

I sighed, smiling. “Heh, sorry. I know... I’ve been a pretty shit friend recently.”How do people do this? Excelling at work, school, juggling family and social life, being a good, attentive, supportive partner?It seemed like an impossible task to me. Way ahead of the emotional energy it cost me to function in day-to-day life, not to mention all the extra stuff. And my life wasn’t even anywhere near difficult.

“What’re you talking about?!” She chuckled, grimacing at me like I was out of my mind. “I know you like your space. Has anythinghappened at home?” Her gaze softened. “You would’ve told me if you felt like...you know, not doing too well, right?”

I sucked in my lip in and then smiled. Zola was the only person who knew about my cutting—at least somewhat. I was pretty sure she stopped when we were younger, that time we both vowed to never do it again. And she probably thought I still kept that promise, too.

“I’m okay, really. I just get frustrated with school. Feels like I’m becoming dumber and dumber with each lecture.” I tried to change the topic.

Zola grunted and leaned back into the chair, rolling her hands over the folds of her vintage dress. “Ugh, I know! Mikayla getting full credit on the latest business management test? I don’t think so,” she frowned with a bitter grimace.

Now that we attended a private institution where the rich and powerful had free reign, it was much easier compared to high school for parents to make sure their kids succeed if they stumbled. The school’s board might as well been calledthe nepotism club. Of course, there was still some effort required, and not every teacher could have been bought, but Zola and I were probably two out of grand total of five other people who did their best to get real good grades without getting some sort of a helping hand.

The rest...Well, they did the bare minimum.

“Zol, listen... I know I keep saying ‘no’ every time you ask me to do something fun, so I thought... The next time you have someplace cool to go to, we should just do it,” I blurted, smirking at Zola. I had the small, hopeful spark inside of me to make things better. Probably reminders of the endorphins from yesterday.

“That’s the best idea you’ve had in weeks!” Zola grinned at me, spreading her arms into a stretch. “Your dad puts way too much pressure on you. No one else works as hard as you do, always studying. You need to treat yourself more!”

Little did she know, I waspunishingmyself with exercise, on top of everything.

“Yeah. I guess you’re right,” I said, glancing down at my book.

Zola was great at these things—at balancing school stress and fun. Always wandering the city, attending book signings, little concerts, going to the theater with her family...

Having a supportive, open, loving family... Isn’t that a foundation to a happy life?Though it was close to impossible for Dad and me to spend any time together without it ending up with him bickering, sometimes I wished we had that relationship.

Other times, I wondered if that was something Mom and I would do if she was still here. She was a journalist. Surely, she would’ve loved things like that. Culture. Art. Life...

“I’ll see what we can do,” Zola sang excitedly, bringing me back to reality. It looked like my offer filled her with energy—I could already see all the ideas flashing through her eyes as they shot down toward the phone in her hands.

?

The opportunity came faster than I expected. The very next weekend, I found myself in a small, hipster cafe downtown with her. Without hesitation, the moment it was over, she ran up to the singer whose performance we sat through.

“Zola! Good to see you!” he shouted.

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