Page 69 of The ABCs of You & Me

See you tomorrow. X

She put an X. She put anX. What does that mean? Did she mean to put an X? She hasn’t done that before. I scroll back through all our previous conversations, and there is a definite absence of Xs. Maybe she does this for all her friends but didn’t feel comfortable doing it with me until this moment. Like I’m a friend worthy of an X.

I keep waiting for her to message again and say it was a mistake, but no such message comes. The X grows and multiplies in my head. It becomes something it’s probably not.

Did those looks she gave me tonight mean something? Did the slight flair of her nostrils when I told her she wasn’t allowed to touch trigger something inside of her, something good? Slipping back into the movie that had paused in my head, I hear myself tell her to lay back and keep her hands to herself. I tell her she can’t touch me. She has to watch as I worship her. And in the process I lose control, the angel on my shoulder loses the battle to the devil, and despite how good it felt, I’m instantly filled with regret.

“Mr. Walsh?”

“Yeah, Pete?” We’re walking well behind the rest of the class around the track. Some days he doesn’t want to partake, but today he said he felt like a walk, so here we are.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, bud, why?”

“You look…” He stops and squints up at me, studying every inch of my face. “Tired but…I don’t know, different?”

It’s shame, kidis what I want to say. “I didn’t sleep great last night, that’s all.”

“Bad dreams?”

Bad? No, the best, actually. “Yeah, you could call them that.”

“What were they about?”

“I was being forced to eat pizza after pizza covered in green olives.” I gag.

“Mmm,” he says in delight, stopping to rub his stomach dramatically. “That sounds like a dream come true.”

“I bet it does.” I chuckle at him as we continue around the track.

“Mr. Walsh?”

“Yes, Pete?”

“Do you think Miss Hore is pretty?” I stumble a bit as I look down at him, speechless. “You smile a lot when she’s around. She’s away today.”

“I told you, I’m tired, buddy.”

“But do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Think she’s pretty.”

“I think she’s beautiful inside and out.”

He stops abruptly and looks up at me in horror. “You’ve seen her insides?” he whispers, looking around as if I’m about to admit something scandalous.

I chuckle at his horrified expression. “It’s a saying,” I assure him. “It means someone is a good person.”

His face cracks open in a big smile. “I know, Mr. Walsh, I’m only joshin’.” I love this kid. “So, have you told her that?”

“That I think she’s beautiful inside and out?”

“Yeah. I told my mom she looked beautiful the other day, and she said it made her whole day.”

“That was nice of you. Are you going to tell her more often?” I ask, hoping to redirect the topic of conversation to his mom rather than Sophie.

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