Page 2 of The Masks We Wear

Today was supposed to be the day. The day she knew… when I finally told her what I’ve felt since I first laid eyes on her in second grade.

I make the decision quickly, before I think better of it, and go inside the gate, fumbling up the old ladder of the treehouse into the small space. We haven’t used it in a couple of years, but nothing has changed.

An old black rug sits in the middle, posters of our favorite movies and animes pinned to the weathered walls. Two bean bags that are in surprisingly good shape sit in the corner. If I close my eyes, I can almost smell the popcorn and her lavender body cream.

Crouching down, I walk to a small chest where we keep all our secret treasures. It mostly contains geo rocks, a few trading cards, and a best friend contract we made in the fifth grade.

I sigh and slip the bracelet inside. Should she ever come here and look, she’ll findmyheart with it.

I don’t need it anymore.

TODAY

I went back home that day, a cloud following me the entire five hundred miles to Idaho. It wasn’t hard to piece together what happened. She was popular and needed to maintain an image, one I clearly didn’t fit. After I figured that out, my decision was made. If she needed me to change, she wasn’t worth it. Nothing is worth giving up who you are.

At least that’s what I told myself every day for the rest of the summer.

My best friend in Idaho, William, filled most of my conscious hours with his presence. We overate pizza and watched way too many action movies while I moped. I couldn’t help it. No matter what I told myself, I still cared, like a dumbass.

“Good guys don’t get the girls,” William would tell me, and I never understood why he thought it would cheer me up. It didn’t. In fact, it did quite the opposite. I wanted to prove that Icouldget the girls. Even if they weren’t the one I wanted.

That’s when the dark streak happened. I put on some new clothes, developed a steady workout regimen—it didn’t take much. I climbed the ranks fast, and the number ofgirlsI got was probably on the unhealthy side.

But I didn’t care.

I was proving William wrong and keeping my mind off ofher,which is all I wanted. But the number of fights I found myself in, plus the countless times I was suspended, was not something I meant to happen. My grades never slipped—hell, I could miss a month and still pass my classes, but it was the look on my mother’s face every time she came to school. Upsetting her was the worst kind of punch to the gut.

“I don’t understand what happened to my precious boy. My sweet boy.” That’s all she would ever say. No scolding, no punishment. Just disappointment.

Nothing is worth losing who you are.

The two succeeding summers, I didn’t go back to my dad’s. Making excuse after excuse, but really I couldn’t bear the off chance I might seeher.So instead, we FaceTimed more, and my dad came to Idaho for visits.

Then my mom got her diagnosis: early stages of dementia. We chalked up all the signs to menopause, and in turn, prolonged her treatment. They say it’s a common mistake, but that’s bullshit. If I wasn’t fucking around, and paid more attention, I would have noticed. It’s just the karma for me doing the one damn thing I said I wouldn’t ever do; Breaking my mother’s heart and conforming to a fucked-up society that determines worth by our chiseled abs or how big our dicks are.

And that same karma brought me back here to Emerald High. My father had us move in with him to help take care of Mom while also pushing me with my studies. My parents both know I would have dropped out to dote on my mom, and medical school would have been out the window.

Even though this is the last place I want to be, it’s been fine for sixty-eight days. I’ve managed to return to my “pre-bad-boy state” and disappear with the sea of other outcasts, keeping my head low and eyes lower.

Until now.

The one day I was running late and threw on my dad’s shoes by mistake, is the day I trip and land right at her feet.

“Fucking nerd.”

The way her heel jerks under me, I can tell she wants to kick me, but when we lock eyes, she stiffens.

Lily still has the same blonde hair I remember from freshman year, only now, it looks a lot more natural. The same can’t be said for those stupid ass hazel contacts. From down here, I can tell she’s continued to watch her figure as it is the literal definition of a coke bottle, and I curse the way my dick twitches in my pants.

It’s not fair she gets that reaction from me.

All this time, and it’s as though a day hasn’t passed. I’m still putty in her hands. The organ in my chest I haven’t felt in ages picks up pace, thumping against my ribcage as though it’s found its rightful owner.

I’ve seen her before, a few times from afar, but made sure to disappear before she noticed. It didn’t bother me since the ache stayed dull. But this is different. My entire body fills with moths, flapping around in the dark, desperate for the light—something they haven’t seen in three years.

When she recovers, so do I, fumbling to my feet like a dumbass and taking off before things get worse. Running a hand through my hair, I manage to rush away from the influx of hot air.

“If you’re gonna be a jackass, at least know how to walk,” an unfamiliar, high-pitched voice calls after me. It’s grating, and I know it must belong to the cheap platinum barbie next to her.

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