Page 41 of The Golden Boy's Guide to Bipolar
Shit.
My phone starts vibrating way too loudly, right here behind the bush. I rush to silence it, but it’s too late. Jamal walks up to the bush, a confused look on his face.
I guess there’s no avoiding him now. I stand up and brush myself off, not knowing what to say. I expect him to be like “Question. Why are you avoiding me?” but instead he just states the obvious.
“That was weird.” For some reason, I’m annoyed that all he has to say about this is that it’s weird. What I did with Bianca could be described a lot of ways, but “weird” wouldn’t be my first choice.
“Why?” I start defensively. “We’re not together, I can hook up with whoever I want. It’s notweird.”
There’s a hurt look in his eyes for a tiny fraction of a second before he nods. “That’s true. I was talking about you being in a bush. That was weird.”
“Right...” I sigh. I guess the truth will get the job done. “I was avoiding you.”
Jamal’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. “Why?”
I clench my jaw, trying to figure out how to say what I need to say to get him to leave me alone.
“Did I do something to upset you?” he asks. “I won’t know unless you tell me.”
“Look, I don’t want to go to your stupid thing, okay?” I blurt out, and he takes a step back.
“My stupid thing...” He repeats the words like they’re in a different language, pushing his glasses up his nose.
I just stand my ground, holding my breath. I can’t bear to say anything else to him, but I can’t take back what I’ve already said. If what happened at the party with Bianca didn’t do it, I need another way to get Jamal to see me for the horrible person I am. Need to get him to leave me alone, so he won’t feel guilty when something happens to me.
“Understood,” he finally says and walks back to his truck without another word. It’s a subtle, but noticeable, change from his usual “I understand.” More distant. Which can only be a good thing—for him, at least.
I run back in the house and into my room, ignoring my mom’s questions and slamming the door behind me.
I stay in my room until the next morning, when my alarm goes off to take my meds. I don’t even know how long it’s been since I stopped taking them. A week? A month? Time doesn’t really mean anything to me anymore.
I’m not trying to cross paths with Yami, so I rush out to pretend to take my meds, then head back into hiding until it’s time to go.When I finally have to leave my room again and go to the car, I almost shit myself at Yami standing right in front of my door when I open it.
I’m expecting her to tear into me, but she looks more hurt than angry. My eyes shoot to the floor.
“Isn’t that jaguar necklace you’re always wearing supposed to be for facing fears? You can’t even look me in the eye. Fine then...”
She doesn’t give me the chance to say anything back, because she turns around and walks down the hall toward the car before I can process what she said.
I look over to my desk, where the jaguar necklace, the cross necklace, and the promise ring Jamal gave me last year are all sitting. Yami’s right. I definitely don’t have the right to wear any of those things anymore. Instead of staring at them, I rush over and yank the desk drawer open, then take all three pieces of jewelry and throw them inside, on top of my abandoned poetry notebook, so I never have to look at them again.
When I get in the car, I sit in the front seat and blast music loud enough that I won’t be able to hear anything else Yami says to me. Who cares if she’s right? I can avoid her all I want.
I don’t even bother going to my usual table at lunch. Well, notmytable—Yami’s table. Instead, I sit with Jeremy and his friends, and I joke around with them and laugh when it’s expected. I don’t allow myself so much as a glance in Yami’s direction, and I hope she’s not glancing in mine either.
It’s hard enough to be in the same building as her at lunch, but in English, I have to sit next to one of her best friends, who probably hates me now.
“Hey, you okay, bro?” David asks.
I squint at him. Did Yami not tell him what I did? Or maybe she did, and she’s using David to try to get information out of me? Well, she’s not getting any. “Yeah, I’m good,” I say nonchalantly.
Then, just as class is about to start, Mrs. Perry gets a call from her desk. When she hangs up, she looks right at me.
“Cesar, you’re wanted in Principal Cappa’s office.”
A chorus of hushedooooos rings out, but Mrs. Perry just looks at me expectantly. I’ve never been sent to the principal’s office, no matter how many times I’ve gotten detention. I couldn’t have dipped below the scholarship threshold, right? No, I turned in my late homework, so that can’t be it.
“Mr. Flores,” Mrs. Perry says, reminding me that she’s waiting for me to leave to start her lesson.
