Page 42 of This I Know
I’m going up to him.
I’m going to say something nice.
It doesn’t have to be complicated.Thanks for helping me.I’ll make it short and sweet, and after that I won’t have to ever talk to him again. That would all be normal, right?
But I don’t know him. Maybe I was right, and he is a player, after all. In that case, my message would best be gotten across in a similar language. What’s player talk?
Yo, bro, thanks for the help.Shoulder-punch.
I shake my head.
It’s halfway through lunch, and I’ve finished my food. Now that I have my composure back under me, a thanks is definitely in order. Officially, I mean. In a nice, civilized way, minus the shoulder-punches. He didn’t have to do what he did. It was really nice. And he can’t possibly have realized how difficult that was for me.
“I still can’t believe you fell,” says Mara, shaking her head.
I slump my head in my hands. “Don’t remind me.”
“How did that happen? I mean…” She moves her eyebrows and tips her chin toward the ground. Toward my leg, I’m assuming. She lowers her voice. “It was that, right?”
“Mm-hmm. It was that.” I toy with the brown paper bag that holds my lunch, casually tearing the paper. I haven’t touched the food inside it. “I can’t take the heat anymore.”
“What do you mean?”
I shrug. “You know. The heat. The pressure. It was already all getting to me. You know, having to put on a brave face eight hours a day. It’s exhausting. And if I hadn’t just humiliated myself in front of twenty or so people…”
She turns, swinging one leg over the bench to face me head-on. “Snap out of it, Avery. Look around. No one even remembers what happened. They forgot already.”
I crack a smile. “You think so?”
“I know so. So move on. You weren’t hurt, were you?”
“Not really.” I carefully hoist my leg up to the bench and peel the denim back. She doesn’t want to see this, but I’m curious to see how it’s doing, anyway. It’s stopped bleeding. It’s only the rubbing of my jeans that’s causing me pain. “I’d have given anything to slip on a pair of leggings right now.” That, or, you know…a Band-Aid. “I guess I should go to the nurse–”
Her eyes light up. “Wait here.”
She hurries off, down the hallway we just came from and toward her locker. She returns quickly, holding in her arms a folded up pair of black yoga pants. She hands them to me.
“Are you serious?” I say, taking them.
She smiles and resumes her seat. “You know I usually keep an extra pair on hand for gym class.” She flashes the peace sign. “Live, love, yoga.”
I laugh. “You’re such a nerd.”
She does have a thing for yoga. And I’m so thankful we’re the same size.
I change in the bathroom, rolling and stuffing my old pair of jeans carefully into my purse. I check myself in the mirror. The yoga pants fit perfectly, and I relish in the familiar comfy stretch.
No more jeans. Ever.
I run my hands down the outside of my thighs. My body has changed since I’ve stopped dancing. I’m just as slim, but I’m softer now. Weaker. I’m wearing a short top today, which leaves my bottom more exposed that I’d like. I turned around. The pants are hugging my curves perfectly.
At least I happen to be wearing seamless panties. I’ve got that going for me.
But what I don’t have going for me is that these just so happen to be three-quarter length yoga pants. Meaning the bottoms of my legs are exposed. That’s great for the heat factor, and I sigh internally with relief, but it’s horrible for my self-esteem. I look down. My scar is showing, crawling out in a jagged line from under the hem of one of the pant legs. The small, raw injury that I just sustained is on the same leg as the scar, but at least that’s fully covered, so I don’t look like a walking, talking mess.
At least everyone already knows what happened to me, and if they see my scar they won’t question it. I hope.
I rest my purse on the side of the sink and reach inside, pushing past the jeans and digging for some Chap Stick and blush. I apply each lightly, and then I slide my lips together. I try to force a genuine smile. I can’t do it. Not yet.
