I'll Be Here

sloshing around my belly like room temperature jello trying to congeal into something solid.  It’s not Dustin I tell myself as I make a left into the school parking lot.  It’s the knowing .  The feeling of knowing where to go.  Of knowing what to do.  Of knowing who to be.  Of knowing that I’m real.  Of being connected.
    I’m fine.
    Northridge High School is a small town unto itself.  About ten years ago, the county rezoned the local school districts and some of the fancier neighborhoods got zoned for Point High, which was basically a collection of rundown buildings masquerading as a school.  A collective of influential citizens put up a fight and the superintendent of schools realized that he would have to readjust the district lines or forfeit his job but he was afraid to come off as an elitist for sending the poorer neighborhoods back to Point High so he came up with an alternative plan.  Point High was condemned and both Northridge High and Bayview High were expanded. 
    Everyone to the north of Salvo Boulevard was sent to Bayview and everyone to the south of Salvo was sent to Northridge.  The geographical irony of the name was not lost on the populace and there was a push at the same time as the rezoning to change the name of the school.  This argument polarized the community for a second time in as many months.  Yes , Northridge was located in the south end of town.  But , Northridge had been Northridge for as long as anyone could remember and that apparently meant something to a lot of people.  It came down to dollars in the end.  The Cougar booster club did not like the sound of the “Southridge Cougars,” and the booster club traditionally bought the team jerseys so the name stayed and about four hundred and eighty transplanted students were newly minted as Northridge Cougars.
    The black and gold school logo dangles from a tag on my rearview mirror.  There are still ten minutes until the bell rings but the parking lot is already packed.  I have to maneuver my silver Honda between two large SUVs and park on the gravel extension that abuts the baseball field.  Out of habit I scan the sea of parked cars for Dustin’s Beemer.  It’s hard to miss.  I catch a glimpse of it on the opposite side of the lot almost as far from my car as possible.  Taylor’s sports car is parked beside it.  My stomach flips, but I remind myself that I only have one class with him—something that we complained about at the beginning of the semester.  If I face front in calculus and don’t let my eyes drift too much, I can go most of the day without seeing him.  Except for lunch.  Ugh!  What am I going to do at lunch?
    I’m fine.
    Maybe he’ll come find me before school and tell me that he’s changed my mind. 
    The prospect makes my heart race a bit and I pick up speed as I cross the parking lot.  I concentrate all my mental energy the way my mother has showed me and I will Dustin to be waiting for me by my locker, his long body relaxed, molded to the cool, hard metal.  I tumble through the glass-paned double-doors, half-expecting to see him smiling impishly, sorry for the mix-up and wanting to fix things. 
    Of course I’m disappointed.
    Of course the only person near my locker is Cade—a junior with an unfortunate lisp and friendly eyes.  He smiles as he brushes past me to his first period class.
    I’m fine.
    The mantra repeats itself all morning as I push past faces—a kaleidoscope of beige and brown orbs with their penetrating eyes and tongues that whisper.  I am not prepared for the whispering.  I had worried about other things but I hadn’t thought about the whispers.  It seems strange that the nameless humans that crowd the halls of school would find my life interesting enough to comment on it.   
    I want to ignore them but it’s pointless.  They break into me and sniff my organs and explore bones, joints, secrets—shining their too-bright lights in corners better left dark and dank.  They pull my heart out and hold it in their hands.  The blood pumps through arteries; it pours onto the floor and puddles around naked feet.
    I’m fine.
    Pen in hand, I concentrate on the work in front of me and the teachers and papers coming due and I do what I need to do.  I determine that if nothing else, I can be studious.  Perhaps I am the only senior who cares this late in the year but that’s fine.  I’m fine .
    Just after third period, Allison finds me by my locker and puts