I'll Be Here

he looks upset.  His eyes are on me and I could swear he seems concerned.
    Ack.  I don’t have time to analyze his expression because I’m too busy trying not to have a meltdown in front of the entire school.  Dustin says something to me but I don’t hear the words over the buzzing in my brain. 
    I squeeze the strap of my bag a little harder and rush off before my knees buckle and give me away.
    ***
    Books are different.  They accept me.  They watch over me in silence as I eat my lunch.  They make no comment about me eating alone.  They do not mind that I can’t or won’t speak for one is supposed to be quiet in a library.
                I’m fine.  
    I don’t want to think about Dustin or Taylor Irwin or them being a “them” or the judging eyes of my classmates or my beautiful gold prom dress suffocating between two winter coats.  I want to think about this sandwich that I’m eating and the Spanish vocabulary words written in my even print on a stack of index cards.
    la cartera… presumido… el hocico… la oscuridad… celosa…
    “Willow?”  The voice nudges me.  A familiar voice.
    I look up from the flashcards.  The voice goes with the face.  This is Laney Putnam: pale, round, a blush of freckles across her sloped nose, soft grey eyes rimmed with thick charcoal liner, a fringe of deep brown hair cut brutally short like a pelt of fur.  She wears a chunky black bangle on her left wrist.  Bright green socks peek out from above her lace-up boots.  Her backpack is covered in stickers of bands.  I wonder if she’s seen them all perform live.  Probably so.     
    She slides into the seat across from me.  “What’s up?”  She asks like we do this all the time.
    Air rushes into my open mouth.  I swallow confusion and blink.
    She blinks back. 
    In the past two years I can count on one hand the number of times that Laney and I have spoken to each other.  Today she makes me nervous with her fluttering grey eyes and her open face, but I’m also curious.  So what I say is this: “Not much, just homework and stuff.”
    She nods like she’s taking it all in and deciding something.  Her hands are clasped in front of her and she uncrosses and then recrosses her legs.  “How are you doing really ?”
    “I’m fine.” 
    Laney’s silver earrings sway when she shifts positions.  “You cut your hair,” she says matter-of-factly.
    I reach up and try to brush the awful bangs from my face.  I’ve been pinning them back with a bobby pin but they keep breaking free and dancing across my forehead.  “Yeah.  I’m not so sure about the bangs though.”
    Laney smiles.  “I think bangs are cute on you with your heart-shaped face.  They make your eyes look even larger.” 
    She leans across the table and pulls the pins out with her long fingers like it’s no big deal to be touching me.  I catch the scent of her minty shampoo.  “If you want my opinion, you should wear them like this tomorrow.” 
    We stare at each other for a minute not speaking. 
    Finally: “Macy told me that she saw you crying in the bathroom.  She was worried.”  Laney shrugs.  “ I’m worried.”
    This whole week has been so weird and shitty, and now the one person who I used to be able to tell anything to is sitting across from me feeling sorry for me.  It hurts too much.  It’s too overwhelming. 
    Finding out from Taylor that Dustin stayed with me out of pity is killing me and I don’t think that I can take any more.  I’d rather be alone than have someone talk to me out of charity. 
    My voice comes out all full of hard edges.  “Laney, you don’t have to do me any favors by checking up on me.  In the past two years we’ve barely spoken to each other.” 
    “I know that you don’t like me very much anymore and you have every reason to laugh in my face right now and tell me that you told me so about Dustin.  I wouldn’t even blame you.  But seriously, can you just cut the bullshit and leave me alone right now because I’m not exactly having a perfect week if you know what I mean?”
    A minute ticks by in silence.  Then two.  I think that Laney will just get up from the chair and walk away, but she stays where she is. 
    Finally, the corners of her lip curls and she snorts through her nose.  “Perfect’s fucking overrated.”   
    This makes my eyebrows lift.  Then the situation strikes me as funny.  Hilarious even.  I start to giggle and pretty soon I’m