Parallel

distant, like he’s talking from behind a pane of glass. I stare vacantly into the classroom. Everyone is in last-minute cram mode, flipping frantically through their notes. All except Megan. Her eyes are glued on us. When she sees me see her, she quickly looks away. You want to know why Josh wasn’t interested? Caitlin’s words slice through me. You’re more work than you’re worth. My throat tightens.
    “Abby?”
    “Yeah, okay.” I force myself to put one foot in front of the other, shuffling toward my desk, when what I really want to do is run screaming from this room. From my life. From myself.
    I reach my seat. I sit. Every motion mechanical. Every gesture forced.
    I tell myself to focus. I tell myself to stop thinking about the fight and start thinking about this test. A test that’s worth 40 percent of our grade. A grade that could single-handedly destroy my GPA.
    This test. My grade. The weight of their importance is barreling down on me, crushing me, overpowered only by the roar in my brain. A sound like static is screaming in my ears, drowning everything else out.
    I can’t breathe.
    I can’t think.
    The roar intensifies.
    “Astronomers!” Dr. Mann announces as he comes through the door, carrying a stack of blue exam booklets. “The time has come to see what we’ve learned!” Grinning like he’s handing out candy, Dr. Mann begins to distribute the test booklets.
    I can’t do this. I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing myself to take slow, deep breaths. In. Out. In. Out. Just breathe, Abby. I try to envision myself calmly taking this test, steadily answering multiple-choice questions and filling in blanks. I try to recall the things I know. But all I see is Caitlin’s face. The hurt. The anger. The disgust. All I hear is static.
    A couple of years ago, two days before Christmas, a commuter plane crashed just off the coast of Charleston, killing fifty people onboard. Knowing that Caitlin and her parents were on their way to Charleston, I panicked. When she didn’t answer her cell, I assumed the worst. My best friend was dead. I spent the next three hours in the fetal position on my bedroom floor, unable to imagine my life without Caitlin. I’m close with my parents, but Caitlin is the sister I never had. The voice I trust more than my own. It wasn’t just that I had lost my best friend; I’d lost a part of myself. Or so I thought. At five o’clock, Caitlin finally called me back. They’d gotten on an earlier flight, and Caitlin had taken her grandmother out for the afternoon, without her cell phone. I still remember how it felt to hear her voice. The relief, the gratitude, the joy. The sense of wholeness I experienced in that moment, the profound sense of peace. I also remember how I felt before she called, when I thought I had lost her forever. It’s how I feel right now.
    “Okay, class.” Dr. Mann’s voice sounds far away. “You may begin.”
    I look down at the typewritten test booklet, but the words might as well be in German. Caitlin’s voice echoes in my head. You’re a self-absorbed bitch. I earned the bitch comment by bringing up Craig in front of a room full of people, but where’d the self-absorbed part come from? You’re too self-involved to see it. Is that really what she thinks?
    My classmates scribble furiously as the wall clock counts minutes with an audible tick. I blink repeatedly, but everything is a blur. The page. My thoughts.
    The bell rings.
    I haven’t written a word.
    There goes my future. The thought doesn’t faze me. Like a robot, I write my name on my exam and pass it forward, where Dr. Mann stands collecting them. Not wanting to be anywhere near here when he notices that mine is blank, I’m out the door before he dismisses us, headed straight for the parking lot. I can’t go to newspaper right now. I have to get out of here. If I go quickly, no one will notice. I’ll probably get written up for skipping, but I’ll deal with that next week. Say I got sick or something. As long as no one sees me leave—
    “Abby!” My hand is on the side door when he calls out to me. It’s Josh, of course, looking all gentlemanly and concerned. I let go of the handle as he walks toward me. So much for a stealthy exit.
    “How’d it go?” he asks.
    “I left it blank,” I say. Then, inexplicably, I laugh. It’s a joyless, bitter sound.
    “Do you want to talk about what happened at lunch?” Josh asks. His brown eyes search mine, as if the answers to other,