Some Quiet Place

” His eyes meet mine. “Hiding.”
    “Interesting theme,” I say dryly. “What was your inspiration?”
    The boy shoves his hair out of the way, leaning forward. His eyes glow as he picks up the list and looks it over. “I was thinking about high school and how typical it is, you know? But then I started thinking about the small things, like … ” Joshua’s gaze lingers on where my bruises once were, then he hurries on. “I just realized that there are so many things I don’t know about the kids I see every day. How many of them have secrets they keep from the rest of the world? How many of them wear masks everywhere they go? We’re anything but typical,” he finishes, serious.
    There’s a window beside our table with an odd metal grate over it, and the sunlight casts intricate shadows across Joshua’s face. I sit back, away from his body heat, mulling this over, absorbing his words.
    Then other words drift back to me, demanding and subtle at the same time. Driven on by secrets and masks and hiding .
    And you loved her.
    Yes, I loved her.
    Why those words? Why now? Attempting to ignore the memory, I force a smile at Joshua. “And you said you weren’t creative.”
    He blushes—I realize he hasn’t blushed in front of me in a while. I remember when he once used to trip and stutter over his words when he talked to me, and now … I watch the way his long lashes flutter, gold flecks in his eyes that I never noticed before flashing in the weak light. Almost as brilliant as Fear’s.
    Fear.
    In my mind’s eye, I see his cocky grin, the way he looks at me and believes so blissfully in my potential to be more. It’s been a week.
    My eyes go to the newspapers a few aisles away from us, drawing my own thoughts away from this unethical territory. From all of the unethical territory my brain seems inclined to travel to lately. The newspapers beckon, a sure distraction. There’s still a lot of 2000 to go through; I should do some more searching today.
    Joshua sees where I’m looking. He sighs, waving the list through the air as if he thinks it’s a lost cause. “Just take it and do your part,” he orders, grasping my wrist to lift it, putting the list on the table, and setting my hand back down on top. But when he’s done, he doesn’t pull away. Instead, his hand slides down. Hesitantly, afraid I’ll protest, Joshua interlaces his fingers in the spaces between mine.
    I don’t move.
    I look at him, and he looks at me. It’s so unusual, this sense of being the only two people in the world, when really, we’re never alone. It’s him—his innocence, his belief that everything really is just so simple. Joshua’s skin is so eager, alive, clashing with the detachment of my own. He has to notice the difference, but he doesn’t say anything. Joy appears behind Joshua’s chair, beaming at me. Her hair is even redder than Joshua’s, almost orange, and she’s one of the more heavyset Emotions. “You make him so happy!” she chirps, hugging him. The fat in her arms jiggles. “I’m so glad, because I haven’t seen too much of this one since, well, you know. It’s really interesting that you’re the one who brought me here, isn’t it?” She giggles.
    Her chatter fades as my examination of this situation intensifies. I should pull away. I should tell Joshua how useless it all is. I should warn him, I should tell him the lies I tell everyone else, tell Fear. Should, should, should. The truth is, I don’t. He represents what I need to be, and my instincts are drawn to this.
    “Well, well.”
    It’s as if thinking of him has brought him, because it’s Fear’s voice slicing through the stillness. “I’m gone for a few days and what’s this? I come back to a little high school romance. Interesting pair, really. The girl who can feel nothing and the boy who feels too much.”
    Joshua senses that something’s changed, even before I take my hand back and put it under the table, safe from his tenderness. “Elizabeth?” He stays where he is, and both he and his Emotion stare up at me when I stand. For once, Joy is jolted into silence. Because of Fear’s presence, of course. I lift my bag from where it’s dangling off the back of my chair, studiously keeping my eyes off of them all.
    “See you in class,” I murmur, turning my back to Joshua. He looks like a lost little boy now, his hair tousled and his expression one of warring hurt and confusion as I abandon him and his joy. For once, he