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developing
pictures. There was a sink in the back right corner. Cabinets lined
the long wall on the right and to the left were two rows of wires
with black clips for drying the developed pictures. Even though the
developing light wasn’t on, the space seemed unnaturally dark – not
a place I wanted to be alone with Evan Mathews.
    “Here it is,” I declared, holding my palms up
to present the room.
    Evan walked past me toward the cabinets and
started opening them, examining their contents. “Why don’t you talk
to anyone besides Sara?” I heard him ask from behind the cabinet
door. He closed the door, anticipating my answer.
    I remained frozen. “What do you mean?” I shot
back, sounding defensive again.
    “You don’t talk to anyone,” he stated. “Why
not?”
    I didn’t answer. I didn’t know how to
answer.
    “Okay,” he recognized my stalling. “Why don’t
you talk to me?”
    “That was direct,” I accused. He smiled,
causing my heart to attempt another escape from my chest.
    “Well…” he pushed.
    “Because I’m not sure I like you,” I blurted
without thought. He looked at me with that devious, amused grin.
What kind of reaction was that?! I couldn’t stay in the confined
space with him any longer. I turned abruptly and walked out of the
room.
    Concentration evaded me for the remainder of
class, leaving my art piece unfinished. Evan left to take pictures
of whatever he took pictures of, but his presence lingered. This
class was supposed to be my sanctuary, and leave it to Evan to turn
it upside down.
    Sara noticed my agitation when we were
switching books at our lockers.
    “Are you okay?” she asked.
    “Evan Mathews is in my Art class,” I
fumed.
    “And…” Sara looked confused, waiting for me
to continue.
    I shook my head, unable to find the words to
explain how disruptive he was to my predictable day. As much as
Sara understood me, I wasn’t ready to talk about it. My blood was
still surging; I was having difficulty collecting my thoughts.
    “I’ll talk to you later,” I said in a rush
and walked away. I couldn’t make sense of what was happening to me.
I survived by keeping my emotions in check – by maintaining my
composure and tucking it all away. I managed to stay under the
radar, skating through school without anyone truly remembering I
was here. My teachers acknowledged my academic successes and my
coaches depended upon my athletic abilities, but I wasn’t important
enough to make a recognizable social contribution. I was easily
forgettable. That’s what I counted on.
    There were times when people tried to
befriend me by talking to me or inviting me to a party, but that
didn’t last long. Once it was obvious I wouldn’t accept the
invitations, or provide more than one or two word answers, I wasn’t
interesting enough to acknowledge any longer - making my life
easier.
    Sara was the only one who stuck by me when I
first moved here four years ago. After six months of Sara
persistently inviting me over, Carol finally said yes. She wanted
to go shopping with a friend and didn’t want to bring me along, so
the invitation was convenient for her. That serendipitous moment
sealed our friendship. I’ve been permitted to go to Sara’s on
occasion, and I got to sleep over on rare occasions when it suited
Carols’ social schedule. It helped that Sara’s father was a local
judge, so Carol relished the prestige through affiliation.
    Last summer I was even allowed to go to Maine
with Sara and her family for a week. It coincided with a camping
trip George and Carol had planned with the kids. When Sara’s
parents invited me, they made it sound like they were inviting the
entire soccer team and were obligated to include me, which made it
easier for Carol to agree. I ended up paying for it when I returned
home – I guess I wasn’t grateful enough.
    But the bruises couldn’t take away the best
week of my life. It was during that week I met Jeff Mercer. Jeff
was a lifeguard at the