The next morning, Tuesday, was both calmer than the previous, but also extremely awkward and tense. It was calmer because no one was shouting in the early morning, and it was mostly quiet, which was a first. It was more uncomfortable because of the immense tension between Kaytelin and the rest of us. 

Kaytelin was still upset at Kyler for ‘stealing’ her belongings. Kyler was upset with Kaytelin for falsely accusing him with no prior knowledge or evidence. Kaytelin was upset at me for her usual reasons and for ‘taking Kyler’s side.’ I just wanted some peace and quiet, which, for once, I sort of had. 

In summary, it was a problem. But, for now, I would just revel in the beautiful silence that accompanied the strangely noiseless twins. 

The walk to school this morning was made up of Braydon and me, as was usual, but also included Kyler, who walked alone in front of us, and Kaytelin, who walked alone behind us. 

We were a bit early to school, arriving about eighteen minutes before the first warning bell would ring. As soon as we walked through the gate, the twins took off in opposite directions to avoid each other and to meet up with their respective friend groups. I walked Braydon to his class in building A, then walked over to room 303 in building C. 

For the first time, I was here before Dahlia. I took a seat at my usual place, and pulled out my two notebooks. My first notebook was a very dark blue, the proper color of math. My second notebook was a pale yellow with a wreath of soft green leaves and vines with pastel pink and orange flowers scattered around the leaves like gemstones. 

I put the deep blue notebook on the corner of my desk and put my black pencil case on top of it. I opened it and pulled out my orange mechanical pencil and opened my yellow notebook onto a fresh page. 

As I began sketching, I eased away from the math classroom and entered my own blissful world of pencil lines and sketches, drawings of things ranging from food to animals to dresses to plants. Tall piles of pasta absolutely drenched in sauces and cheese next to wide eyed cats with pointed, furry ears. Curled embroidery on the bodices of gowns and long, twisting vines adorned with leaves. 

My first sketch flew from my mind into my hand, and from my hand onto the paper. I let myself drown in my notebook, my senses full to the brim of the smell of cooked tomatoes and fresh, earthy soil. Time seemed of little importance when I was so otherwise occupied. 

“Ugh, textbooks,” a voice groaned, accompanied by a low thunk as something was dropped to the floor. Something heavy. 

My hand stopped flying across the paper and I froze in place. I knew that voice. Wait, how did I know that voice? 

“Um, is this seat taken?” the voice asked. Wait... Don’t tell me it’s... But how can he... Wait, was he talking to me? 

I slowly peeled my eyes off my notebook and dragged them to the left, across the floor to the desk next to me. A familiar pair of... No, they weren’t familiar. They were a recognizable pair of Adidas shoes, black in color. One with gold stripes and another with white. They were the classic mismatched pair, where either one side was lost or two different pairs were bought to create this specific combination. Or maybe they were sold that way? I’m not sure. 

Anyway, I tore my eyes slowly up from his shoes. Shorts. Dark gray shorts. This boy was wearing shorts in September. When the summer ends in early August and the bitter autumn wind begins to blow in soon after in mid-August, shorts have become a two-month privilege worn only in June and July. Obviously, I’m in the presence of a psychopath. 

“Um...” 

His awkward stutter jolted my eyes to his face. And oh, man, it was a long way to go. 

“Is this seat taken?” he asked a second time. He looked nervous and confused, or maybe anxious was a better word? 

I don’t know when my mouth fell open, but I closed it now. I probably looked like an idiot. Wait, why do I care? 

“Um, yes, actually. That’s Dahlia’s seat. But, uh, this seat is free?” I pointed to the seat on my right side, which was unoccupied. Wait, did I just offer for him to sit next to me? On purpose? 

“Oh, thanks,” he said, his lopsided smile reaching up to only one side of his face. 

He picked up his stuff that was on Dahlia’s desk and weaved elegantly between the desks to reach the desk on my other side. Before he could go back for his textbooks, however, I reached over and grabbed the two handles of the bag. Lifting them effortlessly, I hauled them over my desk. When I turned to give the bag to him, he looked shocked. 

“What?” I asked him. 

“Uh, nothing!” he said, trying to shake the surprise from his face. “It’s just, that bag was really heavy and you’re lifting it like it’s full of feathers.” 

“Oh, yeah. I’ve been carrying heavy things since I was young. No big deal,” I told him offhandedly. When money was short, you had to haul your own weight to and from wherever you needed to go. 

“Oh, wow,” was his reply. We both looked away from each other at the same time. Awkward. 

I looked up at the clock, then, and started when I saw the time. 7:53 am? Already? Where’s Dahlia? She usually comes before 7:50, but she’s not here yet. Is she okay? Or maybe she’s waiting outside. 

I stood up, closing my yellow notebook in the process, and the several people that had trickled in, including my new desk partner, looked up at me. 

“Where are you going?” he asked me. 

“Oh, I’m going to check outside for Dahlia. She’s my best friend, and she usually gets here before me,” I told him as I walked towards the door. I poked my head out of the slightly heated room into the frigid air outside. 

I did not see Dahlia. 

I pulled my head back into the warm classroom and rubbed my nose until I regained the feeling there. I walked back to my desk and slumped down. 

“Um, you okay?” my new desk partner asked me. I twisted in my seat to face him, and he had an anxious look on his face. 

“Oh, yeah. It’s just that my best friend isn’t here yet, and I’m a bit worried, that’s all.” I smiled and his own worry melted from his face, replaced with curiosity. 

“Is Dahlia your best friend?” he asked. 

“Uh, yeah. How’d you know?” I asked him back. How did he know? 

“Oh, you, uh, just said so a second ago,” he said. What was that emotion in his voice? Sheepishness? Maybe. 

“Oh, that’s right! I did,” I replied, remembering. Wow, his memory is good. Or maybe my memory is bad. Or both. 

“Is she the one with pale skin and red hair and the light purple hoodie?” he asked.  

“Um, yeah...” I said, suspicious. Did this boy like Dahlia? Like, like like Dahlia?  “How’d you know that?” 

“Oh, I used to have history class with her, and I saw her there. She’s really smart, isn’t she?” he asked. Is he genuinely interested? Or is he just messing with me? Is he just messing with Dahlia? Wait, what? 

“Oh, yeah! She’s extremely smart, and her passion is literature. She always quotes her favorite books and poems, and it can get kinda annoying.” Even though I rolled my eyes as I said this, I was smiling. 

“But you love her.” It wasn’t a question, but more of a statement. Was it just me, or did it sound a bit sad?

I looked at him and I smiled wider, nodding. “Yeah, I do. She’s my best friend. I would do anything for her, and I know she would do anything for me,” I told him. 

I smiled even wider, and felt an old memory resurface and fill up my mind.  

I’m taken back to the day we met. It was in the third grade, way back in elementary school. Several weeks of classes had already passed, but there was a new student. 

“Everyone welcome Dahlia Brookes!” the teacher had said, gesturing to the door where a small pale girl nervously stood.