Allison sat, head in hand, in the midst of the mind-numbing monotony. Forgetting where she was. Forgetting who she was. There was nothing but the sound of the blood rushing in her ears. Dimly, she was aware of the noise and action that surrounded her, but the glaze over her eyes was impenetrable. At first the others were taken aback when she fell in to this state. The kinder being shocked and concerned, and the rest mocking her outright.
"Anybody home?" They'd ask in singsong sarcasm, someone waving a hand in front of her face. "Look, she's gone catatonic!" They would poke her with their pencils and rattle her desk, trying to shake her out of it. They're not real. Just pretend they're not real. She whispered in her mind, outwardly, seeming as though she could neither see, nor hear them.
By now, after three years of this kind of behavior, the bullies had grown bored with a victim who never gave them the validation they sought, and so, left her alone. It was exactly as she wanted. Sometimes it was all just too much. She couldn't understand how the others could handle the whirlwind of chaos that was everyday life. How people could live their entire life, just skimming the surface, not wondering why or caring how. For her it was different. She felt everything. To her, the world was a dancing painting, an intense symphony. And, sometimes, when the colors and music would swell to the breaking point, when life became too loud, too harsh, she would simply remove herself. Pitch headfirst into these self-induced trances that left the other students so bewildered.
Today was one of those days. After everything that had happened the weekend before, she couldn't be sure that anything was real. She had the vague feeling that she had been dreaming her entire life. In the past, such a thought comforted her. The idea that all the loneliness, the ugliness was just a fleeting illusion appealed to her. Never, until this gray Monday morning, had she ever wanted it to be real. Never had she been so afraid to wake up.
His face appeared in her mind. His serious, searching blue eyes that looked at her in a way no one had ever bothered to. Who are you…really? She asked the image in her mind's eye. Are you really that boy everyone thinks they know, or did I just make you up? Are you my imaginary friend? The thought stung, but it had to be true. There was simply no other explanation. He didn't reach down inside her to find the source of her pain. He didn't stay and sit with her after she repeatedly insulted him in a terrified attempt to keep him way. He didn't kiss her. The blue sweatshirt she found in her room on Sunday morning was not the one he had given her. It didn't smell like him. It's because you're not real. I mean, there is a boy who walks and talks like you somewhere in this school but he's not you. He can't see me. No one can. That's why I made you up, didn't I?
The clanging of the bell announcing the end of first period jarred her from her reverie. With a shudder that had nothing to do with the cool, spring morning, she gathered up her belongings and slipped from the room in that forgetable fashion that she had so mastered.
Once in the hallway, she weaved through the throng of students, head down, clutching her notebook as though it could shield her from the world. With a sickening churning of her insides, she spotted him almost instantly. He always seemed to be wearing blue. Maybe it was just her imagination, but she could not seem to picture him in any other color. He hadn't seen her yet. Surrounded by friends, he rummaged through his locker laughing at the animated story his companion was telling. Last Friday, he was the furthest thing from her mind. She had never observed him in his element before, but now she was seeing just how innocent he really was. Everything must be so simple for him. To be so naturally good at something that other people admired must have made life so easy. A varsity letterman with the build of a Greek athlete and smile of a Labrador retriever. And just as she was about to smile, in spite of herself, he was approached by Missy Nicolson, senior cheerleader.
Allison's face still twisted into a half grin, but this time with a different emotion behind it. She knew better, didn't she? I mean, Andrew is a god, and I am a ghost. Whatever she thought had passed between them during Saturday detention was nothing but her imagination. She turned and began to walk, stiffly, in the opposite direction, biting her lip and burning with shame. Her loose grip on reality was really starting to scare her. Thank god, she thought, thank god I didn't approach him. Thank god I know how to disappear. As she bolted for the girls' bathroom she tried to erase the image of Missy's pretty smile and her hand on his arm…but it was not use. Silently, she raged with jealousy.
The rest of the day was spent like this. Ducking into empty classrooms, taking the long way around, all to ensure that he wouldn't see her. She liked the fantasy she had created about Saturday. The way they challenged each other. How, not only had he broken down her walls, but she, his. She remembered, as though it had actually happened, the way he looked at her, with all the hair pulled back from her face. Like he had never seen her before. When she sat perfectly still, she could feel his hands on her shoulders. The way one had slid up to the back of her neck and the other to her waist. It was a memory she never wanted to lose – even if it was a false one, she clung to it. That's why she went to such lengths to avoid him.
It was understood that in crossing paths, he would treat her like everyone did: like a piece of furniture. Knowing she could not bear the disappointment that came with proof, she did what she did best. Hid from the real world, and replaced it with one of her own design. A world where the Andrews loved the Allisons and held their hands and touched their souls.
As the end of the day drew near, Allison decided that sixth period geometry was not worth enduring, and instead headed to her favorite on-campus hideaway. There, in a small nook behind the gym, obscured by discarded broken bleachers and an old dumpster she scribbled away in her sketchbook, finally allowing her mind to feel free. It wasn't until she was adding the finishing touches to her work that she realized with a sting that she had drawn Andrew's likeness. Given the limitations of her skill, it looked remarkably like him, his short, yet somehow still untidy, hair and that smile. Of course that smile. She hurled the book into the dumpster in frustration. It was no use.
"You're never going to leave me alone, are you?" She grumbled, not realizing that she was speaking aloud.
"Well I…do you want me to?"
Allison froze, unwilling to look around for the source of the question. Elaborate as her fantasies may have been, she was sure they had never spoken back unless she decided so.
"Well that's it then, I'm officially crazy." She whispered to her lap. Then came a soft, Andrew-like laugh.
"You're not crazy, Ally, just...lost." With another nervous laugh, "not to say I'm any less lost than you." Finally she dared look up, and there he was, blocking out the sun like some great statue. "I've been looking for you everywhere. Is this where you've been hiding?" Her heart gave a great jolt as though it had been shocked suddenly back to life. I'm not hallucinating. It's really you, isn't it?
"Not all day," She murmured looking back down at her hands again.
"Do you really want me to leave you alone?" There was a vulnerability in his voice that brought her near to tears. Do you really care? She managed to keep that thought to herself.
"It's not that, I just…" She could see no other way around it, except to tell the truth. She had to trust that, by now, he would know better than to judge her. "I just wasn't sure what was going to happen when we saw each other today." He shook his head, his expression dangerously nearing condescension.
"Ally have you run into Bender at all today?" Startled, and a bit put out by the sudden change of subject, Allison mutely shook her head. "Claire? Have you talked to Claire?" Again, she swayed her head from side to side. "Well you must've have been hiding here all day or else you would have heard something about the stir they're causing."
"The stir? What do you mean?" She asked although she already knew the answer. Claire and John had done what she and Andrew apparently could not. They had found the courage within themselves, and the connection within each other. They had broken the mold, gossip and scandal be damned.
"Mrs. Hanson and the other teachers are having a meltdown. It's really hilarious, they're trying to get Claire into counseling, saying it must be some trauma at home that's causing her to lash out. Bender's got to watch his back though. You know Claire's ex, Doug McArthur?" Who doesn't? She thought bitterly. Andrew, clearly, had no idea how Doug had been one of Allison's worst tormenters.
"Only by reputation," She lied.
"Well he's losing his mind! It's crazy, he keeps saying that he and a bunch of the guys are just waiting to catch Bender alone." He ran a hand through his sandy hair. "…Allison?" Her name rode from his lips astride a heavy sigh.
"Andrew?" It was with the tiniest, lightest voice that she answered. So quiet, in fact, that if Andrew had not seen her lips move, he would have thought she had stayed silent.
"Do you trust me?" He suddenly blushed and shook his head. "I mean, would you wouldn't be embarrassed by me?" Allison choked on her laughter. Was he really asking her this? Andrew Clarke really cared about her opinion. It was everything she'd wanted and was too afraid to believe she deserved. Why was it so hard to accept? In a tone that sounded strange and foreign to her, she said,
"And what if I said yes, you do embarrass me?" His jaw set, he looked away and looked back again. Those serious blue eyes raking her face for answers.
"You'd be lying." He answered softly. Though unable to explain way, this response set ablaze a fiery frustration in Allison that pulled her to her feet. She threw her head back and laughed.
"Oh you know me so well, huh?" she barked. "You think just because I'm a lowly social outcast that being seen with the great Andrew Clarke would be some kind of honor? Well, let me tell you-" But he cut her off.
"Why are you pushing me away again? You told me how lonely you are. I do know you better that you think! All your crazy behavior may scare some people away, but I've seen the real you and you want it as bad as me!" And in an act of defiant passion that was characteristically un-Andrew-like, he pulled her into a rough kiss that left her not only speechless but breathless on top. "No more games." He whispered into her hair. "No more walls to keep me out. I just don't think I can take it." And as he squeezed her, Allison let out light, mousey squeak. A habit she'd had since childhood, one she had always been embarrassed of. But today, it didn't matter. Squeak away, Allison! He loves you. He pulled back enough to look at her, grinning. "You know you can't play those tricks on me anymore. You're the one who said I do everything everyone tells me, right? Well, I plan to change that. And the first step is ignoring you when you say you don't want me."
She giggled. Something inside her was swelling like a balloon. Her fingers and toes had begun to tingle and her stomach felt like she had swallowed a bag of feathers. All in all it was a bit nauseating. But still, somehow, she liked it.
"C'mon," he said, "I don't have practice until four. Let me walk you home." And with those simple words, Allison knew it was too good to last. The feathers in her stomach had turned to bowling balls. If Ted were to see her with a boy, she'd pay for it. Part of her just wanted to slip right out of Andrew's arms and into one of her protective trances. She didn't want to be here. She didn't want to think those thoughts.
On Saturday, everyone had confessed about their miserable home lives. The pressure on Andrew and Brian from their parents to be perfect in their own ways. The way Claire's mother and father used her as a pawn in their petty wars against each other. And John Bender. Allison felt that he might have understood better than anyone, what with his drunk, cruel father that left scars on his only son. But she didn't have the nerve to be honest then, and she still didn't here in the warmth of Andrew's embrace. He was watching her as, mentally, she began to withdraw, eyes becoming glassy.
"Where are you going?" He asked. "Was it something I said?" This broke her from the daze she was in and this time, she kiss him. More gently, but longer and sweeter.
"I'll be fine on my own tonight." She said with forced cheerfulness. "Do you want to meet up before first period tomorrow?" For a long time he didn't answer.
"Allison?" He sounded almost like an accusatory parent, and she could help but smile again. "Are you sure?" With a playful peck on the lips, she pulled away from him.
"Have fun at practice ok?" And with a wink, she was gone.