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But she’s not. I know she’s not, and now that I’ve let her in, I have to do damage control. I can’t ghost her because she’s seen too much of me, but I also can’t let myself get too close again, both physically and emotionally.

I’ll just have to create distance, which shouldn’t be too hard to do, considering we won’t be going to the same school anymore, and I won’t have time to see her every day like we’ve been hanging out this past month. As relieved as I can be in this situation, I roll over and try to get to sleep, though I don’t get much.

13

Drew

It’s officially been a month since our night stargazing at

the playground and a week since Laine’s moved schools. The past few weeks have felt strained, and going back to school without seeing Laine every morning in APES feels empty, but oddly relieving. Neither of us has brought up our almost-kiss on that heavy night, and without seeing each other every day, neither of us has to.

Honestly, I’ve been mostly on autopilot, regathering myself and trying to get all my shit together for the second semester of senior year, though my brain has been nothing but foggy. It certainly doesn’t help that Laine and I have been avoiding the elephant in the room, with intermittent texting and occasionally talking, like everything is normal.

I jolt up in my seat as Mr. Rickshaw clears his throat, glaring at me and diverting my thoughts back to the lesson. When he catches my eye, he shoots me a stern look, then continues lecturing.

“As I was saying,” he says as he smacks the whiteboard with a yardstick, tracing circles over a poorly drawn picture of a patch of mowed grass. “The tragedy of the commons occurs over a shared piece of land or water wherein the community around it uses the resources in self-interest, and with all of them doing that, it depletes the land or reservoir of its resources.”

Kind of ironic to be honest, how the Tragedy of the Commons applies to me and Laine. Both of us acting in our own self-interest, inevitably depleting our shared resource: the fragile, yet close bond we shared over the course of the six months she’s been back in Georgia.

Maybe I played the part of the selfish farmer, using our sacred resource with the mindset that one takes in the grand scheme of gives and takes wouldn’t deplete it. Like I was holding onto something that felt good to me without thinking of what was best for Laine. After all, she’s moved to a school that would never accept people like me.

People likeme, who like people likeher.

Maybe it was selfish of me to expect her to reciprocate feelings that would get her ostracized in a setting she’s being forced into.

As for her part in this all, she made me feel all the things that realists say are reserved for the movies. Then she shut me out.

I know she was only doing what she felt she needed to do to protect herself. To protect her peace. I just wish it didn’t mean that she had to block me out. Right when it felt like she was letting me in, like, truly letting me into her soul. Letting me see all of the good, the bad, and the ugly.

Just then, my thoughts are interrupted again by my phone buzzing. Mr. Rickshaw shoots me another glare, and I pretend to put my phone away in my backpack. Looking down at my lap, I open my messages, only to find a text from Laine.

Speak of the devil.

Laine8:52 am Hey

My stomach flips.

It’s just a simple ‘hey’, but still, it feels nice to know she’s thinking of me after everything.

Me

8:53 am hi

Laine

8:53 am

Can you come over later tonight?

Me

8:53 am

sure

is everything okay?

Laine