19

Clara picked at the hangnail on her thumb, her leg bouncing restlessly as she waited for the bell to ring. Last class, and then she'd be going home, and the day would be over. Well - school would be over. Who knew what awaited her at home, or even online?

Ever since her argument with Jay, she'd been anxious. She'd said something wrong - according to Jay, anyway - and now she was worried. She'd seen what happened to people who said the wrong thing online. She'd seen the mobs converge upon them like vultures around wounded prey. 

God, what if Jay put it online - whatever it was? What if other students found out? What if they ganged up on her, too, just like they did online? 

Her gut twisted nervously, and she glanced at the ticking clock above the whiteboard for the nth time while Ms. Malik droned on and on about meiosis. 

What had she even done wrong? What had she said? She honestly couldn't tell; couldn't remember the words, exactly, and couldn't remember what Jay had even said. It had all happened so quickly - like a switch had gone off, and then she was dropped. 

Indignation burned in her stomach, but it served only as fuel for her anxiety. She hated how much of a coward she was. Surely, if she couldn't figure out what she'd said that was wrong, she hadn't actually said something wrong? Maybe it wasn't as big as her anxiety was making it out to be. Maybe... Maybe it was Jay who overreacted. 

On the other side of the classroom, by the windows, Vince turned to meet her eyes. His expression seemed to ask her something, but she could hardly keep eye contact. Did he know, too? Did Jay tell him? Was he angry with her, too? 

She felt the bile rise in her throat. Today had been such a good day, and yet here she was now, on her last class of the day, feeling for all the world like a lump of raw nerves and fear. 

When the bell finally rang, Clara just about jumped out of her seat. She gathered her things quickly, heart hammering in her chest, and hurried out of the classroom. She was just about out of school when Vince caught up with her.

"Hey - wait up," he said, adjusting his backpack on his shoulder. The same backpack he'd had since elementary school; she wondered how it had even survived so long. She'd gone through about five in her lifetime. But the thought was a little hint of a thing in the back of her mind, soon crowded out by her anxiety once more. "Hey," Vince repeated, walking alongside her. "Are you okay?"

She shrugged. "Jay didn't tell you?" she asked - though it came out as a quiet jumble against the rush of blood in her ears. 

"Yeah, she told me," Vince said, and then fell silent. When Vince was quiet, it usually meant he had Thoughts. 

She swallowed down another wave of bile. "So?"

He shrugged easily, waving at a couple of his friends as they rushed over to a nearby football field, determined to take it before another group of kids did. "So, nothing," he said. "If you're asking if I'm angry with you, I'm not. It's not a big deal."

Not a big deal? She almost choked on the words. "Jay was pretty mad."

"Yeah," he said again. "Okay, so it wasn't your best moment. But you can't help what you don't know, right? So... I'm sure if you and Jay talk it out, you'll be fine."

"I don't know," Clara said bitterly. "Her words were pretty clear. We're not friends anymore."

Vince rolled his eyes, zipping up his hoodie against the autumn cold. "So dramatic," he said. "Just give her some time. Maybe you two can talk it out tomorrow. Like adults. Or - well - people learning to be adults." He gave her a big grin, and she couldn't help the automatic smile her face formed in response. 

It didn't reach her eyes. It was easy enough for Vince to say that - but Jay had never been that angry with Clara. She couldn't understand it; it came out of nowhere.

"Hey, let's go to the coffee shop," Vince offered, rubbing his hands together. "My hands are freezing. I need a hot coffee to wrap them around."

"Your hands are always cold," Clara replied, rummaging in her deep hoodie pouch to pull out her favourite purple wool-knit gloves. "Here," she said, handing them over. 

Vince slipped them on gratefully, though they were a bit of a tight fit on his hands, and they walked the rest of the way to the coffee shop together, talking about this and that and nothing in particular. 

It was kind of him, to distract her in that way. But Vince had always been the kinder of the three.

For a little while, at least, her anxiety was calmed.