Page 50 of Left on Read

He nods once. I can almost hear his voice.The floor’s yours, Novella.

Something comes over me. It happens when I present well-prepared. When everyone looks at me and listens to what I have to say, and it feels like they’re here just for me, even though I know they’re only here because they have to be. I feel a preternatural calm.

I fly through it, discussing weird deaths and even weirder marriages and making bold claims that are either going to resonate with Lowry or sink Hayes and I both. I make eye contact with everyone in turn. Their gentle smiles are so beyond encouraging. When my eyes pass over Lowry, I keep moving; I’m not analyzing her expression or reading too much into what her face isn’t saying. I’m referencing my notecards when I need to, but never too much. I have my hands on the desk in front of me, not in my pockets. I’m not playing with my hair or wringing my fingers together. I’m not interrupting Hayes or speaking too fast or—

Oh. That’s the last slide. Where we ask if anyone has questions, even though we know no one will.

Then Hayes is standing next to me, and everyone is clapping. It’s kind of surprising how loud it is. But it’s validating, because if there is one thing in this life I’m trained to do, it’s give a presentation just like this one.

My eyes find Lowry’s again, and she’s writing furiously in a notebook. Her pen is flying over the page line by line, faster than I can keep up. There are still a few claps ringing out in the air. Lowrystands up, and looks at me. My breath crystallizes in my lungs, and I swear my blood freezes over.

She claps.

The roar starts over again, and we’re standing there while the teacher gives us a fucking standing ovation.

And it means nothing to me. I couldn’t care less.

We make a pretty good team.

On page 1254: “I’m Nobody! Who are you?” by Emily Dickinson

“Alright, kids. You’ve almost made it!” Mrs. Jacobs is always this enthusiastic, but I can tell that most of it’s fake at the moment. She’s as exhausted as we are. I know she’s had to calm at least several crying teenagers per day this week, besides actually teaching all of her classes.

I usually appreciate the way she calls us “kids.” I don’t think I have it in me to appreciate anything right now. My eyes won’t even focus, and I can’t tell if that’s an exhaustion thing or if I’m headed for a migraine. Probably both.

Sitting next to me, Piper starts talking. She’s so much happier now; I can sense it beyond her bubbly words. I’m glad she has the bandwidth to feel anything during midterms. I’m verging on a numbness that’s difficult to come back from. Even my limbs feel heavy, like there are weights in my shoes and hanging from my fingertips.

Piper keeps talking, and others actuallyrespond.Everyone loves this version of her, the one that’s bright and radiating joy. Butwhen she was in the depths of social and romantic hell, only a few of us drew her close, the way she needed and deserved.

I want to be that kind of person. I’m glad I am.

Abruptly, everyone starts to shuffle around me. Maybe it wasn’t abrupt. Maybe I just didn’t pay attention to Mrs. Jacobs dismissing us. Everyone wishes everyone a happy fall break, and I try to do the same. My goodbye to Piper is half-hearted at best. My smile is robotic at worst.

Mrs. Jacobs catches my eye as I step toward the door. Damn it, she sees everything. I’ve been trying to hide the distance I feel toward everything right now, but it might as well be black ink seeping from my pores.

“Are you alright, Nova?” Her head lowers to meet my eyeline, and her arms cross over her chest.

“I’m okay.” I nod. That robotic smile comes back out. It’s not a lie, but it’s not the truth either.

As I hurry out of the classroom, I wait to feel that blissful rush of relief. It’s fall break,finally.The week I’ve been waiting for since this hellacious semester started. But the rush never comes.

I linger in the hallway. I’m trying to feelsomething.I’m trying to elicit some response from my nervous system.

The overfull hallway doesn’t do it. I even run my fingers over my favorite bulletin board. Nothing.

Maybe fresh air will cheer me up?

Outside, the wind is brisk and mixed with the smell of impending rain. It drifts over my face, but the sensation barely registers. Istart to wonder what would happen if I tripped and busted my ass right now. Somehow, I doubt I’d even feel the pain.

I don’t feelanythingright now. I don’t even feel like myself.

Somehow, without my permission, the numbness has already dug its way under my skin. It’s like those dissolvable stitches, woven into my tissue until they fade away and become just another part of me.

My feet thump down the stairs toward the parking lot, and it’s entirely possible that people are talking to me right now. I see their shoes passing mine. Cars moving in and out of spaces.

Once I get behind the wheel, my ears start to pick up the sound of raindrops pinging off the windshield. Hard, unyielding rain. The kind that hurts. I look down toward the ignition. Turn the key. My bare arms are covered in goosebumps and the dripping remains of the storm.

I hadn’t even noticed.