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HIGHER EDUCATION
WITH OLLY BACK in school, our IM sessions are even more limited. He IMs when he can
—in between classes or, sometimes, right in the middle of one. During his first week back
he does his best to make me feel as if I’m right there with him. He sends pictures of his
locker (#23), his class schedule, the library and the librarian, who looks exactly as I
imagine a high school librarian would, which is to say bookish and wonderful. He sends
pictures of math proofs from his AP math class, his AP English required reading list,
pictures of beakers and petri dishes from his biology and chemistry classes.
I spend that first week—and it does feel like spending, like not seeing him is costing me
something—doing all my normal things: reading, learning, not dying. I write alternate
titles for the books on his reading list. A Tale of Two Kisses. To Kiss a Mockingbird. As I
Lay Kissing. And so on.
Nurse Evil and I settle into a grudging routine where I pretend she doesn’t exist and
she leaves ever more obnoxious sticky notes to let me know that she does.
But it’s not just about missing him. I’m also jealous of his life, of his world that
expands beyond his front door.
He tells me that high school is no utopia, but I’m not convinced. What else would you
call a place that exists solely to teach you about the world? What do you call a place with
friends and teachers and libraries and book club and math club and debate club and any
other kind of club and after-school activities and endless possibilities?
By the third week it becomes harder to sustain our relationship in this new form. I miss
talking to him. You can only pantomime so much. I miss being in the same room with
him, his physical presence. I miss the way my body was always aware of his. I miss
getting to know him. I miss getting to know the Maddy that I am when I’m with him.
We continue like this until, finally, the inevitable happens.
I’m standing at the window as his car pulls up. I wait for him to exit, to wave our
customary wave, but he doesn’t get out first.
A girl that is not Kara emerges from the back of the car.
Maybe she’s a friend of Kara’s.
But then Kara slams out of the car and into the house, leaving Olly and Mystery Girl
alone. Mystery Girl laughs at something Olly says. She turns, puts her hand on his
shoulder, and smiles at him the way I’ve smiled at him.
I’m shocked at first, not quite believing what my eyes are seeing. Is she touching my
Olly? My stomach clenches. I’m being squeezed around the middle by a giant hand. My
organs are displaced until I feel wrong inside my own skin.
I let the curtain fall and duck away from the window. I feel like a Peeping Tom.