Ms. Eversor waits a moment as we pull out our notebooks, laptops, and iPads. A few of the students move to the PCs at the back of the room. I remain seated, preferring the old-fashioned feel of paper and pen.
“Very well, everyone,” Ms. Eversor calls out. “Five hundred words. Begin.”
I look at the paper, letting my mind wander through the remnants of a dream I once had with leafy memories and the smell of pinecones and fireplaces. I set the pen to the paper and begin.
His hand was warm in hers as they walked through the park with feet that felt lighter due to the mere touching of their palms. The trees screamed their colors, competing with the distraction of the geese as they flew overhead. She looked up, realizing that the flock pointed in a perfect V.
“Can you believe it?” she asked. “It’s almost as if they want us to find the place.”
“We probably need to hurry,” he urged. “But I don’t want to rush you.”
“It’s okay.” She let him pull her along, clenching his hand tighter.
Her step faltered over the root of a tree that grew into the path. His arm came around her automatically, and she found herself looking up into eyes that belonged to a green time, promising renewal and the exuberance of life.
She leaned into him, grateful to have his solid warmth. It was getting harder to walk.
“I’m cold,” she gritted out, shivering.
“They said that would happen.”
“I know.”
Little by little, so much had been taken from her. Her glorious golden hair. Her body’s ability to regulate temperature. The feeling on the soles of her feet.
Her love for him.
It still remained, but not as it had been—how could it? Her love carried a terrible burden now. Every moment she loved him was another moment she encouraged him to love her in return. Every moment he loved her was one less, then one less, then one less that he could.
When she reached the end, she’d simply stop.
When he reached her end, he had to keep going.
He rubbed her arm, as if trying to put his own warmth into her skin.
“Not much farther,” he said.
“No, not much farther.” She shuffled now, her feet barely moving. She couldn’t feel from the knees down but remembered how to move her legs back and forth, back and forth. The motion of her thighs said that she was moving, but slowly.
“I think I can see it!” He shouted it a bit too loudly, and the birds in the trees took flight, raining down a riot of red, purple, gold, and orange leaves that clung to her hair and crunched under her feet.
“You’re going to get there. You’re going to get there. You’re going to get there.”
He kept chanting it over and over like a mantra as he tugged her along, pulling so hard that her legs finally gave out. She rolled on her back, staring up at the trees and the light streaming through the mostly bare branches. The leaves were soft like snow, brushing her cheeks and pillowing her body. The sun was pale, but she felt its warmth.
“NO!” she heard him shout. “No! I can carry you! I’ll carry you!”
She closed her eyes, sinking deep into the color and the smell of autumn, wrapping herself tight within it as winter began to creep in from her fingertips, where she felt his hand no more.
I look up, blinking. Then I go back and make a few minor edits after counting my words and catching a repetitive phrase. The feeling of the moment still echoes inside me: the agony in his voice, and the look in his eyes.
His green eyes.
I slam the notebook shut and walk over to an empty PC terminal at the back of the class, where I sit and surf random Wikipedia articles, pretending to be doing research until class is over.
The rest of the day passes in a blur of classes and teachers and annoying classmates that all take too much time and focus away from my thoughts. Normally, I like school okay, but today, I just can’t stand to be here.
I can’t wait to be alone somewhere, just me and my journal, figuring things out. Luckily for me, my mom is off work early today, so she can hang with Danny and I can take my time getting home. So after school, I head over to Mugsy’s, where I order my usual caramel mocha with cinnamon and then slump into a booth.
I try to distract myself by working on my flash fiction, but I’m just not feeling the flow. Finally, I push myself up and out of the booth, leaving my notebook, bag, and coat in place as I walk up to the counter to check out the selection of baked goods. I’m pretty much the only one here this time of day unless Ben comes along. Ever since we started hanging out, we’ve been semi-regulars at Mugsy’s, as long as he doesn’t have practice.
I take my time choosing between the cranberry-and-white-chocolate scones and the fresh, hot blueberry muffins that just came out of the oven.
Why do I have to keep seeing his eyes? And I’m not just seeing them, it’s like I’m obsessing over him or something.
This has to stop. I have other homework to do. English lit and calculus have assignments due by tomorrow—maybe I should work on those instead of that stupid story. I make my purchase and return to my seat, only to find a disturbingly familiar somebody sitting across from my side of the booth, reading the story in my journal intently.
“Hey!” I snap, trying to tug it out of Finn’s hands. “That’s private.”
“Then you shouldn’t leave it open on the table where anyone could walk by and see it. Like me.” His finger follows along, and he freezes for a moment. I hear him suck
