September 17, Monday. 11:50 a.m.

My body aches from last night. The walk to school was arduous, and lugging my things between classes has been nothing less than that. At least I'm not alone—everyone else has complained of being sore as well. We did dance very long and hard, after all—until almost four in the morning. So needless to say, none of us got much sleep. Adam seems to be doing well, but I've heard rumor that he doesn't sleep much anyhow, so I'm not really surprised. Dylan is more withdrawn than usual. Algie and Sydney's class schedule is different from ours, so I haven't seen much of them this morning. Mia is absent. My head is cloudy, and I ate birthday cake for breakfast.

   Slumped forward in my seat, trying to pay attention to the chemistry lesson, I chew exhaustedly on the end of my stylus. Chemistry is one of those subjects I have a love-hate relationship with. I am interested in it but can't seem to let that blossom into understanding. To say the least, I'm pretty much a B-minus in chemistry. That's because the math part of it is a pain. Math is not my strong point.

   Beside me, Adam leans back in his seat casually, one leg stretched forward and the other bent normally. He glances at the board, flipping his hair from his eyes every now and then, scribbling down answers. I don't care what anyone says, Adam is a genius. Behind all that snarky gloom and doom, there's a pure genius. He doesn't smother it, either. It shows in everything he does. It also makes other smart people look inadequate, especially because everything seems to be so easy for him. Everything, that is, involved in the academic realm. When it comes to emotional things...not so much.

   We're all young, let's chalk it up to that.

   Adam's right leg nudges against my left as I start to nod off. He sits up a little straighter, leaning toward me. "Don't fall asleep, it's not that boring. Who knows, you might really need to use this formula one day."

   Giving him a long sideways glance, seeing that he will only smirk tauntingly at me, I finally shake my head and laugh softly. Our chemistry teacher is really laid-back, but we never want to cross him by whispering too much. He is usually too focused on the lesson to notice many of the shenanigans that go on toward the back of the classroom. Adam and I sit in one of the middle rows, smack-dab between all the hooligans. But that's okay.

Adam's knee is still so close to mine as he resumes his prior position, leaning back as far as his chair will let him and adjusting his slouchy beanie, involuntary biting at the rings on his lower lip. It bothers me that I've begun to find that attractive.

Maybe that's just the birthday cake talking.

Oops, he caught me staring. "What?" He tips his head inquisitively. I shake mine to clear it, to dismiss him.

"Nothing."

"Sure, I believe you." Sarcasm smothers each word, making me wonder if perhaps he knows I find some of his habits attractive and he wants to see how much further he can test me. Maybe he's trying to play me. After all, it's no secret that he can flirt.

Well, that's not happening, buddy. You're just a friend—maybe even my best friend—and I can think you're cute if I want, but that doesn't mean anything. At least it means nothing to me.

Seriously Amber, you think he's cute?
  
   Yeah, I do. There's nothing wrong with that.

   Golly, my head's a mess. I probably should have stayed home today.

   It feels like an eternity before the class wraps up and we are released for lunch period.

   Putting my things away in my locker and digging around, it appears I've forgotten my lunch. Adam stands nearby patiently, watching me rummage. "Any luck?" He asks.

   I shake my head, closing the locker door. "No."

   His eyes darken thoughtfully as he adjusts the strap of his backpack that's slung over his left shoulder. "That's okay. We can...we can share mine."

   "You'd be okay with that?"

   He nods, smirking brightly, swinging his backpack off while sitting on the floor. I join him, my puzzlement clear on my face. He tears his sandwich in half and hands one to me, noting my confused expression.

   "We're gonna try keeping you out of that cafeteria for awhile," he explains. "After what happened on Monday—Dylan told me—I can't let you suffer like that. If you ever start to feel claustrophobic you've gotta let me know."

   I swallow the bite of sandwich and mutter, "Most of the time in situations like that, I can't say anything so there's no way I could tell you."

   "There are alternatives to speaking," he shrugs, opening a bag of chips and putting some in his mouth. Swallowing, he glances at me. "You know, it never crossed my mind that you had anxiety. I mean, sometimes the way you carry yourself and handle situations reminds me of Dylan, but I always thought it was just you being shy because you kind of are."

   "Nope, that's just me being an anxious wreck."

   "From now on I'm going to try to notice it better." He sucks cheese dust off the pad of his thumb and reaches for another chip. I don't know why he doesn't just wait until he's done eating them to suck his fingers, but to each their own I suppose.

   I swallow the last bite of sandwich and he proffers the red bag. "Want some?" He asks with his mouth full. Nodding, I reach into the bag. He smirks and sets it down between us, finally picking up his half of the sandwich. The only sounds I hear are those of my teeth crunching the chips. Adam is a very quiet eater. Not sure why that comes as a surprise, but it does.

   When his sandwich is finished, he looks me directly in the eye. "So is this better than sitting with everyone else in the cafeteria?"

   It would be nice if the rest of the band would join us, but I have to admit I enjoy being alone with him. It reminds me of when we first met. Dylan didn't really hang out right away; he respectfully kept his distance. From the start, Dylan has been good about letting me ease into things. They both have, actually, and I really appreciate that.

   In response to his question, all I can do is shrug. Inquisitively raising an eyebrow, he tips his head to one side. He wants me to speak but I don't know what to say. So I just shake my head and stare at my shoes. I'm tired, and my brain doesn't want to function properly. Adam leans back against the wall of lockers, chewing slowly and thoughtfully tapping his ink-stained fingers against his left thigh. I sit here in silence, trying to make the fog disappear from my mind.

In such a sudden movement it scares me, Adam jumps to his feet. "I've got it!"

"Got what?" Heart racing, terrified, struggling to catch my breath, I stare at him through wide, roving eyes. He almost starts to laugh, but catches himself, flinging a hand over his mouth instead.

   "Oh geez, did I scare you? I'm sorry."

"Th-that's okay," I stammer, forcing myself to blink. "What did you get?"

   "Just figured something out for this song I'm working on. I didn't mean for my outburst to scare you."

   "Apology accepted." I take a deep breath and let it out in a rush, adrenaline finally subsiding. He sits down again, having shaken out his excitement by bouncing on his toes, and runs his hands down his slim legs as if they ache. Must be sore from dancing last night, too.

   He pulls his beanie off, shakes his hair, then puts it back on, tugging at it so it slouches properly.

   "You got anything going on after school?" He asks, glancing at me.

   I think about the chores I have been avoiding and shrug. "Nothing exciting, no."

   "Wanna come to work with me?"

   "But I don't work there."

   "That's okay, I don't care and neither does Tom. He said so the last time you were in." His pleading smirk softens his already gentle face and I feel myself giving in without a second thought.

   "Sure, I'll come."

   Smirk turns to grin and his eyes seem to sparkle, though mostly shaded by hair. He rises again, cleaning things up.

   "Hey, you're the best."

   "Not sure about that, but suit yourself." I give him a smirk of my own and he stretches an ink-stained hand out to help me to my feet. His grasp is warm and gentle, never sweaty. As he lets my hand go, he links his pinky around mine like a seahorse to coral.

I notice how close we are standing to each other, and I lift my head to look him in the eyes, seeking answers.

"What're you promising?" I whisper as he slowly withdraws his pinky, friction between our skin.

It's like the question triggered something. His eyes darken, swimming in pain. This prompts another question, but as I open my mouth to voice it he just turns away and grabs his backpack, walking in the direction of his own locker. I am not sure what just happened. This is the second time he's made a pinky promise. First time I've asked him about it. Instead of telling me what's up, he walked away.

   This promise must be pretty huge and sensitive if he doesn't want to talk about it.

   Maybe he'll be more comfortable on the way home from school. For now it'll be best if I leave it alone and think of something else for awhile, but it's going to be hard when I can still feel his skin wrapped around my skin, the only barrier between our bones.

   I desperately want to understand him.