Page 63 of Left on Read

Hayes and I stand. I rise up to my tiptoes, my hands twining through the messy curls at the crown of his head. His eyes are dancing, and they’re so shiny I can see my own reflection. Such a deep brown on the outside, golden in the middle.

How he feels about me: it’s right there, in that ring of molten bronze. In the way his fingers grip my waist, his thumbs running back and forth over the worn fabric of my T-shirt.

He’s more than made the past up to me.

Let’s go tell everyone how fucked up we are, I guess.

I think we might have to phrase it better than that, but yeah!

On meeting handout

“We’re up next,” he whispers.

Our principal is droning on about the college’s new attendance policy and how it’s going to impact us. Like I said, terminally boring. Beside me, Hayes is tapping his toe repeatedly against the ground. He can’t pace, so this is the next best thing.

Twice a year, at the end of each semester, our entire high school has a giant evening assembly. Every student has to attend with at least one parent or guardian, even if you’re eighteen. They’re boring gatherings that everyone hates, but the consequences are dire if you skip them. Imagine not being able to graduate because your mom skipped one meeting.

They’ve so graciously allowed Hayes and I five minutes tospeak, and my heart is somewhere just below my throat. We’re waiting to the side of the curtain.

Esha, Piper, and Luke sit in the front row, their parents with them. My whole family is here; even my brothers have managed to stay quiet and still so far. Dad waves at me when I look their way. Gage shoots me an indiscreet middle finger. It’s so wild how three people can be raised by the same parents and turn out so fundamentally different.

“Shit.” I hear Hayes mumble under his breath. His toe stops tapping, and I look around, trying to see what made him freeze.

Oh. His parents. I’d heard the door open, but I was too distracted thinking about genetics and obscene gestures. I’ve seen his parents before, in passing. One is always here at these meetings, because they have to be. Never both. I’ve never actually met them, and I’ve never seen them both in the same room.

Hayes has turned to stone beside me.

“Hayes, look at me,” I tell him. My hand’s on his chest, over that Endeavour hoodie he stole back from me. His eyes don’t move. He watches as his parents find a seat. All the while, the principal keeps talking. His monotone voice is discussing the recent issue of kids running across the highway. (I thought we were past that!?)

Hayes is still not looking at me. I tilt his chin so he has to.

“Listen, I know they freak you out. They freak me out, too, honestly. But they don’t matter right now. They’re just another set of parents sitting out there, waiting to hear us talk aboutthis fucking awesome idea that’s going to change this school forever.”

He chuckles just the slightest bit, like he didn’t mean to. I’m not even sure what I’m saying anymore, but I think it’s working.

“You’re going to wow this entire room with your research proficiency, and then you can go home and talk about statistical methods or something. They’ll realize you don’t belong in medical school, you belong in a lab.”

His chin dips, and it traps my hand between his neck and his chest. His whole demeanor softens, and suddenly it feels like I can breathe again. I hear the principal wrapping up his announcements.

He starts to introduce us, and we walk out on stage. I realize I’d been so focused on Hayes’s worries that I hadn’t had a chance to despair over my own. Hayes will be talking about the research, as he should. But I’m talking about the personal,vulnerablestuff. The real reason we’re doing all of this. As we step toward the podium, I feel the weight of all that.

I rest my hands on the scratched-up wood, still clutching my notecards with all of the strength in my fingers.

“Thanks, Principal Hinshaw. I’m Nova Carter, this year’s Beta Club president.” There’s a one-man cheer I’m pretty sure came from my father. After I’ve introduced myself, I let Hayes do the same.

“I’m Hayes Collins, the vice president. I’m important, but not as important as this genius beside me.” He’s so much morenaturally charming than me. Even this bored, half-asleep crowd is wrapped around his finger immediately. I used to hate him for that, for what I finally understand is not arrogance, but his natural, engaging personality.

Now, I love him for it.

We’re standing arguably too close together behind the podium, but if anyone says anything, we can claim we’re just sharing the microphone.

Finally, I take a deep breath, and I begin my speech in earnest.

“Most of us in this room know that going to this school is taking on a challenge. It’s built that way. But there are so few of us that understand what it means to live in this environment for so long. The pressure, the lost sleep, the distance you feel from those you grew up with.”

I look around again, and people are starting to wake up. Everyone I recognize: my friends, those I pass in the hallways every day, the new freshmen who aren’t so new anymore. They’re all looking at me like I’m about to spill our huge, collective secret. Like they’re begging me not to tell the world that they’re a giant mess. But we all are, and I am.

“Our goal in leading the Beta Club this year is to focus on student mental health. I can personally admit that I’ve struggled beyond belief over the past four years, and those students we spoke to about our goals felt the same way.”