zyllycat

  The rustling of paper and backpacks grows as our physics teacher finishes going over the st problem of st night’s homework. I finish jotting down the st bit then gnce at my watch. 11:54:00, 11:54:01, the bell should—

  —BLUUUURNNn–! Right on the two-second mark. Seats scrape and students chatter, adding to the growing cacophony of the lunch period rush. I put my binder and pencil away, extend my backpack's handle, wave my desk mates goodbye, then head out the cssroom, weaving around people as much as I can to avoid backpack casualties, until finally, out of the hall.

  The sun beats down on me, not caring that it’s supposed to be winter, as I trek down to the quad, where the OG halls and lockers are at. A not-so-quick stop at my locker to grab my lunch bag and swap my books ter (middle lockers ain’t all they’re cracked up to be), I reach the hall where I usually have lunch with my friends, stopping outside its entrance. I begin to pick at my nails when my phone vibrates thrice shortly, an “S” in Morse code. I gaze at my nails a little longer, then I turn right and walk past the building, heading to the English halls. Hope the guys don’t miss me too much today.

  I stand a shy distance from my junior year English teacher’s door, catching my breath from zooming across the staff parking lot, when I totally could’ve just walked. I pull out my water and examine the propped up door. It looks to be about the same as st year, a few lines from Shakespeare, a rge calligraphed “Ms. B”, and a GSA club emblem along with a rainbow fg sticker. All rehydrated, I peek my head in and scan the cssroom. Let’s see, a group of undercssmen I don’t know, Eleanor—that one lesbian acquaintance who I really dropped the ball with trying to get to know two years ago (pleasedon’tmakeeyecontactpleasedon’tmakeeyecontact), and ah, there she is! Sporting all-bck outfit save for an orchid purple scarf, talking to Ms. B at the section of desks nearest to hers, is my friend Sage. I step into the cssroom fully and with the distinct clunk of my backpack rolling over the doorway, Sage, along with everyone else, briefly pause their conversations to turn to look my way (of course, what was I expecting, should’ve picked up my backpack). I make a pitiful attempt at a wave (awcrapImadeeyecontactwithEleanor) then quickly make my way across the cssroom, eyes ser focused to ensure no further awkward eye contact. I reach Sage and Ms. B, taking note of the two small fgs in a mug on Ms. B’s desk, one rainbow and the other pink, blue, and white, then plop down on the desk behind Sage.

  “Heya!” Sage turns around in her seat, facing towards me. “Was wondering when you’d get here. I was just telling Ms. B here why we should rename the GSA from Gay-Straight Alliance to Genders and Sexualities Alliance.”

  Ms. B waves.

  “Ah, I see,” I say as I open my lunch bag and pull out my tuna sandwich.

  “Anyways, you ready?” Sage asks.

  I shake my head, having just taken a bite.

  “Oh yeah lol, lunch,” Sage says, “I got hungry early, so Ms. B let me eat in css st period. Actually, I need to use the restroom so be right back!”

  I finish eating in silence. Thankfully no one else takes note of me—Ms. B’s on her computer reading something and Eleanor is keeping to herself. I unwrap a grape Jolly Rancher when Sage returns.

  “Heya! You ready now?”

  I pop the candy into my mouth then nod meekly.

  “Sweet!” She says, sitting back down and pulling out a small bottle of nail polish from her backpack. “You’re gonna love this, trust.” She motions me to give her one of my hands, so I lean forward and extend my left. She sets the bottle down next to my hand and unsheathes the tiny brush. Here goes noth– well, something.

  One. My eyes are transfixed on the brush as it nds at the base of my index fingernail and spreads out as Sage expertly coats it in vender. This was her signature color st semester. This year she’s slowly been wading into deeper and deeper purples. The fact that I noticed it was actually how I got roped into this.

  ~~~

  AP Calc. Three weeks ago. After sitting down I opened my binder and found my homework missing from its usual spot. I then opened my backpack again and began to search my other csses’ binders.

  “Heya!” I heard Sage say as she flopped onto the seat next to me. “So ready for this day to be over.”

  “Saaame,” I looked up, having found my homework in my physics binder, then got a good look at Sage’s hands. “Oh, your nails look nice. New color?” That was a surprisingly okay compliment.

  “Thanks, and that it is!” Sage beamed, then brought her backpack up to her p and unzipped it.

  “Heh, you aiming to reach the ultraviolet spectrum by the end of the year?”

  “Huh?” Sage looked at me, pausing her extraction of her folder. My stupid mouth.

  “Oh, w- well I, uh, noticed you’ve used at least seven shades of purple since we got back from break. Figured you might be up to something.”

  “Wow, man, good eye. I’m impressed.”

  “Well purple is my favorite color, y’know,” I replied. “Wish I could do stuff like that too.” My eyes absentmindedly drifted to my hands.

  Sage looked at me, silent. Did I just say that st part out loud?

  ~~~

  Two. Sage lifts the brush off my now vender middle fingernail. The liquid glistens in the harsh cssroom lights and its scent pierces my nostrils as my decision settles in. Why did I so hastily agree to this?

  Three. My third finger. No, three weeks of contemption puts this well out of hasty.

  Four. My pinky. Any concerns about practicality were also quelled. Shoot, are others looking our way?

  Five. My thumb, and with that all of my left hand is done. And Sage did bring up that I could say it’s just for tomorrow’s spirit day.

  Six. Right thumb. And she repeatedly assured me that it was okay for me to want this.

  But why do I want it so much?