She walked through the hallway and under her jacket she felt it. Like it was a sign saying: Look at me! The overachiever girl who has “nothing to worry about” because she’s the “smart one” cut herself! Look at her!
Every couple minutes her hand would go to her other arm, where she’d cut herself. It stung. And it was hot out that day, a jacket wasn’t the best clothing.
Finally, as she was waiting outside her sixth period class, she had to take off her jacket. Nobody was in the hallway; she was safe. She thought she was, but then he came walking over to his locker.
“Hey,” he said. “What’s up?”
Her heart skipped a beat. “Not too much. You?”
“Eh, ya know-” he stopped short, she had just tucked a piece of hair behind her ear and he saw her cut. He grabbed her arm quickly. She flinched. “What happened?”
“Nothing.” She replied too quickly.
“You’re lying.”
“No I’m not.”
“You’re also a really bad liar.”
Her teacher was outside the classroom now and he couldn’t ask the question he wanted to in front of him.
He grabbed her hand and dragged her farther away, near the staircase.
“Did. . .did you cut yourself?” he asked.
She didn’t answer him, just looked away.
He spoke her name softly. “Why?”
“I don’t know.” she said, barely audible. She was starting to tear up.
He held her other hand, smiling sadly. “Come on.”
“Come on where?”
“We’re getting out of here.”
“The school?”
“I can’t just leave.”
“Sure you can. You need a break. And you need to talk to someone. You can talk to me. You can’t go back in there right now. Unless you want everyone to see you cry.” he teased.
She smiled a small, sad smile and rolled her eyes.
“I’ve got a car. Come on. I know how to sneak out.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not surprised.” She looked back at her classroom, the door of which was now closed.
“Come on.” she said. “Let’s go.”
He smiled and put his arm around her waist. “Let’s get out of here.”

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