I stayed home sick from school the next day.
My parents didn’t question me. I think because they’re therapists, they know that it’s pointless to try to talk to someone, until that person is ready to talk.
As soon as the school day was over, I got on my bicycle and rode over to Nareem’s house.
His little sister opened the door.
“Hi, Ru. Is your brother home?”
She looked at me and squinted her eyes. At first I thought she looked mad, but then I realized I was imagining it.
“Hold on a second.”
She ran off, and I waited at the door. And I waited. I heard some low voices. I waited some more. After about three minutes, I headed back toward my bike.
“Hello.”
I turned around. Nareem was at the door. He was shielding his eyes with his hands, like he was protecting himself from a bright sun. But it was a cloudy morning. I think it was just his way of making sure he didn’t look directly at me.
“Hi.” I stood there, not sure which direction to go.
“You can come in if you want.”
Nareem went back inside, and I followed. He headed to the kitchen, where his parents stood.
“Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Ramdal.”
They both nodded. Neither one spoke.
Nareem went to the fridge. “Can I offer you something to drink?” Still not looking at me.
“Nareem, I—” My eyes darted to his parents.
I think I saw a tiny look of pity cross Mr. Ramdal’s face. “We will leave you two to discuss this privately,” he said.
My face went hot as they walked away. “You told them?”
“I do not hide anything from my parents,” Nareem said. “Would you like a drink or not.”
“Just some water.”
He poured me a glass, and we sat at his kitchen table. I had no idea what to say, except for the obvious.
“I’m sorry, Nareem. I’m so, so sorry.”
He stared out the window. “I would be curious to know if you have felt this way for a long time.”
“What do you mean?”
Nareem’s voice was calm and not at all angry. “Obviously I now realize that this is what you wished to talk to me about in study hall last week,” Nareem said. “And it is equally obvious that you changed your mind after I told you about the Plain Jane concert.”
I felt my body fill with shame.
“You’re right,” I whispered. “But I was torn about it. I like you so much. I didn’t know what to do. I would never ever do anything to hurt you—”
“But you have hurt me. LOL, you wrote. I didn’t know there was meanness in you like that.”
There was nothing to say to that. So I said nothing.
“You have come to apologize in person. That is brave.” He looked at me for the first time. “You could have texted, after all.”
I felt the need to cry, but I stopped myself. “You’re so mad at me,” I said. “You’re so mad at me.” I reached into my pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. “I wrote a song. About us. About the truth. I don’t think we should be boyfriend and girlfriend anymore. But you are still the most amazing person I think I’ve ever met.”
He walked over to the table, hesitated, and picked up the piece of paper. He read it. For the first time, I saw the sadness in his face. And then he smiled.
“You have written something beautiful.”
And then I did cry.