“Go away.”

I don’t.

I study her, willing her to look over at me. I need to see her eyes one more time before I leave St. John’s.

“You really disappointed me the other day.”

“Go away.”

Her words aren’t minced. She throws them at me like she wants them to wound.

Still, I walk into the aisle where she’s sitting and slowly slide down the shelf to sit beside her, dropping my pile of books in front of us.

I wait in silence for a bit, letting her get used to me. She doesn’t uncoil her arms or stretch out her legs, but eventually I get the sense that she’s made peace with my intrusion.

“Why is it that you seem to have a voice with me but no one else? You should have stood up to Blythe.”

There’s a long bout of silence, so long I worry she might never speak again. When she does, I’m relieved.

“I wasn’t doing anything with that picture. I’m not… It wasn’t what they said it was. I’m not a freak.”

“We’re all freaks, Lainey. Get over it.”

She finally looks over at me, her green eyes ablaze with fury. “You’re an asshole.”

“Good,” I say with a proud nod. “That’s exactly what I want you to say to Blythe the next time she tries to bully you.”

Her eyes narrow angrily. “You know you could have said something.”

“And how would that have helped you? I’m leaving. In fact, I already have one foot out the door. Soon you’ll be here all on your own.”

“I’m already on my own.”

She watches me roll my eyes, and then I tip my head back to rest it on the shelf behind us, looking out across the aisle. “You think that feeling is unique. You think you’re the only person at St. John’s who’s sad and misunderstood, but in fact it’s just an excuse.”

“I wasn’t aware I signed up to be lectured by someone I don’t even know.”

I smile, but she can’t see it.

“Don’t we know each other? It feels like it, a little.”

I almost tack on a joke about her keeping a picture of me under her pillow, but I bite my tongue before I go that far. She’s so young; I forget sometimes.

It didn’t bother me when I found out about it. Why would it have? As cliché as it is, a god loves to be worshipped.

I do wish I could console her without making her feel awkward about it. Whatever feelings compelled her to cut out and keep my picture, I doubt they’re real. She’ll meet someone someday who will be worthy of having their photograph cherished. It’s a shame she doesn’t realize it.

“Are you happy to be leaving this place?” she asks with a quiet voice.

It feels like a question the guidance counselor asked me a moment ago, and whereas in her office it felt like I was checking boxes, doing my duty so I could leave, sitting with Lainey, it feels like honesty is the only option.