I PM RoxWell, though I leave out the details.

NowhereMan: I'm doing something utterly terrifying this weekend. I'm hanging out with someone and what if this someone realizes I'm not worth hanging out with?

He doesn't write back until I'm getting ready for bed. For the first time there are no lyrics, but the message is short and to the point and I reread it a hundred times.

RoxWell: Don't worry so much. You are.

#

I get to the light-rail station at a quarter to noon. The trams run every thirty minutes, so the next one ought to be hers. I was so shook up with nerves I almost emailed Casper to tell her I was sick and had to cancel, until I realized what time it was. She would've already left the house to get here. Too late now.

In my medicine cabinet is a bottle of pills. Anxiety medication, prescribed awhile back by a psychiatrist Maggie talked me into seeing. I went once. Did not go back.

I take them only when I really, really need them, when I feel like my emotions are going to burst out of my chest like some tangible creature and eat me from the inside, out. I almost take them. Almost. But they have a bad habit of knocking me on my ass and I'm not sure that's what I want right now. After feeling so numb over Maggie's death, the panic is nearly a welcome sensation.

As the light-rail rumbles to a stop, it dawns on me I don't have a clue what Casper looks like. We've never exchanged pictures. Hell, I never even asked what her real name was. I don't know much of anything about her beyond her misery. And for as little as I know about her, she knows even less about me because she tends to do most of the talking.

Yet, the second she steps off the train, I recognize her. Aside from the fact she's the only girl who stops and looks around like she's waiting for someone, there's just...something about her. She's small. Five-foot-four, if she's lucky, and she's got this shock of short blonde hair and a cherub face that makes me wonder just how old she is. She mentioned high school before so she can't be that young.

I take a few steps down the stairs. This is my last chance to back out. Of course, if I do it'll mean I can never show my face at SW again. Not that they'd miss me; my few occasional, lame responses and attempts and connecting to people in the forums aren't any more effective than my attempts to connect to people in real life.

Casper spots me and lifts a hand like I can't see her, and heads in my direction. When she's closer, I realize she's actually kind of pretty, even though there are dark circles under her eyes and she could use some meat on her bones. She has on striped leggings and mismatched clothes. Her small size emphasizes how little she weighs, and I wonder if that's some sort of result of her being sick, or if she's always been that way.