Where I End and She Begins

Anxiety Growing

The teacher started writing equations across the board, and I tried to focus, but my mind kept drifting. Every glance toward the empty desk beside me made my chest tighten. Lola wasn’t here — not because she was late, but because of the schedule change. Art and maths weren’t together anymore, and for the first time in forever, I had to face a class completely alone.

Ryan nudged my shoulder lightly. “Hey… what’s wrong?”

I hesitated, then let out a quiet sigh. “It’s just… for the first time in forever, I have no friends in class.”

He raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Wow. That’s… tragic. I’m devastated on your behalf.”

I couldn’t help it — a small laugh slipped out, shaking some of the tension from my chest. “Thanks… I think.”

“I’ll help you survive,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “If nothing else, I can make sure the boredom doesn’t kill you. Or at least give you someone to roll your eyes at when the teacher writes something ridiculous on the board.”

I smiled, letting the tight knot in my chest loosen just a little. For the first time this period, I actually started scribbling numbers in my notebook, instead of just staring blankly at the board. Lola’s absence still weighed on me, but Ryan’s quiet presence reminded me that maybe I wasn’t entirely alone.

The equations continued, and though I still missed Lola’s energy beside me, I felt a little more capable of getting through the class. With someone there to make me laugh, even quietly, the empty desk next to me didn’t feel quite so heavy.

By the time maths ended, my chest still felt tight. I packed my bag slowly, letting everyone around me chatter and shuffle past, their voices distant and unimportant. Lola would be at her new class now — probably thriving, as always — and I was left to navigate another class without her.

I walked down the hall to my art class, the usual buzz of students in the corridor feeling overwhelming. I clutched my books a little tighter and forced myself to take steady breaths. The empty space beside me, where Lola should have been, made my steps feel heavier than usual.

When I entered the classroom, I scanned for a familiar face, any friendly presence, and came up short. Everyone already seemed to have their group. I slotted into a back corner, pulling out my sketchbook. The teacher gave a brief hello, then started explaining the first exercise. I tried to focus on the instructions, but my eyes kept flicking to the doorway, half-expecting Lola to appear. She didn’t.

Minutes stretched into what felt like hours. I doodled absentmindedly, my lines shaky, my mind wandering. Did she like the new schedule better? Did she even notice I was gone from her side? Did she miss me like I missed her? I felt a quiet pang of resentment I hadn’t admitted even to myself before. For once, I was truly alone in class, and it was uncomfortable, strange — and a little frightening.

Ryan’s presence in maths had helped anchor me, but here, without anyone to share a whispered joke or a nudge, I felt exposed. I tried to shake it off, focusing on the paper, but every glance at the empty desk next to me reminded me of what was missing.

The tension grew quietly, a slow tightening in my chest that no amount of sketching could erase. Lola’s absence wasn’t just physical — it felt like a shift in everything I relied on, and I realized just how much I had depended on her for more than just companionship. My anxiety whispered in the back of my mind: Is she having more fun without your mood constantly dragging the mood down? Why the sudden change in timetable? Wasn’t she excited the other day about having all our classes together?

I let out a small, shaky sigh and tried to tell myself it was fine — just a new schedule, just two classes — but the thought didn’t settle. It didn’t feel fine at all. And as I glanced at the doorway again, I couldn’t shake the nagging suspicion that something about Lola’s sudden absence wasn’t quite what it seemed.

The teacher’s instructions for the self-portrait felt like background noise. I picked up my pencil and, for the first time, decided not to draw myself. Instead, I sketched Lola. I tried to capture her energy, the way she leaned back in her chair, always confident, always moving faster than everyone else.

At first, it felt good — a way to occupy my mind, a way to imagine her near me even if she wasn’t physically in the classroom. Maybe giving each other space could be… good, even. We could grow separately, become more than we were together. But the thought made my stomach tighten. What if she saw this? What if she realized how boring, how ordinary — how… small — my life felt without her?

My pencil darkened, pressed harder and harder against the page. Shadows formed around her eyes and mouth, smudges creeping over the lines. The sketch became something I didn’t recognize — Lola, yes, but twisted, almost monstrous in its intensity. I felt a shiver run down my spine. It scared me, the way my own anxiety had taken over the paper.

I scrunched it up violently and tossed it into the bin. My chest heaved. I couldn’t look at it. I couldn’t let anyone see it. Not even myself.

By the time the teacher began collecting finished sketches, I had already started a new drawing — a softer, more careful version of Lola, but my pencil hovered over the page nervously, every line tinged with fear that she might notice how different things were without her. I was so absorbed that I barely registered the bell ringing.

“Hey, Amelia,” a familiar voice called. I looked up to see Ryan leaning in the doorway, smiling. “Want to grab lunch with me?”

I shook my head quickly, still focused on shading Lola’s hair. “No… I need to meet Lola at my locker. We’re having lunch together.”

Ryan raised an eyebrow but shrugged. “Okay… maybe another time, then.”

“Yeah… sounds good,” I muttered, my voice barely audible as I packed up my stuff and slung my bag over my shoulder. Without another word, I left the classroom, my mind already consumed by the next lines I would draw.

From the corner of his eye, Ryan noticed the crumpled paper in the bin. He crouched and picked it up, smoothing it out carefully. For a moment, he just watched Amelia walk down the hallway, lost in her thoughts. Then he looked at the drawing in amazement, tucked the drawing into his bag, as if holding onto it for safekeeping — a small secret, a reminder of the girl he couldn’t quite figure out.