I.

once a blank thing and a super rainbow dark matter explosion collided in the middle of english homeroom.
this half-formed idea of what a person could be was sometimes called john.
the force so bright it could've burned out the sun was l'appel duvide.
because they were both in the tenth grade, they had to analyze shakespeare together.
the first drop of vibrant ink she spilled on his depressing form was a book.
shocked he didn't have a favorite, she lent him hers, a story called "oppression." he'd never read it.
reading it during lunch, his first mistake, meant the boys learned about l'appel's existence.
the upperclassman that ruled john's life,
the six boys keeping him from the cold clutches of social desolation,
executively decided that l'appel duvide was snooty, pretentious, uppity, and not worth wasting time on.
she never met his friends.
he only met hers through the ornate framed picture on her desk all home.
it sat in the one uncluttered corner.
this wasn't real, it couldn't be. she was everything.
her deep rooted longing to come to america,
the light in her eyes, the clarity in her voice.
a surge of adrenaline, a pang of jealousy.
she laughed in fairy dust.
john could contain himself. he wouldn't let his stupid emotions lead him around like a dog.
she kissed him ...
and the leash went taut.

II.

and so an everything and a nothing came together, and they were something.
they presented on the first of october.
john’s pack leader asked if he was into the new girl over lunch.
john lied.
when he walked into homecoming with a shower of stars dripping off his arm, it was harder to deny.
john could feel a dozen eyes on him all night.
when they were about to leave he was pulled aside, they demanded to know,
johnny is this your idea of a joke?
john didn’t know where he found the courage to say it’s not.
the feeling of her palm, warm against his, probably had something to do with it.

l’appel asks him about his dreams.
john doesn’t know what to say.
his only dream is right here in his arms.
all others unobtainable, by virtue of their existence;
blurry, undefined longings to be something more than he is.
it’s social suicide. he’s Normal, that’s what he is.
l’appel digs until she finds something
slightly less mediocre under his stupid plastic shell.

III.

but unremarkable he remains, even in his hardships.
masked up tight around his friends, petty fights about chores with his dad.
remarkably Normal.
l’appel was ostracized and bullied until she had to switch schools in paris.
an unexpected soup stain was enough reason for her father to lock her away for days.
all of john’s hurt ended in comfort, but not for him.
l’appel had plans for his birthday, not that it mattered to the wolf pack.
they dragged him to the leader’s house for a night of pizza and weed.
he was officially sixteen, or whatever.
john, we’d been planning this for two weeks. she said on the phone,
instead I waited at home for six and a half hours,
waiting to hear a single damn thing from you,
just to know if you were still alive.
sorry. he grit out in reply, the word tasted like sandpaper, but his tongue was growing awfully smooth.
valentine’s day brought nothing better.
a dozen red roses and a box of drug store chocolates were not enough,
to make up for his hoodie and ripped jeans, his flagrant lack of  care.
milk chocolate for his sensitive-stomached nymph was another violation.
what are you saying? he asked.
i’m saying if this is who you really are,
you’re a bastard and I want nothing to do with you.

IV.

romeo and juliet was their second shakespeare project.
split up by the cruel randomizer, l’appel begged their teacher to let them work together,
gripping his hand with a numbing tightness.
at the house of the guy john was paired with, aiden, his palms sweat, his focus wavered.
hm? yeah, sorry. sandpaper. it’s just ... there was no good way to explain him and l’appel ...
but he tried. he was met with dude, call me crazy, but this doesn’t sound the healthiest.

l’appel’s parents wouldn’t let her go to prom. it was the most obvious lie he’d ever heard.
she showed up anyway, flaming that he didn’t pick her up.
ignored all night, john went home, lead sat heavy where his heart should be.
the next day he asked her why.
because he’s useless, because he should have known, because he dropped her glass heart.
he fell, like icarus, like lucifer, his knees hit the ground with a bruising thump.
do you even care? she asked him.
he swore it, swore it on his life, with the desperation of a man with a gun to his head.
please don’t leave me. i’m sorry. i’m sorry for everything i’ve ever done.
i’ll be better, i’ll be different, please! if i’m not enough for you, i’m Nothing.
he could only prove himself to her by abandoning everything he knew.

driving her to the airport on a warm day in spring, they talked about the plan.
how he would talk to no girls, never look in the pack’s direction, call her every night.
it would work. he thought to himself  it had to.
nothing ever has to work. She said. it will probably fail. we both knew this wasn’t gonna be forever.
so it was all for nothing?
it was all for nothing.
it was all for
Nothing
he dropped her at the curb. i can’t do this. he choked– anymore. with you. i can’t do it.
his car rolled away while she screamed.
out the window john called
i’m sorry
one last time.

he didn’t go back to the pack.
but when he saw aiden again, they said hey man, you look brighter today.
john didn’t feel normal yet. but he didn’t feel like nothing.