I know of at least three people I don’t think will live through high school.
One of them is chronically depressed. She is the kind of person who is so sincerely, unflappably miserable that it is impossible not to commiserate. She takes the shallow joy that most people muster when their having a bad day and makes it hard to keep up the façade around her. She yells at me, angry maybe because I always keep it up, I’m always happy, and then she apologizes and I brush it off and smile. I can’t say anything bad about her because I know how much criticism she gets from her own mind looking in the mirror.

The second is a stoner. He comes into biology, the first class in the morning, eyes all squinted and looking like he slept on the bus. He’s also a BMX rider who always gets hurt and his feet have been broken so many times that all it takes is one wrong step, one snaps in half. I don’t doubt he combines his hobbies occasionally, and I have to wonder how long that can work out.

The third is so anxious you feel like you’re going to die when you get in the relative vicinity. I guess that’s what comes from never feeling like you are good enough. It’s even worse when people joke around, saying she’s stupid, even though no one would ever really think that. But when I look at her face amidst their laughs, I can see her frantically trying to deny it.

My worst nightmare is to see someone I love die, but I left for two and half months and nothing happened. I’m not the deciding factor in these people’s lives; I can’t do anything even though I try.