Within/Without

chapter thirty-four.

Simon - February 2011

Val has nearly seen me spazz out and lose control twice over the years. The second time was at prom, junior year; I'd made the mistake of trying to confess to her and my nerves had gotten all jumpy. The first time, though, was in seventh grade, only a year or so after we'd first met.

My cat, Ozzie, the only other living being I truly liked at the time besides Noah (Abbie was still an annoying eight-year-old) and Val, had gotten sick and died. My parents, like the good, wonderful, caring people they were, had decided it would be a good idea to call the middle school and deliver the news as soon as it happened.

Needless to say, I never made it to fifth period that day.

The thing was, I didn't just like Ozzie because he was cute and fluffy and had a little white patch of fur on the very tip of his nose. I didn't just like him because he cuddled with me until I fell asleep, or because he hissed at Abbie whenever she was annoying me. I liked Ozzie because he knew me, recognized me. I could be Simon or Oliver or whoever, and Ozzie would still know it was me, and nuzzle against my ankle all the same.

Ozzie never hesitated, and I loved him for that.

They called me out of lunch; everyone thought I was in trouble, including me. But when I reached the front office and one of the receptionist ladies, Miss Higgins, leaned down and looked me in the face and frowned, I knew that wasn't it. I'd seen Ozzie slowing down, only taking a few steps around in a circle each day. I'd seen his head lolling back and his eyes dimming. I knew what was coming, even before Miss Higgins said the words.

Yet there wasn't any amount of knowing that could keep the tears from spilling out of my eyes. That could keep my hands from suddenly starting to shake and warp. That could keep my heartbeat from speeding, speeding, speeding, like it was running some sort of race inside of my ribcage.

Miss Higgins looked at me, concerned. I was Jack that day, a blond chubby kid with ruddy cheeks and eyes that were slightly too green. My parents had known this when they called, because it had become somewhat of a routine in our house. "Who are you today?" Mom would ask when she woke me up in the morning.

I'd tell her, "Oliver. Science olympiad," or "Jun, because there's a debate in English today," or "Kenzo," or, as I had that morning, "Jack, because he hasn't been around lately."

Any time the answer wasn't Simon, Mom got this sad look in her eyes I pretended not to notice.

"Jack?" Miss Higgins asked, gripping my shoulders. "Jack, are you alright?"

I shook my head. The words were muffled, nearly incoherent: "No. No, I think I'm going—I'm going to throw up."

Throwing up wasn't the only thing I was going to do, though. I was going to change.

I sprinted out the middle school's doors before anyone could stop me, ignoring the crazed shouts behind me. There were parents and faculty streaming in and out of the doors, most of whom gave me odd looks as I passed. I toured around the school's side until I found a secluded spot underneath an oak tree, out of sight.

There, I vomited until my throat burned. I could feel it happening. My skin and my hair and my eyes changing color. My body changing its composition over and over again. My lungs working double time to support a form that refused to stay still. I was on my hands and knees, trembling. I couldn't stay here, like this. Mom and Dad were at work. Noah was at the high school down the street. Maybe if I called him, he'd come get me. I couldn't stay here. I couldn't—

"Are you okay?"

I jolted, willing myself to stop, stick in whatever skin I was in. As was often the case, it wasn't mine. Oliver's. Of course, Oliver's. It was something about his dark hair and angled nose that my body seemed to latch onto. I turned, mopping my mouth.

It was Val. Of course it was Val.

"Oh," I said. "Hi."

"You're shaking really hard," Val said, and sighed. "Did you eat one of the eighth grader's brownies again? You know what's in those, don't you?"

"No," I said, swiping tears from my cheeks, which were red and raw from sobbing. Everything was a blur. I felt so out of control. "No, no. My cat—my cat just died."

Val's face flickered with confusion, but it was gone as soon as it was there. She sat down, legs folded underneath her, on the grass in front of me. "That's weird. Jack McPherson's cat just died, too."

I blinked, my heart skipping a beat. "Oh. Yeah. Weird."

"Are you guys friends? You and Jack?"

I hesitated. "No?"

"Well, you should be. Considering you're both going through the same thing," Val said, then frowned at me, patting my knee with one hand. My body was a drawn string, ready to snap at any moment. I focused on her face, on the brown parts and white parts of it, on the dark eye and the blue eye. I focused on her and I drew myself to a calm, comforting stillness. And it felt alright.

"Look," she went on, "I'm not so good at comforting people, and I've never had a cat, so I'll just say this. I believe in an afterlife, and not just because I want to have something to look forward to. I believe in it because it's the only thing that makes sense. Life's this big, big event. There's no way you can contain it in eighty years or so. That's why there has to be something afterwards."

"Val, I—"

"For cats, too," she continued, as though I hadn't spoke. "For cats and dogs and hamsters and everything. There's a place we all go when we're done here, and I think it's a lot better than the place we leave behind."

I opened my mouth, shut it again, and just looked at her. Looked at where the wintry sun cut through and turned her blue eye to a puddle of ice water, where it turned a curl of her hair to a ribbon of brown fire. I looked at her and I wondered why my heart was thudding so damn loud.

My voice was barely a croak. Looking at her had stolen it away from me. "Why are you telling me all this?"

"I'm trying to wipe that depressing look off your face," she said, dusting the dirt from her palms. "So is it working?"

Everything within me had gone quiet again; it didn't feel so much like my head was going to split in two anymore. "I think so," I said. "I...well, thank you. Thank you, Val."

Val rolled her eyes, getting to her feet. I thought for a moment she was leaving, but she reached her hand down to me, eyes expectant. "Don't thank me," she said, as she helped me to my feet. "I'm just doing what a friend should do."

Friend.

I'd never had one of those before.