FicWad

Content warning:
Depression, anxiety, suicidal thoughts, bullying, homophobia AND internalized homophobia.

Chapter 1: We're The Kids Who Feel Like Dead Ends.

Connor knew he was probably a bad person.

Not like a bad guy in the movies or the villain in a book, not like Voldemort-level bad.

But bad.

Like he’d already faked sick twice to get out of school in the last month. Since Spring Break. There was only like two months left of school, and Connor just couldn’t go.

Like he had smoked a cigarette last year, before he even got his braces off, because some guy from the high school was doing it and Connor just wanted to talk to somebody who wasn’t a teacher or Zoe or his mom and he had said hi to him so Connor did it and it was sort of gross.

Mostly he just coughed a lot. Didn’t say much. Lots of nodding. Weirdly concerned that somehow his orthodontist would take one look at him and know he was doing idiotic things likes smoking cigarettes and then the orthodontist would tell his mom and she would cry because whenever he did anything stupid she just cried.

He was a bad person because he made his mom cry. A lot.

Or, like he’d read Zoe’s diary last week. And somehow got offended when she wrote that she wished Connor wasn’t such a loser because it was making middle school harder for her.

He was a loser, though. As if sneaking into his little sister’s room to read her diary didn’t make that obvious.

Everyone knew.

Freaking Brian Harris knew it too. They used to hang out, back in like the fifth grade, because in the fifth grade being family friends was basically being friends. Then Brian got really into volleyball and knocking people’s books out of their arms.

And Connor was a bad person because he said nothing when Brian did that. To other people. To him. Connor was pretty sure he saw Brian and some other idiots drag that really quiet kid Evan into the bathroom the other day. He didn’t see the quiet kid after that. He heard a rumor that Brian had dunked Evan’s head in the toilet.

Connor didn’t say anything. Didn’t even pull the baby move and tattle to his parents or teachers.

Instead he had kind of messed up fantasies about Brian suddenly crashing his bike and needed stitches or Brian running headlong into a wall during outdoor gym class or Brian breaking his leg skiing because he thought he was good enough to handle a blue run when he could barely stop.

It wasn’t that he wanted to hurt Brian.

He just thought it might be nice if Brian suddenly got hurt. On accident.

Just enough that he wouldn’t be knocking books out of Connor’s hands anymore.

Or anybody else’s.

Not that he cared about anyone else. Not that any of them would even talk to Connor. Protip: if you throw a printer at your teacher in the second grade, nobody will talk to you anymore.

Nobody did and nobody would. Not even if he managed to grow, like, two feet overnight and woke able to magically kick Brian Harris’s ass and get him to stop being a jerk to everyone even the teachers.

The other kids just didn’t like Connor. Even if he like, stopped the reign of Brian Harris terror… They’d probably just be all, “OhmyGod, did you you see that Connor Murphy’s like a weird giant-hulk person now? Like, how much weirder can you get?”

A lot, Connor thought.

Weird enough that when you stopped thinking about weird accidents for your enemies, you started thinking about them for yourself.

Like it would be really great if someone t-boned the school bus at the exact spot where Connor was sitting and somehow the seat in front and back of him were empty so he was the only who got hurt or…

Died, even.

Then people would probably just start lying and saying that they were his friend, like what happened with that girl Laura in the fourth grade. She got pulled out of school because she had cancer. She died sometime in the summer before fifth grade. Everybody said that they were totally Laura’s best friend, even though Connor had only ever seen her hang out sometimes with Alana Beck.

Now it sounded like he wanted cancer.

There had been about three weeks last year when his gums started bleeding when he brushed his teeth so he googled it and like, bleeding gums could be a sign of leukemia. Or gum disease, which you could get from smoking. Which he had done now. Please see: being a bad person.

If he got leukemia he could probably just get out of school forever.

If he had gum disease his dad would absolutely ground him until college.

Though maybe if he was grounded forever his dad would chill out with the comments on Connor’s hair, his grades, the fact that he was always reading but never doing homework, his shoes (which weren’t anything even weird - just some black Converse, though Larry seemed to think the fact that Connor had drawn on them made him some kind of freak)...

His dad pretty much commented on everything about Connor.

Like, Zoe doodled a butt ton of stars on her pants, and it was so creative and adorable and wasn’t Zoe just the best?

And Connor scribbled a few trees and some song lyrics on his stuff, and he didn’t appreciate the shoes that Larry worked “ so hard to give him, I give you everything Connor, don’t you know that people out there don’t even have shoes have shoes, why do you have to wreck everything?”

Why did he have to wreck everything?



Thursday morning. Breakfast. His mom insisted on breakfast together. She had to be up for… Connor thought it was hot yoga now? He couldn’t keep track. His dad had to work. He and Zoe had to go to school.

“Connor.”

He was sort of ignoring his dad.

“I thought you said you were going to shower last night.” His father said it irritably over his blackberry, eyes never leaving the phone.

“Yeah, sorry, forgot.”

He didn’t forget. But the second he closed his bedroom door he couldn’t imagine getting out of bed.

“Honey we talked about this,” his mom said, sighing. “You've got to make sure you're doing that regularly. Especially if you want to keep your hair longer. Otherwise it gets so greasy.”

He finished his cereal saying nothing.

“Also, sweetie… you wore those clothes yesterday.”

Connor said something to the effect of literally nothing. He’d slept in them. See: not wanting to get out of bed.

“Don’t roll your eyes at your mother,” His dad snapped.

“Connor. Go upstairs and do it now. You’ve got some time.”

Connor eyed the clock. “I’ll miss the bus.”

“Your dad can drop you on his way to work.”

“Cynthia, I’ve got a meeting-”

“He’ll be fast. Connor, upstairs. And brush your teeth.”

“Can’t I just do it later?”

“Connor, please .”

Zoe rolled her eyes at him.

Bitch.

Connor dragged himself out of his chair, making sure to stomp loudly up the steps.

It wasn’t that he was opposed to showers, really.

It was just.

He was tired.

Just really tired.

He’d been in bed all night but he didn’t really sleep. Mostly he read. He was finishing some book the librarian had mentioned to another teacher needed to be placed on shelf in the back so that kids had to get permission to check it out because the school board was talking about banning it. Connor took it out immediately, before he needed a permission slip because he knew his dad would make a fuss and his mom would want to know why he wanted to read the book.

He didn’t know why the book was such a big deal.

There were some swear words, he guessed. And the girl in it had gone to a party and called the cops.

The girl in the book was weird. Connor liked her. He wondered if she was based on a real person. If that person would look at him in disgust like literally all of the other girls at school did.

Thirteen was probably too old to still have imaginary friends.

But it wasn’t like he was having conversations out loud with some weird high school freshman called Melinda who had to draw trees for an art class.

He just.

Sometimes he pretended that if she was real she might smile at him sometimes in the halls. And then he could smile back. And things wouldn’t be so bad.



He did try to shower quickly. But then he had to pick out new clothes, and he came downstairs with wet hair and a t-shirt his aunt had gotten him that had some old band’s name on it. He’d never heard the band, but he liked the shirt because it was black and way too big on him.

“You’re not wearing that.”

Connor blinked. His dad had his arms crossed. His dad was so tall. Connor thought he should ask if he had always been tall or if seventh-grade shrimpiness was genetic.

“Go upstairs and change. That looks like a dress on you.”

Connor blinked again.

“Now, Connor.”

He stomped back to his bedroom, hands balled into tight fists, wondering what it would be like to punch something because he thought he would really like to punch something right now. He used to throw things a lot, when he was younger, but his mom cried about it and once his dad slapped his face and said he couldn't do it again so Connor stopped throwing things around them when he could help it.

Sometimes he couldn't help it.

Connor pulled some maroon long sleeve shirt his mom was always trying to get him to wear even though he didn’t really like long sleeves from his dresser.

Dropped the Nirvana t-shirt to the floor.

Changed.

Took a few seconds to glance in the mirror.

Not great.

Fine.

The massive pimple on his forehead was mostly hidden behind his hair at least.

His jeans looked okay, despite the hole in the knee. His hair was wet so it was probably going to do that weird curling thing around his ears. Shoes would piss his dad off but, frankly, everything he did or said or wore pissed his dad off.

Connor took his time coming down the stairs.

His dad was looking like he might lay an egg.

“What were you doing up there, fixing your makeup? You’re making me late.”

Connor said nothing. He’d worn eyeliner once and it was Halloween last year when he got dressed up at the house and pretended to go trick or treating with people so his mom wouldn’t get all weird and worried. Last time she said something about how he had basically no friends she had also started talking about, like, therapy.

Which was exactly what he needed, to go get his head shrunk and then have everyone at school find out and tease him about it.

That Halloween, Connor just hung out in the wooded area outside of the park near the house reading until it got too dark and too cold. On his way home he stopped at a house three blocks over that belonged to this jerk Toby who was two years above him who had once made some sleezy comment about Zoe (who was, like, ten at the time) and had popped the tires on Connor’s bike at the end of the school year in the fifth grade. They’d left out a bucket full of candy outside with a sign saying “Please take one.”

So Connor took it all to appease his mom who would definitely notice if he hadn’t gotten any candy when he claimed he was out trick or treating.

He also smashed all of the pumpkins outside of the house.

Just because.

“Damn it, Connor, and put your glasses on. I don’t need another note from your math teacher saying you can’t see the board.”

He grabbed his backpack from where had left it next to the door the day before. Took out the case in the front pocket with his stupid new glasses. He hated them. They made his ears look massive and they gave him headaches.

Connor zipped the bag closed fast, like it might bite him. His stomach kind of flipped.

He hadn’t touched his homework last night. Too tired when he got home. He just read

instead.

He’d probably get a lunch detention. Which was fine, because then it meant Connor didn’t have to sit alone in the cafeteria.

Especially since the debacle last week, the other kids were on high alert for more reasons to laugh at each other.

The eighth graders were working on some project for their health class where they all had to pretend to be married.

And there were two more girls than boys in the class.

And these two girls got paired together, because like gay marriage was legal in this state, and, anyway, apparently their assignment included a public fake-proposal.

Which.

Naturally it was a nightmare.

And because Connor was a bad person, when one of the girls turned all red and burst out of the cafeteria in tears, he laughed right along with everyone else. Because well. He was just a bad person who laughed at girls who cried, he guessed.

And then Brian Harris, who was next to him in the lunch line, heard him laugh and said something like, “What are you laughing at, faggot? I thought fags and dykes were supposed to be friends.”

Which.

If Connor got caught saying anything like that, he’d probably have gotten detention for a month. Or in school suspension. Or expelled because of the B.S. “no tolerance policy” the school had.

But Brian Harris could just say that stuff, out loud, with everyone around listening, and the teachers would turn a blind eye because Brian’s parents, like, paid for all of the new classrooms on the west side of the school.

“Connor, hey, are you awake? I said let’s go.”

Right.

“Seatbelt.”

Connor pulled his seatbelt on as his dad took off for the school. Speeding a little. The clock on the dash told Connor he was already late for first hour. If his mom had driven he might have been able to fake a headache and get the day off.

His dad would send him to school with a hole in his head.

“Damn it,” His dad mumbled as they caught another red light. “Damn it. I told her I had a meeting .”

“I mean it’s not like they’d fire you if you’re late.” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.

And then, of course , his voice cracked.

His dad looked at him sharply.

Smirking.

Crap.

“Eh, so that’s finally happening then?”

This was exactly why he was trying not to talk as much. Connor shrugged but his dad had his eyes on the road.

“Don’t worry, it won’t last forever.”

“Hmm.”

“So, any girls catching your eye at school these days?”

Nope.

Nada.

Just imaginary ones.

And even those, Connor mostly just imagined like… maybe being friends.

“Not..” he cleared his throat. “Not really.”

“Well, I’m sure that’ll be next. When it happens, I can teach you all of my moves. Like how I landed your mom.”

Connor was fairly certain that his dad landed his mom drunk in college. So. He couldn’t wait to hear his dad’s advice on girls.



His English teacher, his favorite teacher, Mr. Weston, had betrayed him.

“We’re doing a group project. You will each pick a book, read it, discuss it with your partner, and do a presentation in three weeks.”

The whole class groaned.

Please don’t make us pick our own groups, Connor thought, If we have to pick our own groups nobody will pick me even though I have the best grade in this class and then I’ll have to force myself on some other loser and it will suck.

“Come on guys, it’s not so bad. I’ll let you pick your own partners this time...” Mr. Weston smiled. “The only rule is that you can’t have worked with them before this semester.”

Crap.

“Alright, pair up. I’ll give each pair a list of books to pick from. And no, Jared, you can’t pick a graphic novel. We’re learning about words here people! No picture books!”

Connor was trying to determine if he could safely jump out the second floor window.

He was also trying to decide if he wanted to do it safely or splatter all over the sidewalk.

Everyone moved around the room. Connor stayed put, sort of doodling in his notebook. Nobody was going to pick him, obviously, and if he asked anyone they would laugh and he hated it when people laughed at him. He hated it. So much. Like the only time he ever remembered actually pushing Zoe was because she was cracking up when his mom insisted on buying him that stupid suit for all of the bar mitzvahs that he was super not getting invited to.

“Hey, knock knock, four-eyes, you got a partner yet?”

Connor blinked. Jared Kleinman, who he had known since pre-kindergarten, who had had glasses for at least that long, who he wasn’t positive had ever spoken to him before, wanted to be his partner?

“What?”

“You deaf too now, Helen Keller? Do-you-have-a-partner for this stupid project?”

“No.” Connor crossed his arms over his chest. Suspicious.

“You’ve got an A in this class, right?” Jared said, eyeing Connor.

“Yeah. So?”

“My mom said I have to get my grade to at least a B+ this semester or she’s taking away my laptop. So.” He smiled like this was the world’s most brilliant plan. “That cool?”

Connor looked a little helplessly toward Mr. Weston, like he might swoop in and say that Connor was allowed to do the project alone.

“Fine,” Connor said when it was clear nobody was going to save him from Jared Kleinman.

Jared did like a half-smile, half-eye roll thing and sat in the desk beside Connor’s. Off to a great start.

Mr. Weston handed a book list to Connor saying, “This shouldn’t be an issue. I know you’ve read most of these.”

Connor felt his face heat up.

Jared rolled his eyes, snatching up the list. “Great. Which one of these is the shortest?”

Connor eyed the list.

He’d read all of them, save for Speak, which he was halfway through.

“Most of them are pretty short…”

Jared looked impatient. “Which one is the least boring then?”

Connor couldn’t answer that. Jacob Have I Loved was probably the most boring, but the least boring? That was impossible to answer. It wasn’t that none of them were boring. They just… weren’t books that he could see Jared Kleinman reading.

The fact was that a lot of the narrators were girls.

And Connor couldn’t picture that Jared Kleinman could relate to a girl character.

Was it weird that Connor could related to girl characters? Probably. Connor was a loser like that who just… was probably supposed to be a girl or something.

“What’s this one? About a bridge?”

Connor frowned. “Oh, it’s… um. It’s about this kid, and he uh… makes friends with this weird girl?” He uncrossed his arms. He squeezed his fist closed. “It’s uh… the kids are in, like, fifth grade though? So, I dunno if that…”

“Is it short?”

Connor nodded. “Yeah, it’s pretty short.”

“Cool, let’s read about some lame fifth graders.”

Connor nodded. “Okay.”

Jared sauntered over to Mr. Weston, saying there were going to read the bridge book. Mr. Weston looked surprised. “Let me know what you think of that one Jared.”

Connor thought… He wasn’t being intentionally a jerk by not saying that Leslie dies, right? He was just… he didn’t want to spoil the book. Or something.

Maybe he should. He was a bad person, maybe bad people didn’t care about spoiling the ending of books.

Maybe he was so lame that he didn’t want to jeopardize the possibility of getting Jared to be nice to him.

Basically it was that.

“Okay, so we need to read it first obviously,” Jared said. “Unless you just want to tell me what happens?”

Connor crossed his arms again. “Seriously.”

“Okay, okay, lighten up. Fine. I’ll read it.”

Connor didn’t say anything, just crossed his arms tighter.

“Like… less than two hundred pages.”

“Two hundred?” Jared said, eyes wide, loud enough that people looked at them.

“It’s like the shortest book on the list…” Connor muttered.

“This sucks.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re gonna take notes, right? Like you can take notes and send them to me about the book?”

“Um. No. I’m not taking all of the notes.”

“Fine, I’ll take notes too. Jeeze. Don’t look at me with your judgey nerd eyes. Why don’t we set up a google doc so we can share notes as we write them, okay? Just so you don’t show up at my house shouting about how I’m not pulling my weight.”

Connor glared.

“I’m kidding. I’ll take notes, okay. Can I make a google doc or what?”

“Sure.”

“What’s your email?”

Connor told him; Jared typed it into his phone.

“Okay, right, so we’ll read the short book about the fifth graders this week. We can start on the powerpoint next week.”

“Sure, yeah.”

“I’m going to ask Mr. Weston to go to the library,” Jared said, “I’m assuming you have the book already?”

Connor did. He just nodded.

“Cool. Well. Catch you later Connor.”

Connor wondered when the last time someone who wasn’t an adult had said his name in front of him. It sounded weird. Like it didn’t belong to him.

Connor felt his phone buzz. He pulled it out because it never, ever buzzed during the school day, and his curiosity could beat the crap out of his patience.

It was an email. From Jared. Sharing a google doc.

The body of the email said, “Wasn’t this a movie? Could I just watch the movie?”

Connor emailed back, “No.”

“Whatever, nerd. I’ll read the book. It better not suck.”

Maybe Jared wasn’t so bad. Maybe…

Connor didn’t really want to think about the maybes. He knew that maybes only left you disappointed.



Friday morning.

He had gym class on Fridays.

Even though he had been changing for gym for almost three years now, it never got

easier. If you changed in front of people they could see you in your underwear. If you went in a stall then they knew you were chicken.

Solution: Change fast.

Problem: Sometimes fast isn’t fast enough.

Brian Harris was in his gym class. Brian Harris decided that today was a good day to point out that Connor had a birthmark on his lower back. Brian Harris called it a tramp stamp.

Connor tried to just pull his Nirvana t-shirt on and ignore him, but apparently Brian Harris didn’t like being ignored.

“Hey! I’m talking to you! When did you get a tramp stamp, Connor?”

He just tried to focus on pulling on his jeans.

“Hey!” Brian pushed him into the bank of lockers. “Come on, Connor, when’d you get that?”

“Shut up,” Connor mumbled, voice cracking, just. He was still in his socks, his jeans were still unzipped, he was almost six inches shorter than Brian.

“What did you say to me?” Brian shoved him again.

“Shut up,” Connor said, again, louder, reckless.

He got shoved back again and again, and then Brian’s idiot friends got involved and then he was being dragged to the stalls, they were taunting him saying that girls couldn’t change in the boys’ room, and then. Well he had no chance against four of them, nothing, no words, no actions, it’s not like he could throw a punch. And well.

Well Connor stopped struggling when they shoved his head into the toilet. His temple smacked against the filthy toilet seat as they pushed him down.

He just.

Went limp.

Gave up.

Sure, flush my head down the toilet.

Sure. Drown me. Just do it. I don’t care.

“Fuck, did you smack his head?”

“Shit, shit. Is he knocked out?”

“Shit, pull him out, stop fucking laughing Brian we’ll get into so much shit-”

Someone yanked him out by his shirt collar. He kept his eyes closed, pretending, letting them sweat it out.

The bell rang.

They ran off.

Connor just stayed on the floor. His hair was wet. He had no idea where his glasses had ended up.

Maybe if he just stayed on the floor and never moved he could just die. Reset reality. Give the fuck up.

“Oh damn it.”

Connor heard the voice of the asshole gym teacher in the locker room. He kept his eyes closed.

“Hansen, what is the matter with you?”

“That’s why I got you, Mr. Bryant, he’s… I dunno having a seizure or something.” Jared’s voice.

“What’s Murphy doing on the floor?”

Connor assumed that Jared shrugged or something because the next thing that happened was Mr. Bryant slapping the side of his face. “Hey, hey! Murphy, eyes open.”

He opened them. Because otherwise he’d probably keep getting smacked.

“What happened?”

“I went for a swim,” Connor said sarcastically.

“They… uh. They sh-shoved his head in a toilet.” A pause. “I think he hit his head.”

Connor blinked. He wasn’t sure he had ever heard Evan Hansen talk. He sort of thought the kid was mute. His face was all red and he had totally been crying, and Connor didn’t really know what was about since he was the one getting his ass kicked, and he seemed to be breathing weirdly.

“Who?” Mr. Bryant had just left Connor sitting on the floor in a puddle.

Evan Hansen was apparently smart enough not to name names. He just tugged at the hem of his shirt.

Connor had to admit he respected that. It only made things worse if you got labeled a tattle tale.

“Well come on, you’re both going to the nurse.”

Connor wasn’t going to argue. Maybe he’d get to go home. He grabbed his shoes from his locker, stuffing his feet into them without bothering to untie and tie them.

Evan, however, started stuttering about how totally fine he was even though he started crying again and didn’t seem to be able to catch his breath. Mr. Bryant did not buy this, apparently. The gym teacher walked them across the whole school, dropping Jared at their next hour biology class on the way. Since apparently being thirteen meant you couldn’t walk between classrooms alone.

Probably some kind of weird school shooter policy.

Or because every single time Connor was allowed to do that he would take like twenty minutes wandering the halls.

Mr. Bryant talked to the nurse for a few minutes, while Connor dripped toilet water everywhere and Evan Hansen hyperventilated next to him.

Should he do something about that, say something? It was pretty freaking annoying but like, what did you do for that? Was breathing into a paper bag a real thing? Where would they keep a paper bag in the nurse’s office?

Mr. Bryant left without looking at either of them.

“Okay, Evan, come on back, and I’ll give you the medication your mom left for you, okay? You can stay until it kicks in.”

Connor watched Evan rushed off to the little cubicle while the nurse got him one of those weird paper cones full of water cooler water.

Connor didn’t, like, sit in the waiting area. Because he was dripping toilet water everywhere. He wished someone would have gotten him a towel. Or like a paper napkin or something. The water had started running down the back of his shirt and it was sort of cold because the school had turned on the air conditioner in the classrooms that had air conditioning.

Evan walked back, looking miserable but no longer crying, and the nurse gave Connor a once over and said, “What happened to you? Mr. Bryant said you hit your head?”

Connor sighed. “I did. On the toilet seat.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Did someone…?”

Connor said nothing.

“Okay, come on back… I’ll check you out and see if we need to call your mom.”

She had him sit in a chair, and (finally), handed him a small hand towel to mop up some of the water from his toilet diving excursion.

She checked his eyes. Asked him if he really lost consciousness.

He hadn’t, but Connor said he had just because he thought that might score him a sick day.

“Okay, well, I think I’ll call your mom. You might have a concussion.”

He tried his best to look indifferent to this news.

“You’ll probably need to go to a doctor.”

Frankly, Connor didn’t really care. He’d take the doctor over school any day.

The nurse told him to have a seat in the waiting area. She looked at Evan and said, “Let me know if he starts slurring his speech or anything. I’ll be right back.” She turned out into an office to make the phone call.

Connor just sat there.

He wondered if his glasses had ended up in the toilet.

He was so not wearing freaking toilet glasses.

Evan Hansen kept sort of looking at him and then looking away fast and Connor sighed like Jesus did he have to be nice to this kid now? Were they some kind of brother-in-swirly now that Brian Harris had fucked with both of them?

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Thanks. For. Y’know. Not saying who.”

Evan nodded. “Yeah.” And then he blinked a few times and said. “Oh.” He pulled Connor’s glasses out of his pocket. “They fell by my locker.”

Connor took them, careful to avoid touching Evan’s outstretched hand because he was gross and covered in toilet water. “Thanks.”



Connor’s mom cried when she picked him up. She had made him go home and shower and change before she would take him to the doctor that he probably didn’t need. And he got to fed up he told her that Brian Harris had shoved his head in the toilet. “Brian wouldn’t do that,” His mom protested from the driver’s seat.

“You two are best friends!”

“Were,” Connor corrected.

“Well, when did that happen?”

“Two years ago, mom. God. ”

“Well then who are you hanging out with? Who do you sit with at lunch? I thought you said-”

“I lied. Obviously.”

“But Connor, why ? Why wouldn’t you tell me that…?” She couldn’t even finish the sentence, couldn’t even spit out “that you have no friends.” He didn’t blame her. It was so embarrassing.

“Because I didn’t want to do this .”

“Do what?”

“This thing where you get all upset and cry.”

“Connor, I want you to tell me about these things, I want to help you-”

“How?” He said. Yelled. He caught a look at himself in the side mirror. His face was so red. He actually did have a bruise forming near where he hit his head. “How are you going to help, mom? Call every kid in school and demand that they hang out with me? What?”

His mother fell silent.

But the feeling that he had won an argument for once didn’t last.



Turned out he actually did have a concussion.

Zoe thought that was hilarious.

His head hurt a lot, which made reading sort of hard. He still managed to reread Bridge to Terabithia.

The ending had made him cry the first time he read it, in the fifth grade. He was torn up about it for days. He even insisted on hanging out with Zoe for a while because it suddenly felt like she could just disappear any second. Gone in a flash. He yelled at her if she so much as looked at her bike without a helmet.

The ending was still sad, but this time he didn’t really feel much about it.



Sunday afternoon, while he was taking notes on the shared document (that Jared hadn’t touched yet), some jumbled thoughts about how important being a girl or a boy was in the book, Connor got an email.

“You seriously don’t have a facebook? What are you, Amish?”

Connor’s heart thudded to a stop.

His brain stopped functioning.

Jared wanted to add him on facebook?

How did he respond to that? Was he just supposed to go make a facebook? He didn’t have one because the only people he would add would be a few cousins and maybe Zoe if he managed not to embarrass her for a few days. No thanks. Nightmare.

He wasn’t just going to make a facebook for Jared.

Was he?

He wasn’t.

He wrote back, “Mennonite, actually. Totally different.”

And Jared wrote back, “lol. Dude, that was funny. Who knew you were funny?”

And Connor didn’t say anything back because he just knew he would ruin it.

He got another email a few hours later. This one read, “Sorry you got your ass kicked Friday.”

And Connor.

Kind of.

Smiled.

It almost made the idea of Monday… not terrible.

“Thanks, dude.”