BOOK OF THOUGHTS

My heart stopped for a second. I jumped up and started pacing around the room. "H-Hello?" I croaked, still not sure if the person on the other end was Kevin. Even if it was him, his voice sounded half-asleep.

"Kevin? Kevin?" I asked, my voice shaking.

"Yeah?" he yawned.

Relief washed over me, and I sank onto my bed, the phone still pressed to my ear.

"Are you okay?" I asked, my breath ragged.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine," he replied, like it was no big deal. But I couldn't stop the image of him popping pills in the bathroom from flashing through my mind. I shut my eyes tight. "Are you sure?" I asked again.

"Chill, dude. I'm fine. You called me like a million times. I was asleep. I was gonna call you back in the morning, but you couldn't wait." He paused, then continued, "Chester," he said slowly, "don't worry about me. I'll be fine. I promise."

I sighed and muttered, "Okay."

"See you at school," he said with a laugh. I could picture him smiling, and the thought of his smile and his gray eyes made me smile, too.

"See you," I replied, then ended the call. I just lay there, letting out a long sigh before finally drifting back to sleep for the few hours that were left. The next morning, I woke up looking sleep-deprived. My face was all puffy, which made me feel even grumpier. I got ready for school and stared into the mirror, struggling to keep my heavy eyelids open. I squinted at my reflection and wrinkled my nose."Get your shit together, Chester," I muttered, slapping my cheek. "It's not like you didn't get any sleep or anything. What the hell?" I couldn't help but imagine how I’d look if I saw Kimberly like this — she’s like a beautiful, fresh flower, and I’m just a wilted one after a failed farmer's sale.

My mom smiled at me as she poured milk over the cereal on the table. "You okay, baby?" she asked. I rubbed my tired eyes. "I know, I look horrible, don't I?" She shook her head. "Oh no!" she exclaimed, but I could hear the lie in her voice. "You just look, um, different." She patted my head and started tidying up the kitchen.I groaned, throwing my head back in frustration. She turned around, her lips in a little pout. "Chester, come on! Girls are totally going to hit on you with that face." I snorted."Nah, Mom. Not today. Today, I have a face only a mother could love." I paused to swallow my cereal. My mom didn't even bother to remind me not to talk with my mouth full. "Mom, you gotta help me," I said, pointing to the faint dark circles under my eyes. "Don’t you have anything I can use?"

"Like what?" she asked, smiling.

"I don’t know. What do women use? Ice? Coffee?Cucumbers? Whatever. I can’t go out looking like this."

Mom dried her hands with a towel and walked over, chuckling. "Chester, you don't need anything. Just go to school."

"But Mom," I hesitated.

"Next time, you’ll sleep better," she said, sounding all proud of herself.

"But it’s not like I didn’t sleep. I was—" I trailed off.

"You were what?" she asked, curiosity all over her face. "Nothing." I avoided her gaze, but I could feel her eyes still on me. "It’s nothing, Mom. Jeez. So are you gonna help me or what?"

"Bye, Chester," she said, crossing her arms.I groaned and slung my bag over my shoulder. "Bye," I muttered, rolling my eyes as I headed out the door, trying to keep a straight face while I walked across the street. "Bye."

I sighed and flipped another page of Book of Thoughts, a weird book my mom bought me for…some reason. She thought it would help me feel happier or maybe make me appreciate life more. Total mistake. But, in a way, I kind of enjoyed it.The book was just a collection of the author's random thoughts — nothing super special. Each page had a blank one following it, where you were supposed to write the date, the page number, and what you thought about whatever nonsense the author had scribbled down. Yeah, sounds dumb, right? But sometimes, it was actually kind of fun. Other times, it was just plain creepy, like when the author's thoughts lined up with mine, almost word for word. On some of the blank pages, I'd scribbled actual thoughts; on others, it was just a bunch of "fuck everyone, fuck life."

I looked up when I heard someone moving around the bookshelves. It was a kid with thick glasses, probably searching for a good read because he still believed in libraries. Just like me. I glanced around, taking in the familiar sights of our school library. The tall ceilings and glass doors, the big windows that made the place look fancy and expensive, even though it probably wasn't. Rows and rows of bookshelves filled with dusty old books. The tables and desks scattered around. There was Mr. James, the new librarian who always seemed like he needed a nap, and then there was Amber, who practically lived here. I swear, she was always here. I shifted my gaze back to my bag, feeling a surge of pride. I’d finally finished my algebra assignment — that thing was a total pain in the neck. But I was even more proud that I’d managed to skip Miss Denice's class. I’ve been doing that a lot more lately. If my parents ever found out, I'd be toast. Kevin wasn’t in class either, but I didn’t call him. I really didn’t want to bring up what happened, and besides, he said he was fine. Kimberly wasn’t there, too, and I silently thanked my lucky stars. The last thing I needed was her seeing me with a face that looked like I lost a fight with a beehive.

I flipped to page 77 and read aloud: "Sometimes the only problem is actually me and me alone. Sometimes the problem lies in not knowing the problem. Most times I lie. I lie and blame everyone else, everyone around me. The world itself is a problem."

I hummed softly and grabbed my pen to jot down what I thought about it.

“One of my favorite author’s thoughts,” a familiar voice said out of nowhere. I turned, and there she was — Kimberly Hart, with her beautiful brown eyes staring right at me.

“Oh, hi!” I blurted out, trying way too hard not to sound as excited as I actually felt. But I knew I was failing miserably at it.

“Hey there!” she replied with a bright smile, perching herself on the edge of my desk. She casually picked up my book, flipping it around like it was hers. “You read Book of Thoughts too, huh?”

I nodded a bit too eagerly. “I just love it,” I lied.

“I know, right? Like, how is the author even human?” she giggled, and my heart did this weird flip-flop thing. “What's your favorite thought?” she asked, scooting a little closer.I tried not to let my brain short-circuit from how close she was. “My favorite thought?” I repeated, trying to buy myself a few seconds to think. I didn't have a favorite thought. “Well, there are just so many beautiful thoughts. Can one even choose?” I flashed a nervous smile, my mind racing. Come on, Book of Thoughts, give me a fucking thought!