August 30, 2014 - Notice

The air in class felt thick – the kind that clings to your uniform after an hour of sitting still. The ceiling fans clicked lazily, and somewhere in the back, a pen kept tapping against a desk like a broken metronome.

“Who invented modern computers?” our teacher asked.

Kevin’s hand shot up. That alone was shocking enough to make the teacher blink before calling on him. “Kevin,” she said, pointing. Everyone else followed, equally shocked.

Kevin stood, chest puffed out. “Steve Jobs!”

The room broke into laughter. The teacher sighed, half-smiling in defeat. “Wrong. Anyone else?”

Everyone’s eyes snapped back to the front, still chuckling under their breath. Not mine. I just sat there, grinning to myself as I looked around at my classmates.

Kevin sank back into his chair, ears red. Jackie, who sat right in front of me, turned slightly and gave him a soft, sympathetic smile. She mouthed, “It’s okay, Kevin,” before facing forward again.

I reached out and clapped Kevin lightly on the back, quiet enough that no one else noticed. “Don’t sweat it,” I said under my breath. He smiled weakly. When I turned back to the front, I was still smiling.

If it had been last year, all eyes would’ve flicked to me as soon as they heard Kevin’s answer – waiting for the punchline, the jab, the smirk. The old me would’ve given it to them. Maybe a muttered “nice try, genius,” just loud enough for everyone to hear.

Now? I didn’t say anything.

Not that I was perfect. Sometimes something slipped out, and I had to bite my lip to stop it.

Back then, if someone mumbled an answer, tripped, or said something dumb, heads would turn toward me automatically. I thought people expected me to be funny. But now I know – they were waiting for me to be mean.

These days, when someone gives a stupid answer, I just smile with the rest of the class. When somebody stumbles, I don’t even react.

Paulie would’ve loved this version of me.

I made the change over the break, testing my newfound silence with my friends. But seeing it play out here, in real time, was different. From the first day of senior year, people still turned to me whenever someone messed up. Now… they don’t.

When they stopped looking at me, it felt like the whole class exhaled. Like they were finally free. Free to do dumb stuff, free to be kids. Something I’d always allowed myself, but somehow kept them from doing.

They’d been afraid of me – of my stupid mouth. Like I was the bully version of 1984’s Big Brother – always watching, ready to tease someone for the smallest mistake.

I used to live by a credo: teenage years are the best time of your life. I took that to heart. I squeezed every drop of fun out of it. But in doing that, maybe I squeezed it out of other people too – even if I never meant to.

Does that make me a good person now? No.

I ruined somebody else’s teenage years. Took it away, and I can never give it back.

So I try to change. I feed strays. I tutor whoever asks.

I shut the fuck up.

And I mean that literally – these days, I barely talk to anyone outside my circle. Joseph, Mike, and Kyle are the only ones I still hang out with. Everyone else? I wait for them to speak first. Most of the time, they don’t, and that’s fine with me. It’s easier that way. Safer.

At lunch, my table used to be the loudest. Now I’m the quiet one picking at rice while my friends fill the space I left. Sometimes, I see groups laughing across the room, and I know that laugh used to belong to me.

It’s strange how silence can echo louder than words ever did.

I sit in the same seat every day, same bag, same routine. People around me talk about parties or gossip about who’s dating who, and I just nod when they look my way. I’m not part of their stories anymore, and maybe that’s a good thing.

Being alone felt like control. I don’t have to worry about saying the wrong thing if I don’t say anything at all.

The bell rang. Class ended. Break time.

Kevin leaned toward me. “What’s the answer?”

“Charles Babbage,” I said, grinning. “Don’t worry about it. I would’ve gotten it wrong too. I’d have answered Turing.”

Kevin nodded, scribbling the name down. I glanced at his notes.

“Babbage, Kev. Not Cabbage. B as in... bastard,” I whispered, knowing Kevin liked his swear words.

He snorted. “Got it.”

And that was it. No jokes, no crowd laughing, no spotlight. Just quiet.

The kind of quiet that felt both earned and cursed. Like a truce I made with the universe – speak less, hurt less.

Jackie’s pencil moved like water, soft and certain. A strand of her hair fell forward, catching the light from the window.

I should’ve felt lonely, but I didn’t. My friends were still here – but most of all, Jackie was here. Watching her had become my favorite pastime.

I’d stopped talking to people, but I hadn’t stopped watching her.

When I looked at her, I didn’t feel guilt or fear. Just… calm. Like everything noisy in my head shut off for a while.

Her sketches changed every day. Sometimes it was people. Sometimes landscapes. Once, I swear I saw a drawing of a dog – thin, ribs showing, but smiling anyway. It looked eerily familiar. Maybe she liked strays too.

Sometimes she’d pull out her notebook and start writing – probably manga dialogue. She’d grin to herself, tiny and real, like she’d just thought of something clever. She always looked alive in a quiet way – not loud, not trying to be anything, just being. I envied that.

Is this love? I mean, I said I fell for her the first time I saw her. But maybe love is a shelter. I don’t know.

Sometimes it feels like she’s the only thing keeping my thoughts from turning against me. Watching her draw feels like standing in the rain under a roof made of glass. Still exposed, still cold, but safe enough to breathe.

Watching her made me forget myself for a while. She didn’t erase the guilt – she just softened its edges, like light filtering through water.

She’s my karma. My punishment. She’s sitting right in front of me, just an arm’s length away. I could reach out, one inch, and touch her shoulder. But I don’t. I couldn’t. And karma made it clear I shouldn’t.

Sometimes she’d glance back and catch me staring. I’d bite the side of my mouth and look away before I could see the expression on her face. I didn’t want to give her the chance to tell me to fuck off and stop staring at her while she sketched.

The space between us felt holy. Like the world decided to keep me exactly one inch away from redemption.

There’s bad karma and good karma. I wonder which one I’m walking toward. It sounds simple – be a better person – but how do you actually do that? How do you make up for Paulie? For the tears his mother shed because of you?

I don’t know. For now, I just shut the fuck up so I don’t ruin someone else’s day. Or worse, their life.

My main motivation was Paulie. Always will be. To be a better person so that never happens again. But I did wonder if my other new motivation – to be a good enough person worthy of Jackie – made me an even worse person than I was before.

Maybe that’s what karma is. Not some mystical punishment, but the quiet reminder that no matter how hard I try, I’ll never be sure I’m doing the right thing.

When the bell rang again and Jackie stood to leave, I stayed seated. As always, I let her walk ahead, one inch, one step, one lifetime ahead of me. Watching her sketch was one thing, but following her out would’ve been stalker-ish. I already felt guilty watching her – no need to make it official.

And maybe that uncertainty is what I really deserve.

As I waited for her to leave, she suddenly lifted her manga. For a moment, I thought she was just checking it under a different light – but then she tilted it slightly toward me, letting me see.

There, on the page, was a sketch of a boy feeding strays.

She glanced over her shoulder, grinning. “Do you like it?”

My heart kicked against my ribs. I nodded once, then turned away, pretending to rummage through my bag. My three humiliating attempts with her replayed instantly in my head, looping like a curse.

But mostly… I knew if I said any more, karma would get me.

Jackie stood there for a moment. I heard her start to say something, but she must’ve changed her mind. She continued to pack up her things and leave.

When I looked back, she was gone. The last thing I saw through the door was her silky black hair, catching the sunlight like ink in motion.