Trinity (35)
When I see Pearl on Monday, she doesn’t say anything about YRJ. In fact, she doesn’t say much at all.
Her hair is woven into a golden, braided crown, and wonder distantly how she did it. I see her from my locker, walking down the hallway, and she sees me. Her face splits into a grin, and her eyes bounce to the floor, almost shyly.
By the time she’s reached me, my smile is as wide as hers.
“Hey,” I say. “How was… the weekend?”
Her smile fades into a more serious expression, a thoughtful expression. “It was ok.” Her eyes flick back to her shoes, or mine. “Thank you,” she adds. She reaches out and touches the back of my hand.
I nod, and she pulls back.
Suddenly, she swings her backpack off her shoulder, and I notice that it’s her old blue one with the pink horse patch. A new zipper is crudely stitched on with a thick purple thread. She pulls out a worn journal and holds it out to me with both hands.
“I want you to read it. It’s not done, but…” When I don’t take it, she presses it into my hands. “It’s the story I’ve been writing,” she explains.
“You want me to read it?” I ask, passing a hand over the cover. It’s brown and plain and soft.
“If you want,” Pearl says, and I look up to see her biting her bottom lip.
“Yes! Of course I’ll read it,” I tell her, tucking the journal into my arm with my school books. She gives me another smile, and it’s in that moment that I once again remember just how much I missed seeing her real smile.
. . .
My first period class is history. My seat is next to Erica, but we usually don’t talk much because she’s always sneaking earbuds up her sweater sleeves and listening to music, or podcasts, or something.
Today’s no different, and Mrs. Marley is still trying to get the projector to work, and half the students are out of their seats.
Katherine Davies, of all people approaches Erica and I, so I stare down at my books as if I’m occupied. She stops, but doesn’t say anything, and I risk a glance up.
As always, her uniform is pristine. Most kids at Saint Paul's have a lot of siblings, and Katherine is no exception. However, whereas other younger siblings wear hand-me-down uniforms, Katherine’s always look fresh. No holes, no tears, no missing buttons. And to top it off, a silver cross hangs just between her collarbones. She’s basically a walking school brochure.
She gives me a picture-perfect smile, so I smile back. “Erica, Trin,” she greets. Erica doesn’t look up.
I run my tongue across my teeth nervously, wondering if this has something to do with Henry. I have five classes with Katherine and she’s never spoken to me unless a teacher dictated it.
Her smile fades into a sigh. “Well. I’ve been elected to handle the Easter talent assembly, and since you’re both doing Easter planning, I’m going to put you on the list to help for the assembly.”
“You elected yourself,” Erica interjects without taking her eyes off her phone. I didn’t even know she was listening.
Katherine pushes out her bottom lip. “I volunteered to take work off of Maggie’s plate.” She gives me a look and rolls her eyes at Erica. I scratch my nose. “Anyway, I’m doing a prep-session at my house on Wednesday. We’re planning everything then.”
“Kath! I’m invited, right?” a voice chimes from a few desks down. It’s Andrew Ryan, a self-satisfied smile on his face. He gets up and lopes over, throwing an arm around her shoulders.
He throws Katherine off balance, and she bumps my desk, some of my books sliding off the edge. Her face colors, and she scoffs and slowly pushes him off. “I told you about this last week,” she says to him while picking up what fell.
Mrs. Marley is asking for everyone’s attention, and telling us to sit back down.
Katherine sets my books back on my desk and adds, “Everyone’s gonna be there, so just show up whenever. And feel free to bring whoever else.”
. . .
It’s not until lunch that I notice it.
“Erica,” I say. I have to repeat her name a few times before she notices me; she’s sitting across the table, a different seat than usual, because she had to plug in her phone and she couldn’t reach the outlet.
Rachel yanks an earbud from Erica’s ear.
“Do you remember if I had a journal with me in History? It’s brown, just plain brown. I thought I had it with my books.” I noticed when I put all my books away in my locker before lunch that I was missing something: Pearl’s journal.
Erica stares at the ceiling for a moment. “Um. No. I don’t remember.”
“Is it homework?” Maggie asks. “I’m sure Rachel has an extra copy if it is.”
“I just like to have more than one, just in case,” Rachel replies defensively, pointing at Maggie with a celery stick.
“No, it’s a journal,” I say, trying to think back. When did I last have it? I couldn’t have lost it, could I? Oh no, Pearl’s going to be furious, isn’t she?
Mary Kate lets go of Charles Lee’s hand for a second to clap lightly. “A dream journal?!” she breathes.
Maggie shakes her head, and Becca adds wistfully, “I love dream journals.”
Abbey coughs. “Dream journals aren’t real though, like, the dream interpreting part.”
“You’re supposed to interpret them?” asks Becca.
This sparks some debate, and Mary Kate and Abbey start arguing, and Becca looks confused, and Charles looks even more confused, and I have absolutely no idea where Pearl’s journal is. Her journal that holds the book she's been writing for at least a year.
And things were only just starting to go right for us.
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(first part: https://theprose.com/post/432343/trinity)
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(previous part: https://theprose.com/post/452983/trinity-34)
(next part: https://theprose.com/post/455378/trinity-36)