I swallow, unsure of what to do or say. Iâve got a temper but Iâve never been like that with someone before, especially someone that I donât know. But Vandelya is frustrating me right now. She reminds me of my mother; sheâs refusing to deal with whatever it is sheâs running from. And it bothers me so much because she can choose to deal with it; she can choose to face whatever it is. She doesnât have to lie, to pretend it isnât there. She canât ignore it.
Vandelyaâs bottom lip quivers slightly.
âStop,â I order. I know that in that moment it sounds cruel, that is seems heartless, but I didnât mean it like that; I just canât stand to see her cry, especially because the last time she cried was because of me too.
âYou donât know anything about me, new kid. Donât pretend you can tell me what to do or how to feel. You, of all people, shouldnât judge me based on one thing.â And just like that, without another word, she turns around and rushes out of the library. I sit there for a few minutes, staring at the direction she took off in, and then I pick up my pencil. The list of Vandelyaâs questions still sit in front of me and, without thinking, I start working on them.