Free Almost by Anne Eliot

to be at school at 7AM anymore. The internship starts at nine. That's lots of quality car napping. More than I'm used to.
In the meantime, I'm back on high alert. Tonight, I'll even stuff a towel under my door just in case I start making a bunch of uncontrollable noise in my sleep.
But I won't. I'm sure last night was just a one time stress thing. Positively, hopefully, almost sure that I'm going to be fine. Soon. Next week at the latest. Tonight if I'm lucky.
Please let me be lucky.

Chapter Eight
Gray
I stop one of the gangly-looking middle school boys exiting Coach Williams' music room. “Do you know Jess Jordan?”
“She's in there.” The kid points over his shoulder.
“Thanks.” I head in, surveying the giant room. A room I've avoided like the plague since freshman year. I linger near the door in case I spot Coach Williams. In case I need to make a quick exit. So far, all seems safe enough. Two oak teachers' desks are pushed up next to the far window. Heavy, iron music stands and folding chairs are arranged orchestra style in front of a large wooden podium. Choir risers have been set up in a semi-circle on the miniature stage filling half the room.
“Jess?” I call when the last kid files out and I still don't see her.
“Back here.” Her voice is muffled by the heavy, red and gold velvet curtain.
I hop onto the stage and joke-sing: “ The Phaaaanntom of the Opera is there, innnnnside your mind. ” I attack the curtain with a flourish and sing on, “ innnnside your mind. ”
Jess is sitting on an ancient, faded couch with her arms crossed over her stomach. Her face is extremely pale, and she's not at all impressed with my song.
“You okay?” I let the curtain drop.
She nods. “I didn't sleep well last night. And I—had a weird…lunch. After I saw you nothing went right.”
“Bummer.” I walk nearer, taking in the deep shadows under her eyes, and I wonder if she's telling me the whole truth. “What can I do to help?”
“Honestly? Let's just get through this. I want to draw up a real contract. So we both know what to expect. And what not to expect.” She shoots me a pointed look.
I want to tease her, but I don't have the heart. She looks so darn pitiful. “All right.” I sit on the floor near her and look up. I'm instantly sidetracked by the color of her clear blue eyes under the stage light. It doesn't help that her cinnamon-sunshine smell has completely taken over the small space. I concentrate on quieting the unsteady beat of my heart.
“What have you thought up so far?” I ask.
“I have some rough ideas. Like, each weekend we probably need to hang out like you said. You know. Go on sort of…real looking…dates?” She sounds so timid, like she thinks I'm going to laugh at her.
“I figured. Go on,” I encourage quietly, taking note how supremely uncomfortable the word ‘dates’ made her. I wonder if she's ever been out with anyone.
“We should also hang out a few nights during the week. If that works for you? And then, to keep the whole thing believable, you simply dump me at the end of the summer.”
“Hold on there—I—”
She holds up her hand. “Wait. Just listen or I'll lose my train of thought. I don't care how you break up with me, or the reasons you give,” she rushes on. “I'm so good with the break-up part. Looking forward to it, actually. No offense. I will also need you to call me, and text me. A few times a week. When my parents are home—after 5:30 PM. That, and pretend to like to me…when we're together. Sort of like today on the quad. I'll try not to hate it so much. So, yeah. Can you think of anything else?”
“You hated me talking to you?”
She flushes. “Do you want me to lie?”
“Yes. Yes I do. My feelings—they hurt really bad right about now. Duh.” I make a pained, squishy face.
“Please.” She laughs, finally appearing to relax a bit. “No joking. Where were we? We need to make the hanging out bits last longer.”
“Check.”
“You seem really