Justin

Mid-October arrives and everything is still the same.

Just like any other day, I get up, get ready, eat breakfast, swallow a mass number of pills that leave a disgusting taste coating my tongue, and then Mom drives me to school.

"Have a good day, honey," Mom says as I step out of the car.

With my back facing her, I'm able to hide the look of defeat I know is visible on my face.

For as long as I've had epilepsy, no day has been a good day. Sure, I smile and have fun, but beneath the act is the underlying fear of unpredictability – I never know when I'm going to have a seizure until it's too late. And when I do have them, I don't know if it's going to be a simple partial or jump up a level.

I'm ready to act like my good old fake self and tell Mom she doesn't need to worry when I see her.

Other than English class, I haven't seen much of Addie. I have seen her enough to know that she's always with three other girls, though. So seeing her walking alone along the sidewalk is new.

But what's even more aberrant is the fact that she looks up from the book she's reading, the spine bent in an unnatural way, smiles at me, and starts walking over.

My palms begin to sweat.

I don't see much of Addie, but that doesn't mean we don't talk during English. Since the day after I texted her, we've become acquaintances during that class. Our conversations haven't held much depth, which is a good thing in my opinion – I'm tired of telling people what's wrong with me. Through the limited interaction, though, I've been able to pick out a few traits: she's kind-hearted, stunningly gorgeous, shy, and there's a slight cocky smoulder beneath the shyness.

I quickly turn around. "Yeah, Mom," I nod, barely paying attention to her because all I can think about is the girl coming up behind me. "Thanks. You too. See ya." I slam the door and, in an abrupt fashion, begin striding for the entrance to the school.

"Justin!"

I freeze, squeezing my eyes shut and resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of my nose. Addie is a sweetheart – she's a breath of fresh air compared to the other idiot peers I've gotten to know over the years – but I've lost the urge to become friends with anyone. What's the point when all they do is leave you behind? There have been multiple circumstances that have involved me telling a person I thought was my friend what I've been through and am still facing – I trust them enough to delve deep into the thoughts I try to keep buried beneath my heart – only to have them leave me behind and not bother to look back.

You'd think I'd become numb to that specific type of pain, but it hurts more and more each time.

That's why I avoid people.

Because I can't handle the idea of it happening again and making me feel like someone's ripped my heart out, thrown it to the dirt, and stomped on it.

I'm ready to keep walking; ignore Addie completely. Though she's sweet, I can't risk it. My mental physique can't handle it.

But I'm too late; I feel a hand gently grasp my shoulder.

I turn around and meet those stunning blue eyes. Today, her hair has been tied up into a bun and her clothes are sophisticated – like she's due for some fancy brunch within the next hour.

"You're dressed up," I say.

She looks down at her outfit and shrugs. "I have a basketball game against the high school my mom and dad went to when they were our age. Coach says we have to dress nice. Y'know? Like the players of the Toronto Maple Leafs do before each game?"

I nod. Yes, I do know. Hockey was my life before I was diagnosed. And though I know she has no idea about my past, my chest suddenly feels like it's been filled with rocks. I miss hockey. So much.

"So," Addie says, dropping her hand from my shoulder. We begin to walk toward the school, side-by-side. "Are you ready for the test today?"

I blink, realizing I'm staring at the spot where her hand was. Consciously, I run a hand through my hair, my fingertips brushing over the explicit scar. Though I hate the scar, it helps to remind me who I am and what I've been through. A girl like Addie – star captain of the girls' basketball team, beautiful, and smart – deserves better than a boy like me – erratic, pitiful, and feeble.

Yet I can't stop myself from enjoying her touch. Through my thin sweater, her hand is warm and comforting, and it gives me an idea of what we could be if life would deal me a better hand.

"Uh, yeah," I reply. "Studied all weekend."

Addie pulls open the door and steps aside, letting me enter the school first. The motion catches me off guard. I've become so used to being thrown to the curb that even little moments like these make me feel better. But I still wonder if Addie would hold the door open for me if she knew the truth behind my fake persona.

Being selfish, I step through the door, exiting the cold, fresh air and entering the warm, coffee-smelling air.

"So did I," Addie agrees, matching my pace as we wind through the semi-crowded hallways of WKSS.

We slip into silence as we head for English.

As we walk, butterflies begin to beat their wings against my stomach lining. I almost freeze in fear, petrified that it's the aura of an oncoming seizure. Clenching my fists and gritting my teeth, I try to push past the anxiousness I'm feeling. Though simply thinking about not having a seizure rarely works, sometimes it does and I hope like hell this is one of those times.

When the expected doesn't happen, I begin to wonder if I'm feeling anxious because of Addie instead of medical reasons (for once). Though the thought is relieving, it also scares me. I can't possibly have...feelings for her. It would go against everything I've ever worked for.

I glance at Addie. She's chewing her bottom lip and fiddling with the strap of her backpack. It's surprisingly cute.

Relief washes over me again. Me thinking she's cute is indifferent. I barely know the girl – there's no way I could have feelings for her. A crush is better suited for a situation like this.

"Hey," Addie suddenly says. "Do you have a job by any chance?"

I blink and look at her, dumbfounded. "No," I reply before a lie can pass between my lips.

Addie's blue eyes light up and her smile grows bigger. "Okay," she starts, "so, my dad is the head chef and owner of one of the restaurants in downtown Kelowna and I work there too. We're running short on staff right now and need a couple more people to help with the dinner rush. We're so desperate for kitchen workers that Dad doesn't even want to bother with interviews. He said if I can recruit anyone, it would be greatly appreciated." She eyes me carefully. "Do you think you'd be interested?"

Every part of me screams in agreement. Call me crazy, but I've always wanted a job, my own money. It's a norm – and anything that can make me feel a pigment of normality makes me happy.

But I know I can't agree to this prime offer because it would mean having to tell Addie about my condition. And I can't do that because, for the first time in a long time, my high school is acting as a clean slate. Telling her would ruin that. I also enjoy spending time with her while she's oblivious to what could happen – she treats me like any other boy in this school.

Feeling extremely disappointed in myself for not being strong enough to tell her the truth, I shake my head. "Sorry, Addie, but I can't."

A disappointed frown appears on her face, but only for a moment. "Well, the offer still stands if you change your mind."

Her response makes me like her even more. She doesn't ask me why. She doesn't bombard me with questions. Instead, she accepts my answer and continues on about the upcoming English test and how she's dreading writing an essay during the first hour of the day.

Though I should be paying attention to what she's saying to be polite, I'm entranced by everything she does.

I can't stop liking her more and more with each second that passes by.

From the way she overuses her hands while talking to the slight upturn of her nose to the inexplicable blueness of her eyes, she keeps pulling me in.

Whether I like it or not.