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This is, quite frankly, horrible. I am certain that I am going to explode. I’ve been tightly coiled with anxious energy ever since I woke up, and now it’s taking all of my focus just to sit still. And I couldn’t even explain what’s wrong, because I truly have no idea. It’s not as if anything particularly bad has happened today. It’s been busy, sure, and somewhat stressful, and someone said something particularly nasty to George at lunchtime, but all of that just constitutes a regular day for the Junior Pinkertons. Perhaps if we’d had Games today I would have been able to expel some of this ridiculous energy, but no such luck.
And now we’re in Prep and I’m slightly concerned I might start crying. All day I’ve been wishing for silence, because absolutely everything has been way too loud, but now I’ve got it the silence of the hall is horribly oppressive. I’m finding it a little difficult to breathe.
Next to me, George is bent over his homework in the same way I should be. He’s been giving me worried glances all day, so I clearly haven’t been hiding my strange mood as much as I would have liked to, but he’s yet to mention it.
I’m staring at my books too, but I don’t think I’ve taken any information in for at least five minutes. I certainly haven’t turned a page in that time.
This is apparently the last straw for George, who looks up from his work and asks me, very quietly so we don’t disturb the hall monitor,
“Alex, what on earth is the matter?”
I try not to flinch but I think something must have shown in my face because George gives me a sympathetic look.
“General bad day?” he mouths, and I nod. He looks to where my fingers are tapping rapidly against the desk, and then looks back at me and points to my wrist.
“Where’s your band?” he asks, still silently.
Ah yes, another source of my distress. There’d usually be a rubber band around my wrist that I could fiddle with on days like today. Unfortunately, I left it on my bedside table this morning and it’s been frustrating me all day.
I explain as much to George, who nods sympathetically. He has his own band for similar purposes, so I believe he might be the only person who understands how upsetting it can be to not have it when I need it. He looks thoughtfully at his own wrist, and I realise what he’s thinking right as he slips the rubber loop over his hand.
“No, don’t worry – ” I start to protest, but he’s already holding it out towards me.
“You can borrow mine,” whispers George
I want to refuse it, because I know how important it is that George has that play with. But I also know that he wouldn’t offer it if he didn’t really mean it – George Mukherjee does not do false politeness, especially not with me. I take the band from him and slip it onto my own wrist, and immediately the familiar sensation comforts me slightly. I ping it against my skin as quietly as I can, and relish in the quiet snap it makes. I can already feel some of the tension leaving my body. I give George a grateful smile, and he returns it with a small grin of his own before turning back to his work.
The tension does not fade completely, and I doubt it will until we are back in our dorm room and I can crawl into George’s bed once the other boys are asleep, but as I twist the rubber back and forth I feel calmer than I have all day.