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Anxiety is a bitch.
Virgil got diagnosed with it 8 years ago, so he’s used to it, but sometimes it just really sucks. Anxiety is a toxic friend who just won’t leave him alone. There is no lost love between Virgil and his rude roommate who doesn’t even pay rent.
Virgil thought he had his anxiety under control. Famous last words.
He absolutely did not have it under control. How did he know this? Because fucking Martin Addison had recorded a video of Virgil having a panic attack after school. The entire student body has seen the video. They already don’t like him. That’s fine. Virgil can deal with withering looks, he can just glare right back. He and the rest of his peers have a great relationship; he hates them, they hate him. It works.
But now, now everything will be ruined. Now he won’t just get the withering looks, he’ll get the pitiful looks.
Virgil can’t deal with pity. Virgil hates pity. He hates the way teachers look at him when they find out about his dad or his anxiety. He hates the way his mom looks at him when she asks him if he’s going out with friends, and he says no like he always does.
Pity takes away Virgil’s humanity. He’s no longer a complex human being, with feelings. He’s not seen as a fighter anymore. He’s reduced to a broken victim, someone who needs to be fixed.
Fuck that.
His mom knocks on his door.
“Virgil, sweetheart, you ready for school?”
He grabs his backpack and opens the door.
“Yeah, just let me put my shoes on.”
“Great.” She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. Virgil knows she’s seen the video.
He sighs and goes to pick out his shoes.
The choice between combat boots and sneakers is an easy one. Combat boots make him seem scary, and they make him feel confident. Virgil is really good at murder walking. It’s one of his many talents.
He laces up the purple laces eyelet by eyelet and pulls them so tight that it almost hurts. Whenever he’s feeling really stressed, he’ll lace his boots too tight. The uncomfortable feeling grounds him.
He leaves his room, grabs a granola bar from their near-empty pantry, and follows his mom out of the apartment.
When they get in his mom's beat-up blue car, they’re both silent. Virgil’s mom stares straight out at the road, and Virgil has a sudden fascination with the glove box. The tension is so thick that it could be cut with a knife.
Virgil wants to call his mom out on it, but he doesn’t have the heart.
When they pull up at Evaren High School, Virgil goes to open the passenger door, but before he can, his mom finally looks at him.
“I love you sweetheart, have a good day ok?”
Some of Virgil’s anger towards his mother fades. She’s trying.
“I love you too mom.” He closes the door to her car and starts towards school.
When Virgil gets to the top of the steps the door to his school looms over him. Every part of him is screaming to run. If he goes inside that building everyone will stare at him. Teachers will hold him back after class and pretend to care about how he’s doing. The school might even hold a mental health assembly.
It’s not safe.
Virgil can feel himself start to freak out, but he forces himself to take a deep breath. The only thing worse than having one public panic attack is having a second one.
Don’t let the bastards see you cry, that’s what his dad always said. It was from his favorite book.
Virgil will not let a class of overrated future gas station workers break him. Spite never fails to motivate him.
So he holds his head up high, blasts his playlist, and opens the doors.
When he enters the hallway, you could’ve heard a pin drop. People are doing the thing they are so good at where they stare at him when they think he’s not looking.
Virgil bites his lip to stop the tears and walks to his locker. On autopilot, he grabs the books he needs and heads to his first-period class.
It’s just as terrible as he thought it would be. The stares of his fellow students burn into his neck. The content of his math teacher’s lesson goes in one ear and out the next.
Today Virgil hates being right. His teacher asks him to hang back after class.
It takes all his willpower not to scream.
“Virgil I know you’re going through a…” the teacher scratches the back of his neck, trying to find the right word to say “I know you had a panic attack it went viral” without saying “I know you had a panic attack it went viral”.
“I know you’re going through a… tough time recently, so if there’s anything I can do to help you, please let me know.”
Virgil stares blankly at him. “I’m fine.” The words are like a reflex.
His teacher squirms, “Oh OK. I’m glad. Uh, I’ll write you a late pass.” Virgil nods his thanks and leaves.
The next four classes are a repeat of his first-class. By lunch, he’s about to murder someone and has four late passes in his pockets.
He walks as fast as humanly possible to his table. The one he sits at alone, in the upper left corner of the cafeteria.
Before his panic attack, he was invisible. People left him alone.
Now they start bothering him before he can even take his lunch out.
“Hey, Virgin!”
Don’t Respond.
“Do we make you scared?”
“Are you going to start shaking?”
“Ruin your dumb makeup?”
“Have another anxiety attack?”
I’ll show what an anxiety attack looks like. Me, a person with anxiety, beating your dumb face in.
Virgil doesn’t say anything about that. He just stares down at his sandwich and tries not to move.
He doesn’t know how much more of this he can take.
Before he can do anything, Logan Knight sits down adjacent to him and starts talking about astrophysics.
Everyone at the table is confused, but Virgil needs something to focus on so he starts to listen to Logan.
The way Logan talks about space is absolutely mesmerizing. With every sentence Vigil can hear the passion Logan feels for the stars.
The bullies shout at the two of them for a little longer before realizing they’re not going to get a reaction out of Virgil.
Logan keeps talking.
The nerds at Evaren High School drive Virgil crazy. He can tell how dead inside they are. He can see how little passion they have for anything. They would sell their souls for a 4.0.
Logan is a sharp contrast to them. Logan feels so alive and so passionate. Virgil kind of wants to listen to him talk forever.
Logan doesn’t treat him like a freak who will shatter at the smallest thing.
When a comfortable silence settles over them, Virgil starts talking.
“Thanks, Logan.”
Logan looks surprised, “Most people don’t like listening to me ramble on about space.”
“I think it’s cool.”
Logan smiles at him.
“Thanks for making them leave.”
Logan scoffs, “All they wanted was attention, they’re just glorified future gas station attendants.”
Virgil laughs, “That’s what I call them.”
“Great minds think alike,” Logan says. He takes another bite of his sandwich.
Virgil can’t hold back the burning question anymore.
“Why’d you sit with me? I’m just the school freak”
Logan flinches at the mention of the word freak, and Virgil freezes. God, you are such an idiot, you’ve already scared of the one person crazy enough to sit with you, Virgil thinks.
But Logan doesn’t leave.
“Well,” Logan says slowly “If I had a panic attack and the whole school found out about it, the only thing I’d want is for someone to treat me normally. I came to the conclusion that you’d find pleasure in the same thing.”
He pauses then adds, “plus I don’t have anyone else to sit with, and I can’t believe I’m saying this, but the library gets a bit boring after three years.” He says it the way the girls at the popular table share that they’ve cheated on their boyfriends.
Virgil smirks and takes another swing of chocolate milk. He has a feeling Logan is gonna stick around.
For the next few weeks, Virgil and Logan sit together. They don’t always talk, but the silence is never uncomfortable. Sometimes Virgil will read while Logan does his AP chemistry homework. Sometimes they’ll trade bizarre facts about the most random things. To anyone else, their relationship would make no sense. For Virgil and Logan, it works.
Virgil didn’t know how much he needed someone to sit with until Logan became a staple at his table.
He wants to do more stuff with Logan, but he doesn’t know if it’s too soon to ask if they can hang out. He doesn’t really have a precedent to look back on. He never thought he would even get this far.
It’s been three weeks and the two of them are dancing around the fact that they both want to make their weird friendship an actual friendship.
But on Saturday when Virgil’s mom has had one too many drinks and fallen asleep, he decides to do something. Quickly, because he knows he’ll stop himself if he doesn’t do it now.
He grabs his phone. Most of his texts with Logan are just about homework, or one of them informing the other that they won’t make it to lunch.
He sends Logan a new message.
9:43 pm, Virgil: wanna hang out ?
He drums his fingers against his leg. This was a bad idea, you’ve crossed a line, he only sees you as a school friend. It’s late, why would he want to hang out now? You’re crazy.
9:46 pm Logan: Yes, that would be satisfactory. What time and location work for you?
9:47 pm Virgil: maybe we could go stargazing i know this awesome park
9:47 pm Logan: Unfortunately I do not have access to a motor vehicle.
9:48 pm Virgil: np I can pick you up, whats ur address
9:48 pm Logan Knight sent you his location.
9:48 pm Virgil: cool also whats ur preferred slushie flavor
9:48 pm Logan: I’m sorry, what?
9:48 pm Virgil: slushies and stargazing Knight, get with the program
9:49 pm Logan: Ah I see, in that case, I am partial to blue raspberry.
9:50 pm Virgil: sweet, ill be at ur place in 15
Virgil can’t believe he just asked Logan to hang out. He can’t believe Logan said yes. Is this what friendship looks like?
Virgil unplugs his phone, grabs his boots and his jacket. He steals his mom’s keys, but she won’t wake up for a while, so surprised he’s not worried about it.
He walks out of his apartment. People are still awake in the neighborhood. It wasn’t the best place to be. There was no coincidence that his mom always seemed to have enough alcohol on hand to get blackout drunk.
He gets in his mom’s broken down car and shuffles his music. It takes a few tries to get the creaky car to start, but he manages.
He doesn’t even need to punch in the directions to the local 7/11. He’s been going there every Friday without fail since he was twelve.
When he gets there, the shop is empty. Which is weird, usually there are a few teenagers hanging around.
Whatever.
He pushes open the door.
“Wow Virgil, I was worried we were going to have to declare bankruptcy when you didn’t show up.”
The sarcasm in Janus’ voice is thick.
“Aw, did you miss me?” Virgil deadpans.
“Terribly.” Janus snarks back.
Janus is a textbook law student. He’s sarcastic, sleep-deprived, and addicted to coffee. Once he told Virgil that he liked his coffee black because when it would burn his throat he knew it was working. Without missing a beat Virgil asked him if he was sure Virgil was the emo nightmare. Janus threatened to unplug the slushie machines, and that shut Virgil up fast.
Virgil walks over to the machines and grabs a medium cup. He fills it to the brim with cherry slush. Then he puts the cap on and fills it a little more.
Then he grabs a second up and fills it with the blue slush. He’s not going to make it a big deal. It doesn’t matter.
He grabs his snickers bar and hesitates before grabbing a pack of sour patch kids for Logan.
He walks up to the register and braces himself for Janus to make a big deal. To be fair, this is probably the most interesting thing that has happened to him during his shift.
“Are you just feeling extra depressed or do you actually have a friend to give frozen sugar to?”
“I plead the fifth.”
“You’re not on trial.”
“Feels like I am.”
Janus just rolls his eyes.
“You didn’t answer the question.”
Virgil sighs, “Fine, the slushy is for someone else.”
Janus smirks, “Well at least they have better taste than you, cherry is disgusting.”
“I thought it was all just frozen sugar.”
Janus ignores him, “Your total is five dollars and eighty-four cents.”
Virgil hands over 6 bucks to Janus and tells him to keep the change. Like always, Janus refuses to keep it. Virgil pockets the sixteen cents.
When he gets in his car he plugs in Logan’s address. As he gets closer and closer to Logan’s house the relaxed feeling he had when he was bantering with Janus fades away and soon Virgil checks all the boxes for anxiety.
Logan’s neighborhood is much nicer than Vigil's. The houses actually have picket fences. The roofs of the houses don’t have missing tiles. There are no sketchy drug dealers or sudden loud noises.
Virgil’s beat-up car feels out of place in a sea of minivans.
He quickly texts Logan.
10:10 pm Virgil: I'm outside ur house
He hears someone shout, “freak” from inside the house. Is that Logan’s dad? Virgil makes a mental note not to use the word around Logan.
After about three minutes of waiting, Logan comes rushing from the door. It’s dark but Virgil can see how much of a wreck Logan is. His hair is frazzled. His glasses are crooked and his tie is loose. He’s a stark contrast from the immaculate student Virgil knows. It’s unnerving.
When Logan pulls open the passenger door, Virgil spots an almost hidden bruise shaped like a hand on his left arm.
A normal person would ask Logan if he’s okay. They would ask about his parents and ask him about the bruise. They would tell Logan that it sucked and probably call CPS. They’d feel bad for Logan. They would pity him.
There’s nothing Virgil and Logan hate more than pity. Logan doesn’t need his empty sympathy, He just needs to be treated normally, and Virgil is more than happy to return the favor.
So Virgil just starts driving, hands Logan his blue slushie, and says, “Don’t let the bastards see you cry.”
Logan takes a long sip of his drink.
Virgil turns up the music, and he swears he can hear Logan tap his foot in time with the rhythm.
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When they get to the park there are no people but there are trillions and trillions of stars.
Logan lights up and he starts rambling on about how stars work, about fusion, and how stars are what brought them here to his park.
Virgil just listens to him and it’s nice. There’s a cool breeze and the air is damp. The bench they're sitting on is smooth and the moon is the only source of light for miles. There are no sounds except for Logan’s steady voice and the calls of the birds up in the trees. The rivers are calm and the slow stream of water adds to the ambiance.
Virgil kind of wishes he could stop time and stay here forever.
But halfway through an explanation about dying stars, Logan stops, and Virgil snaps out of it.
“Do I talk too much?” Logan asks.
“Nah, I like it,” Virgil responds.
Logan scoffs.
“No one likes how much I talk, I act like I know everything, I take up too much space, and I’m irksome.” Logan recites this like it’s a fact he’s heard countless times.
Maybe he has heard it countless times.
“Bullshit. I love listening to you talk.” Virgil says.
“Why?”
“Because when you talk, it’s like you care so much. When you talk about space, your face lights up. You really love it. At school all the other overachievers lost their passion years ago. They do the learning for the numbers. You do it because you love it. It’s infectious.”
Logan smiles sadly.
“My parents think I talk too much.”
“Your parents are stupid.”
Logan nods, but Virgil can tell he doesn’t believe him. Just like no matter what a small part of him will always think he’s to blame for his family falling apart.
“My mom’s an alcoholic.” Virgil blurts out. He doesn’t know why he said that. He was trying to help Logan, not make it all about him. He’s so dumb.
He can’t stop spilling though, “A year after my dad died after he killed himself, my mom got drunk and she said, she said sometimes she wanted to go the same way. Then she passed out. I hid all the knives in the apartment and tried to hide the alcohol. She still keeps finding more. ”
Why can’t he shut up? Logan wanted to hang out and talk about the stars, but instead, he’s listening to Virgil’s dumb problems. He’s never told anyone about his mom. He never planned to. He wanted to keep it deep down in a box, the same place he buried his feelings about his dad.
“It’s unfair that our parents forced us to raise ourselves. You-We didn’t deserve that.” Logan says.
Virgil stares up at the stars, “Don’t let the bastards see you cry.” He whispers.
“Don’t let the bastards see you cry,” Logan whispers back.
It feels like a promise.