Eight.

It was eight at night when Madison finally sent me a text back:

>> Hi! I am so so so sorry if I worried you, I’m so sick today ~ I’ve just been sleeeeeping and sleeeeeping. But I will definitely be better by Monday and we can finish our assignment early or even get some more sources if we really want to impress Mrs. Hancock!! I bet we get the best grade in the entire class!! :D Ten bucks says so. I can get my homework Monday but thank you for offering so much I appreciate it!! <3

It’s a text, Madison, not the Gettysburg Address.

<< Get well soon

By Saturday morning, I had read Madison’s text at least a hundred times. There was something hidden in it. Just like her smile, it was a code to be broken. I finally had an honest, readable sample of her words. But no matter how I looked at it, it didn’t make sense. Something was off…

After noon, I sent another one. I needed more words to work with.

<< Feeling better?

I didn’t get a reply until the following day, at four in the afternoon. I think maybe Madison didn’t understand how texting worked.

>> A lot better~ I had soup and stayed in bed and watched tons of TV shows!! I’ll be at school tomorrow and we can finish our project then. Don’t worry!!

This time, it only took me ten minutes. Something clicked. It was the way she told me not to worry. She said something about worrying me in the first message, too. And suddenly, like that, it all made sense.

<< I’m not worried about the paper. I’m worried about you.

The reply came in less than fifteen seconds.

>> Please don’t I’m fine

<< I don’t believe you

>> I really am fine though I am feeling a lot better today I’ll see you tomorrow

<< You aren’t convincing

That was the last I heard of Madison that weekend. On Monday, I thought everything would just go back to normal. But I’d done something irreversible, something I immediately regretted. Something, sometime later, I wouldn’t regret one bit.

In Biology, Madison wasn’t waiting at my desk. She was leafing through her book at her spot by the window. I sat in the back and checked my phone, wondering if perhaps she had texted me back after all. She hadn’t.

Class started. Mrs. Hancock was talking about our last exam for the semester - it would be the Friday before Christmas vacation. I kept forgetting to pay attention, trapped in an endless staring contest with the curls on the back of Madison’s head. After a moment, I realized what I was doing, shook my head, and gave my attention to the front of the room. A minute later, the cycle would start again.

At the sound of the bell, I gathered my books and hurried to the front of the room. Madison was talking to the brunette girl with the hair clips.

“I haven’t seen it yet but I sooooo want to! You know there’s a book?”

The brunette stared with an open mouth. “You haven’t read the book yet?!”

“I didn’t know there was a book until yesterday!”

“You absolutely have to read the book before you see the movie.”

“Whaaaat?” Madison whined. “No, that will take forever!”

“Excuse me, uh…”

The brunette looked up at me and flashed a courtesy smile. Courtesy smiles aren’t like Madison’s smile. Courtesy smiles are meant to be seen through. They are polite, not sincere. Madison’s smiles are sincere: an honest attempt at reality, falling short.

“Project talk?” The brunette asked. “Sounds boring anyway.” She waved goodbye to Madison and joined the crowd of fleeing students. I pulled my backpack up my shoulder.

“Do you want to get together at lunch time, or…”

“Whenever is fine,” Madison said flatly. What little decoding I had done with Madison’s tones and inflections were shattered in that moment. I’d never heard her sound like that before…

“Well we can meet at my place again?” I suggested.

“It’s almost done anyway. We can just do it later.”

Later? I stared down at her, but her eyes weren’t on me. She looked at the door, the last remnants of students pushing their way through.

“I thought we were going to finish it up today? You said…”

“You’re not worried about it anyway, right?” It wasn’t only the words that caught me off guard, but the way she said them. Under her breath, hard consonants, pointed and sharp. I didn’t understand…

“I…”

“I gotta go.”

And like that, Madison Bell was gone. Had she been there at all?