My heart dances in my chest as I grip the cup but it’s too late.

The book is drenched in water, and it’s no longer speaking to me in my head.

Instead, I can hear my mom downstairs, calling my name. So I make a quick decision.

I shake the water off my hands, put the glass on the table, and run out the hallway, yelling from the top of the staircase.

“Come eat dinner,” my mom yells.

“I’ll come down in a bit,” I yell back.

I run back into my room, and then panic, not knowing what to do. The book is now on my desk chair instead of on the desk where I left it. I question if it wanted to make itself comfortable, but tell myself not to think too hard about it. I pick it up, and it’s not wet, but I wasn’t gone long enough for it to dry.

I decide to go eat dinner and not stress myself out.

When I return it’s now on my bed.

Wai.

It’s thirsty again, and this time I quickly grab the half-full cup of water still on my desk, and pour it onto the book, just to see what happens. Not a drop of water touches the floor or my bed as it’s sucked into the book. It becomes more rigid, and the leather doesn’t look as worn as before. I don’t know what to do with it, so I put it in my pink backpack, flung into the corner when I came home, and try to forget about it.

It’s probably more comfortable in the bag anyway.

----------------------------------------

My hair is messy and I’m grumpy when I get to school. I couldn’t sleep well, and I almost missed the bus, yelling for the bus to stop and heaving. Molly thinks it’s funny and pesters me as we go to her locker.

“Why are you so tired,” she asks me.

“Just stress,” I mumble.

“Just stress?”

“I dunno.”

We stop at her locker, and she turns the dial quickly and jerks it open, as it’s old and clunky, her daily fight won.

Molly leans close to me and whispers quietly. She’s already pretty hard to hear with her voice almost lost, and she repeats it several times until I hear her.

“Its a guy, isn’t it,” she asks.

“What! No!”

“It’s okay, its okay, I won’t tell anyone,” she reassures me.

“It’s not a guy!”

Molly pauses for a moment and stares into space.

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“Are you coming out,” she asks loudly.

Everyone in the hallway stares and I can feel my body shrink under the stare of many people.

“No,” I mumble.

A soft ding dong ding goes off from the speakers, and we bolt to Algebra class while everyone else in the hallway scatters like roaches. We run all the way there, and slide ride into the room, right before our teacher closes the door and glares at us.

We always talk in class so I speed walk away, trying not to get in trouble again. I just take the seat all the way in the back, next to Molly, our favorite seat. When I open my backpack I realize that I forgot my textbook.

I also realize that I left the thirsty book inside my bag as well.

I go pale, my body shivers, and Molly taps my shoulder.

“We can just share, it's ok,” she says.

“You’re the best,” I sigh.

“I know.”

“Shut up,” I say with a laugh.

While learning about whatever a hypotenuse is, I can’t focus. I remember that I forgot to check if I made the swim team. There’s a thirsty book in my backpack. My Algebra teacher, Mr. Langley doesn’t like me.

More what ifs swirl in my head and no information is retained.

I quickly leave class once the ding dong ding sound echoes through class, the cue for our next class. This time I go to my locker, take some books and take out the weird one. I put it in the locker but then pause.

What if it just moves itself to a different spot in the school, like how it did in my room?

So I just put it back in my backpack, hoping that nothing else happens for the day.

I get to English on time, and as I’m preparing for an essay, the book talks again.

Wai. Wai. Wai.

I try to ignore it, but soon it's screaming in my head so my right-hand shoots up like its on fire. My English teacher lets me out once I say I have to go to the bathroom, but instead, I go to the closest water fountain so the book can stop screaming in my head.

Thankfully no one is in the hallway, so I press the water fountain’s button and drench the book in water, and it’s finally quiet.

“Are you done,” I ask.

It doesn’t reply.

I assume it needs longer so it won’t complain the rest of the day, and at that moment, someone turns the corner and stops. I look like a raccoon that got caught digging through the trash in the middle of the night, with my hair messy, hunched over the small water fountain.

The guy staring at me has dark red hair, freckles decorating his face, and a confused expression. I’d never seen him before and it was so weird because our school isn’t big at all, I recognize everyone.

Who is this guy?

He scrunches his mouth and his nose flares in disgust.

“Why are you washing your old ass book in the water fountain,” he asks.

I don’t have a good answer, and I just start opening and closing my mouth like a fish, still hunched over the fountain. He quickly grabs the book out of my hand as I protest.

“Stop, don’t touch it,” I yell.

“Why not, you’re being gross,” he shouts back.

I shush him as we might get in trouble in the hallway, but he quickly hands it back to me, when he hears it speaking.

I’m done.

The book finally says something other than complaining about the food, but it’s at the worst time when someone else is holding him. I guess he can hear it too by his reaction and quickly runs away, no longer upset but now afraid.

“Be quiet,” I shush the book.

No.

It says nothing else and I groan, worried about what new rumor would swirl around our small school.