OOM: Motion

[argyle_princess]

She got up early this morning, even by her morning person standards. This is not, perhaps, all that remarkable. She hasn't been sleeping well, and so she didn't get up at 5:00 AM so much as she gave up on getting back to sleep at 5:00 AM.

Then again, all things considered, perhaps it truly is remarkable. She got up. Made the bed.

She ran, a little further and a little harder than most mornings, but not much. Came home. Showered. Surprised the hell out of her mother by making breakfast -- coffee and toast and scrambled eggs with cheese and salsa.

Surprised her mother and herself by eating all of it.

She got dressed, fixed her hair, put on make-up. Put her (completed, and very accurate) assignments in her bag. Went to school.

She still feels, though, like she's moving through some kind of thick, clinging, toxic fog.

But at least she's moving.

One foot in front of the other.

"Hannah! Hannah? Wait up."

It takes her a moment to process that that means stop walking. But she does.

"Hey, didn't you hear me calling you?" Sam Keith asks, catching up her finally. And then he looks more closely at her. "You okay?"

"Sorry," she says. "Yeah, I'm . . . just a lot on my mind. What can I do for you, Sam?"

"Nothing, really. You're kind of one of, like, three people at this school whose name I know. Trying to say my hellos when I can. So, um, hello."

"Hello," she says, managing a faint smile for him. "Just three people? Who else have you met?"

"Oh, I've met a lot of people," he says. "I just don't know their names. It's all kind of a sea of faces. I did meet Amber," he adds. "She made an impression."

"Yeah, I bet she did."

"Nice girl," Sam says. "Sweet, you know? Charming. I just wish she was a little less stand-offish."

Hannah stares at him, wondering if he's gone insane. Or if she has. Or if possibly the whole world has.

"That was a joke," he says.

"Oh," says Hannah. "Well, that makes more sense, then."

"Are you sure you're okay?"

("I really should tell you 'well enough' one of these evenings. And let you wonder.")

"I'm as okay as I'm gonna get," Hannah says.

". . . all right." He looks like he wants to ask what's going on, but he doesn't, and she's glad.

"You should know more than three people," Hannah says, shifting the focus of the conversation back to him. And she remembers the mild panic of knowing no one's name when they all know yours. Remembers, too, the sort of relentless good will and cheerfulness with which Hilary marched her around, introducing people, providing common interests, dragging her roommate into life at a new school.

This, Hannah thinks, is her chance for karma or paying it forward or random acts of kindess or something.

More importantly, it's Something To Do.

"Do you play any sports?" she asks. He looks like the sort who does. Probably had varsity letters and everything at his other school.

"Basketball and soccer. Why?"

"I'm trying to think who you should know. Our basketball team kind of sucks. Star player graduated last year, and there's no heir apparent. But the soccer team's good. Have you met Geoff Adams? He'll probably be the captain next year."

"I don't think so," Sam says. "But like I said, it's possible I've just forgotten his name."

"Well, you should know Geoff. He's just a good person to know. One of the genuinely nice ones."

"Okay," Sam says. "So is he like your boyfriend or something?"

("Commodore Lyon, where is my boyfriend?)

"Hannah?"

"Sorry. No. Geoff and I are old friends, but that's all. Well, techinically, we went out for like four days in sixth grade."

"Yeah? What happened on day five?"

"I decided to hold out for Justin Timberlake," says Hannah. "That's Geoff, over there. And that's his girlfriend, Emily Conlin - some people call her 'Em,' but don't call her 'Emmy' unless you can out run her."

"What do you call her?"

"Em, mostly," says Hannah. "Emmy, sometimes."

"But you just said--"

"I can outrun her," says Hannah. "Come on, I'll introduce you."

One foot in front of the other, across the courtyard.

All forward motion counts.