Chapter 6 You again....
I watch him head into the classroom, the door swinging shut behind him.....then stopping, left slightly open. Like some small, intentional cruelty. A few more students rush in after him, backpacks thumping, and then the bell goes.
I stall. I don’t know what I’m waiting for....courage, maybe, or permission I’m not going to get. After a beat, I move closer and stop just outside the door. I just stand there, like I belong to the space between decisions.
From this angle, all I can see is the middle of the classroom. Rows of desks and slouched shoulders, a girl twirling a pen. I can’t see Ryan, and the disappointment hits sharper than it should, but then I hear him. His voice cuts through everything. It washes over me, and I close my eyes for half a second like I’m bracing against a wave.
“Alright,” he says, calm but amused. “Ethan....if I recall correctly, you promised you’d actually read ahead this time and bless us all with your insights.”
There’s a ripple of chuckles. His tone is light and teasing, not unkind. A boy groans. “I said I’d try,” he replies, stretching the word like it might save him. “And technically, I did read. I just didn’t emotionally connect with the material.”
Laughter breaks out, louder this time.
Ryan hums. “Ah. A tragic lack of emotional chemistry with the text. We’ll have to address that. Go on, then. Just one thought. Surprise me.”
I lean my shoulder into the wall, listening like this matters more than it should. Like this is something I need. His voice steadies something that’s been off-kilter for months. This is him quietly in control. This is what everyone else gets to see. And I’m just out here, invisible, my heart pounding, hanging onto every word like it’s proof he’s real.
“I think,” Ethan says, voice a little too loud, a little too confident, “...it’s mostly about Holden being angry at everything. Like, adults, school, society. He’s just mad.”
There’s a pause, then, “Angry is part of it,” Ryan says evenly. “But that’s where you stopped last time too, Ethan. And you promised you’d bring something more specific today.”
A few low laughs ripple through the room.
Ethan exhales. “I mean, he hates fake people. He thinks everyone’s lying all the time.”
Ryan hums. “Better.” A beat. “Anyone else want to jump in?”
I shift closer to the door as hands shoot up....half the class, eager and impatient.
“Maya, go ahead.”
“I think he’s lonely,” the girl says. “Like, he keeps pushing people away, but he’s also constantly looking for someone to talk to.”
“Very good,” Ryan commends, and something in his tone makes it sound like he means it. I picture him gesturing again. “Lucas.”
“I think he’s scared of growing up. The whole catcher thing, it’s not really about kids. It’s about him not wanting to be an adult.”
“Exactly,” Ryan says. “ Very good.”
I finally catch him then....his shoulder, his profile as he moves down the aisle, book in hand. He stops near the back, turns to face them all. “Holden talks about phoniness like it’s the disease,” he says. “But what he’s really afraid of is loss. Innocence, certainty, the idea that once you grow up, you don’t get to believe things so purely anymore.”
He paces slowly, voice controlled and intimate. “He calls everyone phony, but he’s constantly performing. The sarcasm, the detachment, the exaggeration....it’s all armor. He’s not rejecting the world. He’s bracing himself against it. And he wants to be the catcher because it gives him a role. A purpose. Save the children, and maybe he doesn’t have to look at the fact that no one saved him.”
My throat goes tight.
“Cynicism can look like intelligence,” he continues, softer now. “But a lot of the time, it’s grief in disguise. It’s easier to call the world fake than to admit you wanted it to be real.”
He glances up, and for a split second, I think he might see me.
A reckless, foolish part of me wants him to. Wants him to lock eyes with me and know I’m here, tracing him without permission, drawn like iron to magnet. There’s a gravity about him I can’t name, a pull that digs under my ribs, twists through my blood, drags my thoughts along for the ride. It isn’t just attraction, it’s something older, a tether I didn’t know I had until now, and it courses through me in a way I can’t resist.
“Holden keeps saying he hates people, but notice how often he reaches for them anyway. Phone calls. Conversations with strangers. Old teachers. That contradiction matters. People who truly don’t care don’t keep reaching out. And that’s why he resonates as a character,” Ryan finishes. “Not because he’s right. But because he’s honest about how much it hurts to care.”
I neither move nor breathe. I just stand there, listening. A silence falls across the classroom, and it’s almost chilling, so much so that I feel it. I have no clue what book they’re discussing, no idea what the story’s even about, and yet I’m caught. Hooked. Pulled in by the rhythm of his voice, the way he shapes his words, the weight in the pauses, the depth behind every sentence. It’s magnetic....inescapable. I’m a victim, and I know it.
He says they’ll continue reading from where they left off, warning that he’ll randomly pick students to read aloud so everyone should stay alert. My grip tightens on the book in my hand.
Then a new voice cuts through the quiet from down the hall. “Excuse me, do you need help with something? What are you doing out here?”
I turn sharply, and a woman strides toward me, skirt suit, posture rigid, sharp eyes fixed on me. Stern doesn’t begin to cover it.
I quickly glance back into the classroom. Ryan’s eyes flick toward the door, trying to catch sight of what’s going on. I know they heard that, and I take a cautious step back, heart thudding, wondering how the hell I’m going to explain myself.
She strides up to where I’m standing, her heels clicking sharply against the floor. She’s all skepticism, arms crossed, gaze drilling into me. “You don’t work here,” she says flatly. “Are you a parent? A guardian? Because if you want to get in touch with a teacher, there’s a proper way to do it. You can’t just—”
I swallow hard and turn toward the door, trying to think fast. For lack of anything better, I lift the book and gesture with it toward the doorway. “I’m a friend of Ryan Ashbrook’s. I need to urgently give something back to him.”
Her eyes narrow. “A friend of Ryan's?”
I nod, lying through every damn nerve in my body. “Yeah, I am.”
And just then, the door opens.... and there he is.
Ryan.
The instant our gazes lock, the world tilts. Shock flickers across his face, confusion trailing right behind it. His brow arches, his mouth parts slightly, and for a heartbeat, he looks utterly unmoored....like he’s been caught between disbelief and something darker. I realize I’m completely undone by that look.
His voice is a mix of shock and disbelief. “What’s....how....It’s you again.”
I turn to him, tilting my head just slightly, and let a small, easy smile curl across my face. “Yeah,” I say, “Guess I just couldn't stay away.”