How It Ends by Catherine Lo (classic books for 13 year olds .TXT) 📕

I’d like to explain some things about Jessie that might make you understand her a little better.”

“So . . . so you’re not mad at me?”

“Mad at you? Of course not. Did you think I brought you here to lecture you about the fight?”

I shrug and try to swallow the lump in my throat. “I thought you might be disappointed in me.”

“I was sorry to hear that you and Jessie fought, but I’m not disappointed in you at all. In fact, I think I probably understand where some of the tension between the two of you is coming from.”

She tells me about how Jessie had a kind of breakdown in seventh grade after everything fell apart with Courtney and Larissa. Jess started having panic attacks and refused to go to school. Things got so bad that her parents had to take her to a doctor, and that’s how they found out that she was depressed and that she has an anxiety disorder.

“Jessie’s social anxiety makes her see judgments from other people even when there are none,” Mrs. Avery explains. “She gets fixated on all the negative things people might think about her, and then she has trouble sorting out whether her fears are realistic or not.”

“So that’s why she’s always so worried about what Courtney and Larissa think.” I breathe a sigh of relief. “I thought she was just being paranoid. They apologized, and we were all trying to convince her to move on, but she just couldn’t let go of the idea that they hate her.”

It all makes so much sense now: Jess feeling like every status update and comment is about her, how she doesn’t like to go to parties or hang out at the mall, and how she hides away in her room all the time. “I feel terrible,” I tell Mrs. Avery. “I wouldn’t have been so hard on her if I’d known.”

“It’s not your fault, Annie,” she says, pulling a collection of books and pamphlets out of her bag and placing them on the table between us. “I can imagine it must be confusing for you sometimes, trying to wrap your head around her reactions to things. I was hoping that if you took a look at some information about anxiety, it might help you understand her better. I know how close you and Jessie are, and it pains me to think that her anxiety might come between you.”

“Of course,” I tell her, sliding the books over closer to me. “I just . . . why didn’t she tell me? We’re supposed to be friends.”

“Oh, Annie, you are friends. And your opinion means more to Jessie than you could possibly understand. I think she was worried that you might see her differently. She was afraid of complicating things between you.”

That makes sense, I guess, but I’m still disappointed. “I’m glad you told me.”

“Me too . . . I think. I’ve taken a risk, trusting you with this, but I think you’re a very trustworthy person. Jessie wouldn’t be happy if she knew I’d interfered, and she’d be devastated if this got out. I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t tell her—or anyone else—about this conversation.”

“I won’t,” I promise.

On the drive back to my house, my mind is in overdrive trying to work through everything Mrs. Avery told me. I can’t stop thinking about our fight and how I got so mad at Jess just for being who she is. I was such a hypocrite, expecting her to make allowances for Courtney’s personality when I wasn’t doing the same for her. An idea starts to take shape in my mind. I can’t change the way Jessie sees things, but maybe I can change the things she sees.

When Mrs. Avery drops me off at home, I slip inside the front door and stash the books she gave me in the closet. I peer out the window and wait for her to drive away before sneaking back out and rushing down the street to Courtney’s house.

I’m on Court’s front porch before I realize I need to slow down and figure out what the hell I’m going to say. Obviously, I can’t tell her about Jessie’s anxiety, so how am I going to convince her to cut Jess some slack?

I’m pacing the porch and muttering ideas to myself when Courtney whips open the door and scares the shit out of me.

“Are you having some kind of psychotic episode out here?” she snaps.

“Oh my God, you scared me,” I yelp, nearly jumping out of my skin.

“I scared you? I was about to call 911 before I recognized you.” She grabs my sleeve and yanks me inside. “What’s with the talking to yourself?”

I shrug and follow her into her room. “I was just trying to figure out how to talk to you about something.”

“No, I will not go out with you,” she deadpans, flopping down on her bed. “Does that answer your question?”

“Funny. No.”

“Well, spit it out, then.”

“So . . . you know how Jessie hasn’t been eating with us anymore—”

“Oh, Jesus Christ, Annie,” she groans. “We’re not really going to have another Jessie talk, are we?”

I run my hands through my hair. “No. Well, yes. But this is different.”

“I doubt that,” she mutters, picking up the remote and turning on her TV.

Clearly I should have rehearsed more.

I step between Court and the television. “Listen,” I say in my best don’t-fuck-with-me voice. “I found out some stuff today, and things have got to change.”

Courtney smirks, and I see red. “I’m serious, Court.” I grab the remote out of her hand and flick off the television before hurling the remote onto her bed for effect. I must whip it harder than I thought, because it bounces off and sails right through her open window.

Our eyes meet in shocked silence, and then we both race to look outside. The remote is just out of reach, stuck in a patch of snow on the roof below.

“Well, that’s just fucking great,” Court says. “Any other weird shit you want to pull