Upside Down(3)

It was pointless.

I sighed and sank back in my seat, but I still couldn’t look away from his profile. He was so intriguing, gorgeous in an unconventional kind of way, even from this angle. The line of his neck, his jaw, his temple, his cheek.

And that was when I noticed. It wasn’t the light from outside the bus playing with the light of his face, it was a tear. A motherfucking tear.

He was crying.

My Headphones Guy was crying. Actual tears. Silent, heartbreaking tears.

He didn’t wipe them away. He just sat there and let them fall, and so help me God, that made it worse.

And the noise fell away as though it was me wearing the noise-cancelling headphones. The chatter, the traffic, all became silent, and I wondered what on earth had happened to hurt him in such a way?

I wanted to ask him if he was okay. I wanted to reach out and tell him everything would be fine.

Of course, I couldn’t. I couldn’t exactly call out to a stranger on the other side of a crowded bus and ask if he was okay, could I? Well, I could, but not without drawing the attention of every passenger, and my Headphones Guy couldn’t hear me anyway because he had his headphones on. Then, before I could do or say anything, the bus turned onto Cleveland Street and he shook his head, wiped his cheeks, and glanced around to see if anyone had noticed.

Of course I had.

He stood and hurried off the bus. He didn’t look up, he never did. He kept his head down, kept his headphones on, and the bus pulled away.





“You look terrible.” Merry frowned as she studied me. “You’re not stressing about tonight, are you? You’ll be fine, Jordan,” she said, squeezing my hand. “You might even be surprised how much you enjoy it.”

“No, it’s not that,” I replied, uncurling my scarf from around my neck and opening my locker. Truth be told, I hadn’t thought anymore about our plans for tonight.

“What is it?” She was more concerned now.

“My guy,” I started, but then immediately felt foolish for calling him my anything. “You know, Headphones Guy. He was crying on the bus yesterday.”

“Crying?”

I nodded. “Not sobbing. Just staring out the window while silent tears rolled down his cheeks.”

“With his headphones on?”

“Always.”

“Wow.”

“I know, right? And so of course, I spent the entire night wondering what happened. I could barely sleep.”

“If it’s any consolation, your red shoes and scarf match your bloodshot eyes really well.”

I sighed. “I’m not thanking you for that. That was not a compliment and I refuse to reward inflammatory behaviour.”

“I meant it as a compliment.”

I looked around dramatically. “Alexa? Alexa, what is a compliment? Merry needs a refresher.”

“Alexa isn’t connected here,” Merry replied. Then she smiled and held up her phone and pretended to examine my face. “Siri, what are some beauty tips for exceedingly large bags under bloodshot eyes?”

I pursed my lips at her. “Siri, what is a bitch?”

Merry laughed and put her phone into her pocket. “I was joking, Jordan.”

“Then your delivery needs work.”

Merry smiled. “Coffee first?”

“Yes, please.” I groaned and threw my messenger bag into my locker and locked it. I held my foot up. “But seriously, would you look at these fucking shoes? Are they just not everything?” They were red suede desert boots.

“They’re gorgeous.”

I bumped her hip with mine as we walked toward the kitchenette. “Of course they are.”

“Maybe his grandpa died.”

“What?”

“Headphones Guy. Maybe that was why he was crying.”

I sighed and took my cup from the cupboard. I looked inside it to double check it was clean and that no one had used it, then proceeded to make my third cup of coffee for the morning. “Maybe. Or maybe he lost a priceless art piece and the insurer did a number on him but there was a double-cross and—”

“You watched The Thomas Crown Affair last night too?”

I nodded and added a dash of skim milk to my coffee. “Pierce Brosnan is kinda dreamy.”

“I’m still catching the bus with you to your place this arvo, right?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Then I’m going to say something to him when we get on the bus this afternoon.”

“Who? Pierce Brosnan?”

“No, you idiot. Headphones Guy.”

I was positively stricken. “You absolutely will not!”

“I absolutely will too,” she replied, smiling evilly as she stirred her coffee. “I’ll get a name so at least we can stop calling him Headphones Guy. And find out what he actually does so you don’t have to keep making up the weirdest jobs ever.”

“If you do, I’ll be so embarrassed I’ll be forced to quit and move and join the witness protection program.”

Merry stared at me. “Siri, what is an overreaction?”

“Siri, don’t answer that, so help me fucking God.”

“Jordan,” Mrs Mullhearn chided me from across the staffroom, not even glancing up from her iPad. She was two hundred years old and was the scary librarian from every school kid’s nightmares. “What have we said about using the f-word?”