the sermon is a total blur. i’m sitting on one of those cheap metal chairs under the big tent, staring at the pulpit. the preacher is talking about grace or whatever, but my head isn't in it. honestly, i'm just trying to keep it together. my right wrist is throbbing like crazy under the wrap. i sprained it a few days ago, and the dull ache is the only thing keeping me grounded. if i don't focus on the pain, my brain goes straight to greg. he’s sitting two rows up, slightly to the left. i don't need to look at him to know he's there. i can feel his presence like it’s taking up all the air. it’s not that he’s doing anything; he’s just sitting there, calm and level, which just makes me more irritated. i shouldn't be this aware of him. i shouldn't be counting the inches between our seats, wondering why the back of his neck looks so cute while my blood is basically boiling. i shift, trying to get comfortable, but nothing works. i just wish i wasn't here, or at least not sitting under the same tent. i want to be listening, i really do, but i’m just annoyed. why is he always in my peripheral? why does just breathing the same air make me want to bolt? i hate that he's a variable i can't control. i hate that just being near him feels like a test i'm failing. i try to focus on the preacher, but my mind is a mess. just get through the service, i tell myself. the closing song starts and everyone stands up. i push myself up, but i accidentally put my weight on my bad hand. shit. a sharp jolt of pain shocks my wrist. i gasp, losing my balance, heart jolting. before i can fall, a firm hand grabs my elbow. it’s him. i know that grip. he doesn't say a word, just holds me steady for a second until i find my feet. his face is neutral, eyes just tracking the wrap on my wrist. my chest tightens. a part of me feels warm that he’s looking out for me, but that just makes me furious. i don't want his help. i don't want his touch. i jerk my arm away from him, my eyes are full of hurt and anger. "i've got it," i hiss, turning my back so he doesn't see my face. greg just nods, his big hands and callused fingers open wide, as if he's saying that he comes in peace. he steps back into the aisle, like i didn't just snap at him. the service ends and everyone starts filing out, laughing and talking. the rows are emptying out, leaving the two of us alone in the tent. he starts walking toward the stack of chairs, and i know the drill. it’s our turn. we’re on cleanup duty. i force myself to walk over there, my wrist still throbbing. it’s time to start. i reach out, grabbing them and slowly trying to stack them but man, this is more difficult than i expected.