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White Ink (pt.2)
When I get to school the next morning Josh is waiting for me. He’s standing in the same place he always does, leaning against the wall like always, hands in his pockets as he watches the tree-line for me to show up. I smile at this. Just that little gesture makes me feel loved.
“’Morning,” he says when I’m within arms’ reach. He pulls me to him and kisses me briefly.
“’Morning,” I answer and I know I’m blushing from the way he smirks at me.
“How are you?”
The look in his eyes tells me there’s more to that than the simple, standard question. Of course, I haven’t forgotten our conversation last night.
“I’m alright,” I say. Still, he looks at me with a concerned expression, so I add, “I promise. I didn’t do anything.”
I hold out my arms for him to inspect, though we both know that if there were any new marks that isn’t where they’d be. But he seems to accept the gesture. He pulls me into a tight hug and remarks, “You scare me sometimes.”
My only reply is to bury my face in the crook of his neck and wait for him to let me go, because I’m certainly not going to let go first. Fortunately Josh has long ago realized how clingy I can be and releases me.
“Come on,” he says gently. “We should go or we’ll be late. Again.”
I smile at the memory. I know what he’s referring to. That incident always makes me laugh.
My first period class is pre-calculus. If there’s one thing I hate, it’s math. I detest math. Loathe it. Despise it. I don’t think there’s a word strong enough to adequately describe my hatred of math and all things number related. But I’m supposedly one of those smart kids, so I got stuck in a high math class. My decent grades do not merit this.
The only redeeming quality of Mr. Derson’s dull as dirt first period pre-calc class is that I have it with my friend Scot. Scot and I have known each other since the fourth grade. As a result of this, we can pretty much read each other’s minds. Pretty much all one of has to do is just look at the other and we’re on the same page. This comes in handy in classes like this.
Mr. Derson is writing some ridiculously long formula on the board. I honestly think about half the class is asleep already. We’re only fifteen minutes in. I feel Scot poke me in the back and immediately reach around to take the note. We’re next to the wall and he’s sitting behind me because today he’d rather talk than torment our teacher. The old man is so wrapped in the indecipherable formulas he’s scrawling on the overhead that he doesn’t notice anything that goes on in his classroom.
What’s up with Josh? He seemed kind of out of it this morning.
I should mention that Scot knows about me and Josh. Actually, he was the first person I told. His exact response was, “So?” I love that about Scot. Nothing fazes him. He’s cool with pretty much anything.
I frown at the note. Scot knows how Josh and I work. He can read me like a book and he’s almost as good at reading Josh as he is at reading me. He knows what happened without needing to be told.
I called him last night because I couldn’t sleep.
You never sleep. How was this different?
I turn around to scowl at him and he just gives me a look that says “you know I’m right.” Thing is, he is right. And I know I don’t need to explain what happened, because he already has some idea.
Don’t worry. I’m alright.
If you say so.
I know he believes me, but I can still feel him staring at me through the rest of class.
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