what we do best

part two

I knew it wouldn't be long until Mrs. Allen caught on to the fact that I wasn't trying, and I probably never would. She keeps me after class one day. It's a brisk day out and I'm itching to get out of this god forsaken building.

"Oliver, I have some concerns involving your work ethic," Mrs. Allen starts. She blabbers on, and I try to maintain eye contact when there's a tap at the door.

A lanky boy with dusty brown hair enters, clutching a stack of papers. His cheeks are flushed as if he'd just finished a marathon, and he places the papers gently on her desk.

"I got them done as soon as I could, Mrs. Allen," the boy seems rather proud of himself and even flashes me a quick smile.

"Thank you, Mr. Luthers. See Oliver, you could learn a little something from him," Mrs. Allen waves the thick packet around like a flag. "You're dismissed."

I begin in the direction of the main entrance when I hear footsteps gather behind me. Christ. Here we go.

"Hey," It's the boy from approximately 3 minutes earlier. "Where're you going?"

I keep my eyes trained ahead of me. "Out."

"You can't just leave in the middle of the day. Is it your lunch period?" He touches my arm with uncertainty, as if I were to break under the slightest touch.

I nod.

"C'mon," He nods towards the hallway, and for some reason, I follow him. "What's your name?"

"Oliver. Ollie, not Oliver," I shake my head. "Yours?"

"Tristan. Tris," His eyes are like a swamp green. Kind of an ugly color, but suiting with his hair. Instead of the cafeteria, Tristan opens the door to the outdoor tables only the seniors are allowed at.

"Are you a senior?" I ask.

"No. Junior. I transferred at the beginning of the year. But it's not like the security guards know we're not seniors. C'mon, it'll be fine."

It's cold and windy today, so it's just me and this strange boy I've never met at picnic tables in the courtyard of the shittiest public school in America.

"So," Tris begins to unpack his lunch. "Tell me about yourself."

"Um, okay. I'm sixteen. A junior. I'll be seventeen in January. I live with my Dad and my nine-year-old sister." I study his lunch. A bag of chips and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with a note on top. I swear. A freaking note.

"Hm. What about your mom?" He bites into his sandwich. I guess I'm taken aback. Not because it's an offensive question, just because I've known this kid for about 15 minutes, and he already knows more about me than most.

"Oh. She died in labor with my sister," I sip from my water bottle, a reflex when I feel my cheeks getting hot.

"Okay. So, Ollie-Not-Oliver, what do you do for fun?" He inspects his bag of chips before popping it open.

"Not a lot. You?"

"Same. Maybe we should do not a lot together. What do you say, Ollie?" He extends his hand for me to take.

I grip it with everything I have. "Okay, Tris."

+++

Tris convinces me to stay the rest of the day. When you go to school for the full six hours, you learn a lot about the second half of the day.

The boys' locker room is exactly how I'd remembered it from the minimal times I had made it to gym. Lots of shirtless boys and dick jokes. But I don't remember Tristan being there. He bounds over to me.

"Hey, Ollie. You stayed," There's a hint of a smile in his voice.

"I didn't know you were in my gym class," I wonder if I can remember the combination to my gym locker.

"You have to lift your head up and look around every once in a while," He tilts my chin up and laughs. "C'mon, get changed."

Tristan stands in front of his locker and carefully undresses. Thin, white scars trace along his forearms. He watches me watch him.

"Do you know where your locker is?"

I shake my head.

"It doesn't really matter. Mr. Jensen lets you play even if you don't have your clothes. He's, like, the most depressed man I've ever met. You could probably kill a guy in front of him and he wouldn't care," Tris laughs at his own joke and tosses on a shirt. "Just take your sweatshirt off and push your hair back and it'll look like you're trying."

Tristan runs his hand through my hair and strategically places every strand. A group of boys whistle from across the room and Tris flips up his middle finger. He sighs.

"Boys. So encased in their own masculinity. Let's go," He pulls his hand away from my head and I notice sparkles on his pinkie finger. I grab his wrist before he turns to go into the gym.

"Pretty," I tell him, inspecting the clear, sparkly nail polish that coats his fingers.

"Oh, thanks," He smiles. Tristan's hand lingers a little longer than it has to before he bounces away.

+++

After gym, Tris offers to walk me home. I let him, because I'm sure he wants to get that pity feeling off his chest. I stop a block from my house.

"This is where I wait for my sister. You can leave. If you want, I mean," Having a friend is weird.

"I'll stay. It must get awful lonely," He sits on the curb and motions for me to sit next to him. A little while later, Zoey's bus pulls up.

"Hey, Zo. This is Tristan. My friend," I suddenly feel dizzy.

"Pleased to meet you, Zoey," Tristan greets my sister.

"Hi," Zoey gives him a small smile and shakes his hand.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Ollie," Tris touches my elbow and his eyes soften when he looks at me. He grabs his backpack and walks the other way.