BLUE LIPS [[klance 2]]

keith.

my first class of the day is pre-calculus.

under normal circumstances, i would be absolutely furious at the fact that i have to attend pre-calc at eight thirty in the morning, listening to some professor drone on about the angle of asymptotes. but these aren't exactly normal circumstances - i haven't been in a public school for so long i'm almost (disgustingly) excited.

except this would-be excitement has dissolved nearly completely into anxiety. i can almost say i missed the telltale squeak of sneakers on linoleum, the buzzing of fluorescent lights, or the strangely specific smell of the school cafeteria. if i was coming back the same way i had left, i don't think i'd be anxious at all. but i'm not (coming back the way i left, i mean), so as i brave the hallways i feel less like a student and more like an intruding stranger with a sticky note titled "stare at me" stuck to his back.

when adam and shiro dropped me off, i thought shiro was gonna have a coronary right then and there in the parking lot. he was paler then i probably am now, and seemed sensitive enough to the glances we were getting that i spent enough time consoling him that i didn't have to think about how nervous i was.

but he and adam aren't with me now - they bid their goodbyes barely five minutes ago - and i'm on floor one facing a sea of sweaty, tired teenagers, hustling and bustling through the locker-lined corridors. their constant conversation rolls and swells, so i get snippets here and there as people flit back and forth with their backpacks bouncing.

i spare a brief glance at my phone, feeling my heart thunder in my chest, louder then it usually is. my palms are slippery and my face is abnormally warm, but if i keep a constant mantra of this is fine going on in my head, i won't have the brainspace to worry about people staring at me.

i have my class schedule open on my phone. and there it is, same as it was when i checked three seconds ago:

pre-calc, davis. room #a31, floor 2.

i grimace.

in my other hand, i'm gripping the blue, laminated card that the lady in the office gave me when we checked in to make sure all my paperwork was finished. 

"it's for the elevator," she told me.

now i've just gotta find the elevator.

before making my way through the sea of students, i wedge the card between my thigh and the armrest. i'm lowkey terrified i'll drop something and have to ask some passerby to pick it up for me. my goal? don't talk to people unless i have to. the most i can hope for is this year passing as smoothly as possible. this can't happen if i either became the token kid in a wheelchair that everybody fawns over (gag), or the token kid in the wheelchair that gets taunted every second of every day (not gag, but still undesirable.) 

with fingers that are still slippery from nervous sweat, i anxiously rub the top of the joystick before making my way through the sea of students.

i'm already getting glances, which figures. but nobody's talking to me, instead just staring, which is good, i guess?

i find the elevator pretty easily. it's at the end of the hall to the right, and after jabbing the button i have to wait for the elevator to sink into place. when the doors open, somebody comes out. it's a broad-shouldered, tall-as-hell guy, definitely an athlete judging by his build and the letterman jacket he wears. he's also wearing a cast and crutches; last game didn't go so well, i'm guessing. he stares at me thoughtlessly as i go past him and hit the button for the second floor.

you'd think i'm painted head to toe in neon red paint, i think tiredly.

while the elevator takes it's sweet, sweet time, i spare yet another nervous glance at my phone. i want the day to be over already so i can text lance. we were gonna make plans about when to see each other next - he hates when i stop by the hospital, for reasons i can't discern.