Passionate Exchange

Chapter Twenty-Four

I walk through the doors to the school and scan the area for Archer almost on instinct. Students shuffle through the hallways like ants scurrying to their colony. Penny gawks at one of the freshmen whose hair is standing on end from all the hair spray. I notice these things but barely.

We wander towards our classes and my eyes jump from one person to the next, praying they don't land on Archer. Let's be honest, he wouldn't be hanging around at the lockers like everyone else. If he did happen to be doing that then he definitely wouldn't blend into the crowd. He sticks out like a sore thumb. Not because of his appearance but because of how he carries himself.

Take the girl to my left, for example, she's clutching onto her pink backpack for dear life, hunched over with her glasses nearly falling off the end of her nose. The boy on my right is hurriedly grabbing things from his locker and stuffing them under his arm. His polished shoes squeak as he shuts it timidly before walking away.

Archer isn't like any of them, he's different. He wouldn't simply shut his locker and leave; he would slam it so hard that students on the other side of the school would hear him. He would stalk away, and people would part for him. He definitely wouldn't be clutching onto his backpack. Why? Well, it's because he doesn't have one. He doesn't care about bringing things to class, he thinks that simply being there is enough. Who cares about writing notes?

I'm certain that none of these students is him but I continue to look anyway. I don't want to see him. I don't want to see him. I don't want to see him. I keep reminding myself of this. I'm only looking so if I do see him, I can hide and make sure that we don't cross paths. That's the only reason.

"What are you doing?" Penny follows my gaze.

My eyes widen as I nearly choke on air. I place my hand over my chest and try to stop the coughs that wrack through me. I've been caught red-handed. "Nothing," I trail off once I regain control of my body, but she doesn't seem to buy it. "What are you doing?" I turn the question on her.

She squeals, instantly forgetting her previous concern, and I know that it worked. I'm in the clear. "I'm thinking that it's almost homecoming!" She looks as if she could jump in the air for joy. I wouldn't be surprised if she did.

"Don't remind me." I roll my eyes lazily.

"Don't you want to go?"

I shrug nonchalantly. "I don't know if I'm feeling up to it."

She gapes at me as if I'm a new species that she's trying to figure out. I see the coils turning behind her eyes and I already know what's coming. I prepare myself for the storm. "You don't want to go to homecoming!" Oh boy. "Are you sick? Do you have a fever? Is that why you're not thinking straight? Do you need to go home and rest because if you do, I can drive you?"

I shake my head, wafting away her questions with my hand. "I just don't feel like celebrating, that's all."

She stops in her tracks, placing her hands on her hips. A few students mutter rude remarks when they have to go around her, but she doesn't notice. "You can't be serious? You can't come here and not go to homecoming. It's practically a rite of passage!" She whisper-shouts.

"I guess I'll have to book the next flight back to London then," she gives me an 'are you serious?' look and I laugh. "I'm joking. Seriously though, I'm still exhausted from Friday. You and Brody were a lot to handle, let me tell you. You were laying on the beer pong table for God knows how long and then you had a water fight on someone's bed. Do you know how tiring it is to do damage control all night long?"

My words cause laughter to rumble through her chest. I'm glad someone's laughing because I definitely wasn't. I didn't find all of the glares that I got that night amusing. "We really don't know how to handle our alcohol." She states.