class of 2013 ✓

15 | positive regard

Something I couldn't quite put my finger on shifted in the atmosphere between us during that car ride.

Every little thing he did, I am hyperaware of it. From his slight nose twitches to the furrowing of his brow, I backlogged those moments into the back of my mind, afraid that if I lost focus that the memory of him would fade away forever.

And I am hyperaware of my own movements, too. Here, next to him, I am sitting rigidly. Just in case he happened to glance over, I wanted him to know that nothing's changed, but we were somehow on rockier terms.

I couldn't pinpoint the source of the change either. He's still the same boy with the shaggy hair and vertical scar on his brow that I've known literally forever.

Perhaps it was all in my head.

The vehicle quietly zooms down the road to my neighborhood that's dimly lit by craning streetlights. With the windows ajar, the warm night breeze blows through my hair and tinges my skin pink.

Unfortunately, Blaise double parks in front of my house sooner than I'd like.

Awkwardly, I clear my throat, collecting my bag from the space between my right leg and the car door. "Thanks for the ride. I appreciate it."

He shrugs. "It's no big deal, really. Don't mention it."

Hastily, I unbuckle my seatbelt and slam the door shut on my way out. The headlights blind me as I round the front.

"Remiya wait!" he calls once I'm a step away from the sidewalk.

Firmly gripping the strap of my backpack, I turn my head, puzzled. He's looking at me, the window fully opened this time, and his head is resting on his arms crossed over the sill. A sly grin forms on his face, which is framed with disheveled locks of black hair. I've never noticed it before—which is silly because I've been in so many classes with him since kindergarten—but the corner of one of his ears is somewhat pointed like an elf.

Probably because I haven't really paid that much attention to him before. At least, not like this.

I swallow. "Yeah?"

A pause where the two of us are just staring at each other. He opens his mouth to say something but decides against it. "Nothing. Good night."

"Night," I reply, trudging up the cement steps. The porch light flickers on from my motion, and I unlock the door.

He doesn't drive off right away, but once I'm inside, I hear the engine start. Through the window in the living room, I watch his car drive down the street and around a corner.

Quite ungracefully, I kick off my sneakers and set them onto the wired rack.

Step by step, I slowly ascend up the stairway, the beige carpet tickling the soles of my feet. Down the pitch-black hallway, I manage to navigate myself to my room, which has been left open.

In desperate need of a shower, I dig through my drawers, only to be met with the bare wood of the bottom, scratching my chin when I realize there are no clean clothes left. At least, not comfortable ones. I suppose that's what I deserve for putting off doing the laundry for weeks.

My pastel green hamper is filled to the brim with T-shirts and jeans. Now that I think about it, my whole room could use some cleaning too. On my desk, there are papers stacked messily that need to be filed away and pens laying everywhere. These past few days, I haven't even bothered to vacuum or dust, so all the surfaces are dirty. It's weird because I'm usually a neat freak.

With a sigh, I decide it'll be best if I just borrow one of Aria's pajama sets for tonight, and I'll actually start tidying things up tomorrow when I'm more awake.