Blame The Weeds (gxg)

9

Every breath Luke took was one I could take, too. As we sat on either end of his bed, I ran my eyes over my function notes again. I had one test left, so I had one last chance to boost my average or let it fall. I was standing near the edge of a cliff, rope in hand, as something heavy hung at the bottom. Sometimes when I lost focus, the weight would drop a bit. My bloody palms only had to hang on for ten more days.

"Can I—" Luke cleared the hoarseness from his throat. He pointed to my mess of papers all over his blue comforter.

"My calculus notes?" I asked, half confused, half embarrassed. They were even more chaotic than my mind. When he nodded, I chose a page about limits and offered it in the space between us. He took it like it was a thousand years old and made of gold-inlaid papyrus. Curiously, I watched as he scanned it. His eyes narrowed here, widened there, but eventually, his jaw set and he gave it back.

"What's wrong?" I asked. Luke fingered a hole in the thigh of his sweats, the ones he wore daily. His pale hair fell into his eyes as he avoided my question. "Luke?"

"They want me back in school. They fight because of me," he said. I'd heard it, too. So did the entire neighbourhood.

"Maybe it would be good," I said. "I have a feeling I'll be there too. I can help you and you can help me."

"Would you want to go back to tenth grade as a seventeen-year-old who hasn't been around other people in two years? To have everyone stare and point and talk? To be so stupid and dull because you forgot everything you ever learned?"

I flinched.

"I can't do it," he said, "and I don't care."

I stared at the word sinusoidal written on my paper. Then I grabbed my dull pencil and traced it. Over and over and over again. It reminded me of Freya, the pencil. She'd gifted me his as I continued to break mine in English, even when it was on purpose.

"No one can make you go," I said, poking the pencil through the paper. It pierced the comforter beneath. "They can't force you."

A cold, hard laugh came from Luke's throat. "That's naïve, even for you."

Ida appeared in the doorway with her salt-and-pepper hair pulled into a tight bun and a professional grey jacket and skirt on her frame. She picked a piece of lint off her sleeve and said,

"Time to go," before promptly retreating.

I collected my papers and shoved them into my bag. When I swung it onto my back, I straightened. Luke was still staring at the hole in the fabric.

"I'll see you tomorrow," I said. He didn't bother to look up, so I left. When I made it downstairs, Ida was waiting at the open door, one hand on the handle, one foot tapping the hardwood.

"How are his appointments?" I inquired. Ida gestured out into the sun.

"No need to concern yourself with that."

"Has he made any progress with Doctor Wayne?"

"Those are private family matters. Now, if you'd excuse us." She smiled tightly and waited for me to leave. I bent down to fix one of my running shoes, then stood to my full height. I was about her level, even with her heels. Her face was sharp as a crow, brows pulled back, skin wrinkled in the wrong places, and a nose like a long blade.  I hiked my bag up on my shoulder.

"You look like hell," I said before promptly stepping onto the steps. The slamming door blew wind at my back, so I began to walk down the lawn. I smirked at my ability to rile her. I wouldn't lie down yet. I was a little Venus flytrap waiting and waiting and waiting. The smirk on my lips was fleeting as I collided with something—Rue, and a tray full of cupcakes. She stumbled back and a few fell off the platter, smearing bright yellow frosting on the grass.