Waiting For Us [COMPLETED]

chapter 15 - little Suzy

Talia:

It's finally Friday, and I think I could cry tears of joy.

This week was shitty, and that's an understatement. At least it's the end of the day and I only have art class left. I can definitely last an hour.

I stroll into the art room with my chin held high, trying to convince myself that I'm happy to stay in school for another hour, which is entirely untrue. Reverse psychology is a very difficult process.

Grayson's already seated at the table, deeply emerged in what seams to be endless amounts of electronic paperwork. Is he secretly an office worker? I wouldn't be surprised considering I don't know as much as I think I do about him. Who knew he could be so confusing?

I take my seat across from him and decide it would be polite to say hello. "Hi."

His head remains hunched over his laptop as his eyes scan rapidly through its contents. What could possibly be this interesting that he couldn't hear me?

I decide to try again. "Hello."

"Grayson?" I speak once more, thinking he will respond to his name. Almost like a puppy.

My thoughts turn to be correct. Grayson's head perks up and he looks at me through confused eyes. "Hm?"

"I was just saying hello," I say. A smile threatens to break across my face, but I swallow and hold it back. Clueless Grayson is funny looking, but he doesn't need to know that.

"Mhm, yes, hi," he shortly mumbles before immediately returning to his computer screen. His eyes rapidly move from left to right while he silently mouths the words.

Who knew paperwork could be so interesting? A quick snort of laughter escapes from my mouth. I try to make it appear as if I were coughing by covering my lips with my hand, but Grayson's eyes have already lifted to meet mine without raising his head. His eyebrows knit close together in even more confusion.

"What?" Grayson asks.

I remove my hand from covering my mouth and use it to broadly gesture to his computer. "You're just really focused right now."

Grayson nods his head in understanding and then rubs his eyes. I wonder how late he was working last night, because the dark bags under his eyes are alarming. "Sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry for," I wave off. "So what's got your attention that bad?" I ask, finding that I want to keep the conversation going—even if it means keeping him from his work.

He runs a hand through his hair, causing its dark thick strands to stick up and to the side. My perfectionist side would smooth it out, but I wouldn't want to freak him out. For a guy, his hair looks well taken care of. It's shiny and holds a soft wave without frizz protruding in different directions. He did mention he has three sisters the other night, so maybe they force him to use actual product, instead of the generic five-in-one that all teenage boys seem to use. Gross.