disconnected // l.h

[seven]

"Agnes?" I ask, tapping my pencil on my desk with a constant rhythm. We sat in the back row of desks in our Creative Writing class whilst the professor graded papers in the front of the room. He had given us our assignment in the beginning of class, and was giving us free time to work on it.

Of course, I have the attention span of a bee, and I was doing everything but the assignment. I could even feel Agnus getting annoyed at me; she sat a few desks away, scribbing along the back of her notebook.

Leaning over, I tried to sneak a peek of her doodles, but her forearm coverred half the paper. I could only make out Calum's name written here and there in calligraphy with hearts surrounding it. "Is that fanart?"

Agnes scoffed, yanking the notebook away from my line of sight, and looked up at me. Her brown eyes were filled with annoyance, and boredom, "What is it, Leena?"

I thought for a moment, and whispered, "What does it mean if a boy doesn't text you back?"

It was a hilariously pathetic question; one that I should not have even bothered with, but I'm sure I was doing the world a favor to try to answer the most obnoxious question we have. Right?

Bottom line, Luke was a terrible texter. Either that, or he just didn't want to talk with me. I find the latter more likely, even though we'd had an interesting conversation the night of Jenna's party. It was Friday now, and I decided that if Blondie really wanted to talk to me, he'd initiate it.

I'm on my last thread of hope. Give me some credit.

"Shouldn't you be asking Calum this?" Her mouth turned up into a smirk as she muttered my best friend's name, and I held back a gag.

"I already have." I confessed, which was true. He was useless, though (aren't all boys, really?), and just shrugged me off. Calum said 'Luke is just being Luke', and I nearly threw him out my window.

"Maybe this boy doesn't want to talk to you? Have you thought of that?" Agnes rolled her eyes, sliding the notebook back into place in front of her and opened it up again.

"I'm really lovin' the sass today, Agnes." I say, pushing the ball of my pen into my thigh with annoyance. "Thanks for your help."

"You're welcome." She smiled, thoughtfully, as if she was an actual pleasant human being.

When she opened her mouth up again, I cut her off, "No, Calum has not asked about you."

"Oh," She sighed, but stood up straighter, "That's not what I was going to ask, anyways. I was going to ask you if you've seen Finn."

I shook my head, "No, I haven't, but for the last time Agnes, he's not going to let you borrow his pocket knife."

"Well, why not!" She yelled out; her voice echoed throughout the classroom, causing several heads to turn in our direction. The professor didn't even look up, but Agnes' face went crimson, and she sank back down into her seat.

Finn hadn't turned up to class today, and I figured he was sick, but I couldn't help but feel disappointed. His presense was what I looked forward to in class, not including Agnes' winning personality, of course.

Turning my chair, I set my elbows on the desk in front of me, staring at my notebook, with a pen gripped between my thumb and forefinger. The assignment was to write about our deepest fears, which didn't seem to hard at first. I heard girls in front of me talking about their phobias of snakes and insects, but the professor had shaken his head.

"Mental fear. Not physical fear. What are you afraid of happening? Do you fear oblivion? Rejection? Something intangeible. Something inevitable. What do you fear?" He'd explained, which sent us all into the spiral of confusion.