Grey Waters

28: Kennedy

I get two new assignments by the end of class and by the time I walk out of the building I'm already panicking about how I'm going to do them. I have my laptop and all my books and stuff, it's not that that's the issue, it's my focusing and obsession with getting things right.

I can't work of things while I'm at Greyson's because it's not my place. I can't just go around lighting candles and listening to The Office or Harry Potter at a volume that probably messes with my focus more than helps it. I also can't pace while I read over things 12 times.

I'm half way across the road when a horn honks so loud and for so long that I slap my hands over my ears and squeeze my eyes closed. Then I remember that I'm standing in the middle of the road that a car was just honking in and my eyes fly open as I spin in a circle, making sure I'm not going to get hit my a bus like Regina George.

The horn goes off for the second time and my sixth sense that I didn't know I even had until right now tells me Greyson will be sitting in his truck, directly behind me, with his window rolled down and his hand on the horn.

Sure enough, there he is, honking for the third time, and glaring at me.

My eyes widen to the point of pain as I walk towards him, looking around to see how many people are witnessing this right now.

My stomach drops to the 7th level of hell when I spot a group of people by the entrance to a different building staring at us, one of them even pointing.

When I'm close enough to the truck for Greyson to hear me, I say the first thing that comes to mind.

"Shut the fuck up or I'll cry right here, right now."

Greyson's hand hovers over the horn and I stop in my tracks as it presses down.

He never presses it though, and I let out a breath I definitely knew I was holding.

I walk around to the passenger door and pull it open, all the time glaring at Greyson and cursing him silently for bringing so much attention to us.

Greyson's not looking at me, but for some reason I know he's aware of everything I do as I throw my bag in the back and plug in my phone.

"What's wrong with you?" I slowly turn to him, mouth hanging open.

"What's wrong with me? Are you kidding me? Greyson you just honked for like five minutes instead of just yelling out the window 'hey Kennedy, hope you had a good class, now I see you walked by the truck just now, but you should get in because I'm here to pick you up.' Would that have been so hard?"

The look he gives me tells me not only was my impression not funny, but he'd also rather cut out his liver than say those words.

"You looked dazed while you walked right in front of my truck and barely glanced either way before walking into the street. Now what's wrong?" He hasn't started driving yet, in fact he hasn't even started the truck, instead he's turned around, rifling through the backseat, looking really pretty while—just kidding he's ugly.

His hand comes back with two sandwiches in Starbucks wrapping, and he drops them into my lap.

"You can tell me what's wrong while you eat. We have to stop by the police station after we go to your apartment, pick up some paperwork."

I stare at the food in my lap while he starts the truck and I'm still staring at them five minutes later when we pull into my apartment buildings parking lot.

"You got me food?" I regret the way I say it right away, because it's probably just rubbing my low opinion of him in my face, but I didn't think before I said it.