Blame Gravity

Chapter 23

After the last class, in detention, I study, and don't even look at James, who is also there. The teacher (the gym teacher) is asleep, and it's living chaos, everyone is prepared for when the teacher wakes up to sit back in their seats and make it seem like nothing happened. Everyone is talking in hushed voices and throwing paper airplanes at each other. I sigh, frustrated. Why does everyone in this school always act like they're still in middle school? I hate this. I want to go home.

I feel a tap on my shoulder. I sigh and shake my head. I am not going to turn around. I feel another tap, but I shrug it off. The third tap actually hurts, that's how hard it is, and I turn around. 

"What?!" I whisper-yell, and I see James' grinning face.

"You seem frustrated." He's smiling like an idiot. Because he is. He is an idiot.

I sigh. "Oh, wow, Detective Miller. Your genius is frightening." I turn back to my schoolwork, but I feel another tap. "Leave me alone!" I whisper-yell.

He snorts and looks into my eye. "No. I will not be leaving you alone. You wanna know why?"

I shake my head. "I don't."

He tells me anyway. Asshole. "Because I have no one to talk to. Everyone is busy acting like 5-year-olds, so I can't talk to them, and I also can't focus on my homework in this environment." He leans back in his chair and looks away. I can't help but blush. He looks pretty good like this. "So, will you talk to me?"

"No." I turn back to my homework, and I hear an annoyingly loud laugh behind me. I  hate him so much. I turn back to him. "You're the worst human being on the face of this planet," I spit.

"Aw, that's the nicest thing you've said to me! You're so kind, Canmore, way too kind," he smiles. 

I sigh, roll my eyes, and turn back to my work. He leaves me alone for the rest of detention. Good.

After detention, I turn to James. 

"We never did the pitch... and so Ms. Rodriguez will probably make us present it tomorrow... so we should, like, go through it one more time, maybe," I suggest.

He smiles and nods. "Sure. My place?"

I nod, and we go to his car.

We fight the whole way there, and when we finally arrive at his house, he throws the keys on the table, shakes off his shoes, and gestures me to come with him while running up to his room. When we're there, he rips a picture off the wall and shoves it in my face.

"See, this is the Dead Sea. It's one of the saltiest things on Earth. Only second to you."

I smile spitefully and push the photo away. I look around. "Why do you have so many pictures on the wall, anyway?"

He shrugs and puts the image back on the wall. "I dunno. I want to travel, y'know?" He sits down on his bed. "I want to see the world. All of it. I want to travel around and try different dishes and do dumb things with my friends. I want to experience things. And most of all," He looks at me, smiling. "I want to get as far away from you as possible."

I gently smack him on the head. "You're such an idiot."

He bursts out laughing. "And you're incredibly easy to mess with. I love it." He stands up and starts looking for the notepad we wrote the pitch on. When he finds it, we start practicing it. 

When I mess up, he starts laughing, and I decide to be the bigger person and ignore him. This happens a few more times before I finally have enough and smack him on the head.

"Don't slap me, damn it!" he says, but he can't stop laughing.

"Don't laugh, damn it!" I say, mocking his voice, and I start over the pitch. But he can't stop laughing, and finally, he slumps down on the pouf, trying to contain his laughter.

"It's impossible to work with you," he laughs. "You're so tense and serious. You're no fun."

"Well, work shouldn't be fun," I spit and turn back to the window, where we stood in the first place.

"Yes it should," he frowns. "That's kind of the point. We learn because we like learning."

"No. I learn because I am expected to do well in school and because I have the ability and recourses to manage those expectations." I get the strange sense he's staring at me, more specifically my behind, and although I'm not sure if this sense is correct, I sit down on the other orange pouf.

"That's kind of sad," he says, seeming serious and lost in thought, studying me with that strange type of questioning and curious look he has. 

"Yes, well, I think it's sad that I can't remember when I asked for your opinion." I turn back to the notebook and I hear his idiotic laugh.

"You know, it's not a good insult if you use it every time it applies to the situation. It gets boring."

"Again, I didn't ask." I look at him. He's looking back at me, smiling mischievously, and when our eyes lock, his smile slowly disappears, only to turn into something that expresses a strange form of longing. I can't quite grasp what it is.

After a while of just looking at each other, he suddenly stands up, saying "You should go. We've practiced enough," while sighing. 

I frown, but I nod because I agree. We have practiced enough. I stand up, and he drives me home. He's quite kind from that perspective. 

When we arrive at my house, we kind of just stay next to each other, silent, not wanting to leave each other's presence and at the same time wanting to leave. 

"Will you tell me why you got detention, finally?" I whisper, and I look at him. He does not return my gaze.

"No." He turns to the window and rubs his forehead.

"Tell me," I say softly, and I come closer, cornering him in his seat.

He turns toward me and rushedly glances at my lips. I only then notice how close we are, but I wouldn't pull away for a million dollars. I mean, for a million dollars I'd do it, but like, it's an expression, okay?! I look into his eyes, and it's hard not to get lost in them.

"Don't do this," he whispers. "Don't do this to me."

"Do what?" We're speaking quietly, almost soundlessly, like two kids during a test, careful that no one hears us but also looking in each other's eyes in full intensity.

"This. Don't give me false hope." With that, he clears his throat and turns away. I frown. What does he mean? "Goodnight, Canmore."

He wants me to leave? Well, I won't complain. I bite the inside of my cheek. "Goodnight," I say, making sure to sound offended, to hurt him, to make him feel bad. I step out of the car and close the door aggressively so that its sound echoes through the street. I don't look back as I walk up to the door, except for when he drives away. I look after him. What did he mean? What kind of false hope is he talking about? I don't get it.