Runaway Judas

Chapter IV: Wanna give it a shot?

The second I got to school, I could already feel somewhat welcome by what I once only saw as a husk, inhabited by anonymous mannequins. Maybe it was because I had Joan, Frank and Melanie waiting for me at the entrance, and wouldn't move until I joined in. Immediately I felt Frank's massive hand hit my back, in a friendly pat that still knocked the winds out of my lungs. If I had been wearing slightly taller heels today, then I probably would have fallen over and flattened my face onto the asphalt of the school yard's pavement. But I was still standing and conscious, and I could hear what my gigantic companion had to tell me.

"Well well, if it ain't our little playboy Judas! Leave some for us, eh?"
Frank chanted, crouching down to my height and laughing a hearty chuckle, only to be followed by another comment by Joan, who was holding back a snicker seeing the scene. I could tell since she had covered the lower part of her face under her right hand.

"Don't tease him, maybe he's too shy to admit. Maybe Melanie here can confirm if anything happened for real or if he was just a chicken!"
Joan said in an obviously joking manner, shifting her attention to Melanie. The latter didn't seem to be happy to be in the spotlight, and hid herself in her scarf. I could swear I saw some color appear onto her pale cheeks from the embarrassment. I couldn't see much else though, her hair covered the rest enough for it to be indistinguishable. After that, I shook my head, hoping to clear out the misunderstanding once and for all.

"I told you, we didn't do anything. We were only reading a story."
I told the two again, much to Melanie's delight. She seemed to enjoy it enough to take her face out of her hiding place made of hair and wool, showing us again her cold and expressionless face. Yet I could still see the very slight rose tint on her cheekbones and under her eyes. It was nice to see her somewhat expressive, even if it was those small things. Details are what make us unique, after all. May it be how Frank's mullet seems to have a life of his own when he spoke for more than five words, Joan's slanted eyes that made her almost look as if she was from Asia, or even my own details, such as my thin and light colored eyebrows, which at time makes it seem that I do not have them. And with that thought, we heard the bell ring, and all together we walked inside the building, for another day of mindless writing and listening. Maybe just with a little more anticipation for break times, since now I had someone to talk to. So, the day finished.

While we walked out, Joan and Frank had informed me that they had to study for a test, and so I took the opportunity to walk over to Melanie all alone, finally free from their looks of gossiping and jokes. She noticed me right away. Maybe because of the sound my wooden heels made on the floor, or my cologne, but she still noticed me the second I got within a few meters from her.

"Ah, Melanie. Frank and Joan aren't coming with us today, so if you want, we could continue reading things at the abandoned house."
I asked, not knowing if I wanted a positive or negative answer. If it turned out to be a yes, then I would maybe find more things that would entertain me, alongside spending time with her. If it were to be negative, then I was sure I wouldn't get into trouble at home, and could spend my time researching some more aspects of life I should be paying attention now. Maybe clues about if someone is interested in speaking with me, or how I could convey emotions in my words. It still felt weird to see everyone so emotive, while I was so dull.
I didn't have to wait long to hear her answer. though.

"Sure, I was the one who suggested it after all."
She replied calmly, seemingly ready to go already. I had noticed that she had worn her Doc Martens to school today instead of her Demonias, but I assumed it was because she didn't have time to lace them all up. They always seemed like a hassle to put on and overall looked goofy and impractical, especially when most of the time my parents would compare them to the high platform shoes of the eighties. Yet Melanie somehow moved effortlessly in those shoes. Still, the fact that she was wearing more comfortable shoes was enough to convince me that maybe we wouldn't have to wait since we were both ready. So I called my mother and told her I was going to study at the library.