Trying

Chapter Six

"Garret and I are just friends," I blurt defensively, then look back at my paper. Laura purposely ignored my attempt at escape, and pressed on.

"Really? From the way he talks about you, it doesn't sound like that."

I hate myself for getting my hopes up, again. Garret doesn't like me like that. He also isn't the best person, morally. I'm so stupid to love him.

"We spent a lot of time together before," I manage to spit out, and I can sense the satisfaction Laura feels at my response. We both know I would never be accepted into Garret's crowd. "We're not that close anymore." It hurts to say it, even though I know it's the truth. Maybe if I was still close with Garret I could've seen his rejection before falling too hard.

"I don't need a sob story. I was just wondering," Laura snaps, returning to her blank page and resuming work. And suddenly I hate everyone in the world again, because everyone is guilty of the same emotional manipulation that Laura just pulled. Humans have to be born like that. There's no way someone could learn so much evil.

By the end of the day I'm exhausted. I had just finished with my first draft when my phone buzzed. Iain was calling.

"Hello?" I answered, rubbing my temples like movies had taught me.

"Hey, coworker," Iain greeted in return. I was too tired to realize the significance of what he had called me.

"What?"

"I talked with Ms. Piper, and she switched the pairings around for me. Which weeknights do you have free?"

Now it was sinking in. "Wait, what? Iain, you asked to be my partner?"

"Volunteered, but yes."

"Thank you," I whispered in shock, mostly amazed that Ms. Piper had listened.

"It's for your sake as well as mine. I saw how Laura was treating you, and I couldn't stand it. Why are human beings so consistently let-downs?"

"I suppose the concept is more appealing than the reality." I adjusted on my bed, pulling a pillow behind my neck for comfort.

"The concept?"

"Of human interaction. I'm sure the creator of earth, God or whatever, never intended for us to be so acutely mean-spirited."

"I'm not so sure all humans are mean-spirited. Everyone screws up once and awhile. Even I am not perfect."

"There's the arrogance I just love about you." The other line is silent for a minute, but it's a comfortable silence. A reveling-in-each-others-presence silence.

"I like talking to you," Iain compliments, and I'm glad he isn't here to tease me about how my eyebrows react. Damn. How do you react to compliments?

"Okay."

Why am I such an idiot.

"I'd say 'okay' back, but I'm pretty sure that's plagiarism," Iain replied, and suddenly I'm laughing, brushing off the incident.

"So when and where are we working on the book?" Iain says after the laughter's died.

"I can do any night. The library?"

Public libraries are my secret sanctuary. I spend days there in the Summer, and at least an hour a week during the school year. My house is only a few blocks from this magical brick building, so I walk on sunny days and run on rainy ones.

"The public one? Sure. Six to eight tomorrow?" I'm momentarily awed by his knowledge of library closing times before remembering this was Iain. Of course he knows when the library's open; he's a giant nerd.

"See you there." I don't want the conversation to end, and I think he can hear it in my voice.

"Wait," he stops my thumb's journey to the 'end call' button. "Quick question for character development reasons. What color are your eyes?"

I chuckle silently before replying. "Brown."

"Light brown like pond water or dark drown like planting soil?"

"Should I just send you a picture?" Iain was ridiculously specific with this kind of thing.

"Pic for pic?" Iain asked, and I could hear his mocking grin.

"Okay. One second." I close out of the phone call and pull up the camera.

Like most of my peers, when I open the front camera I flinch at my reflection. My face is narrow and pale, save for the speckles of red breakouts. Yes, I am insecure about my face, because that's just a societal insecurity. Never have I met someone whom claims they have a perfect face.

My eyes are beautiful, though. There's something about eyes. No one looks in the mirror and goes, "I hate my eyes." That's ridiculous. The shape can't be 'wrong'. Every possible color the irises could be is perfectly hued. Eyelashes have some sort of appeal, no matter the length of thickness. And eyelids are too soft and gentle to be ugly. (This has been my over-analysis of eyes.)

I took a quick picture and cropped it, then sent that to Iain. He sends me a pair of beautifully brown eyes, too. His are darker than mine, but they are the same kind of brown for the most part. He also has little flecks of golden brown scattered around the pupils, like his eyes couldn't decide if they wanted to be dark or light. It's strangely intimate, how we're both zoomed in on a collection of pixels resembling each other's eyes. I feel close to him, even if we are in two separate houses. My phone buzzes a text alert.

I'm describing them as 'brown like hot chocolate on a cold day'.

That's so overused. Your eyes are like the space around stars, the space that's still shining, but mostly dark.

Yeah, well not everyone can be a good writer like you, Emily.

Try harder.

Brown like new tree bark

I'm blushing a little as I pull the covers higher. It's only nine, but this day has been overly emotional for me, so I let my eyelids close.

Perfect.

Goodnight Emily.

Goodnight Iain.