Truth, Lies, and the Space Inbetween

Chapter Twelve

The following Monday was awkward to say the least. I didn't tell anyone, I couldn't. A rumour would start and blow it out of proportion. And besides, I was working incredibly hard to pretend it didn't even happen. That was particularly hard, considering it was all I could think about.

I didn't even tell Bree - she had called me and asked how it went on Saturday, and I replied as casually as I could. On Monday, no one seemed to sense anything off about me, even in bio. Xavier continued to give me cute smiles throughout class, and I just kept feeling guilty.

In art it was tense. Hunter sat next to me, we had to work together, and I was trying so hard to ignore him. But I could just sense him beside me, the air between us static with I don't even know what.

About halfway through the lesson, after me successfully and pointedly ignoring Hunter, I felt a hand on my thigh. Watching the front of the class, I shoved it off and went back to listening to the teacher's lecture about painting techniques.

A few minutes later, it happened again. This time I shot him a glare as I violently forced his hand away. An infuriating smirk played on his features, watching the front of the classroom like he wasn't doing anything.

The third time, instead of sparing him a glance, I stomped on his foot as hard as I could. The teacher looked over at the sound of his pained groan, asking "is everything alright over there?" with a raised eyebrow.

I smiled angelically. "Yeah, peachy, sir".

I could feel Hunter's eyes burning a hole in my head, but he muttered a "Yeah".

Turning away with a suspicious look, he continued his lesson.

***

Just before the end of the lesson, he did it again. Thankfully, it was just as the bell went, so I could stand up abruptly, shove his smirking self out of the way, and storm out of the class. And that's exactly what I did.

I made my way down the hall to my locker, wrenching it open and throwing my sketchbook in, taking out my maths book and slamming it shut. I took a deep breath, trying to calm down slightly.

"Hey", I heard from beside me, and turned to see Xavier leaning against the locker next to mine.

"Hey", I reply, forcing a smile onto my face. He didn't seem to notice it was fake.

"I'm really sorry I had to leave early on Saturday", he apologises again, sidling closer to put his hand gently on my arm.

"Its fine", I say, "we got some stuff done and managed to not kill each other".

Just made out. My subconscious chimes and I make an effort to squash it before it can make a bigger mess of things.

"That's good", he smiles. "Mum said he chased you though? Something to do with paint on faces?" he questions. There's a hint of curiosity in his tone, and something else I can't quite place.

"Uh, yeah", I laugh, "there was an incident where he wouldn't stay on his side of the canvas and ended up painting on my face accidentally and I painted on his, then he tried to catch me to do I don't know what and yeah I ran". There was a look of concern on his face, and the soothing movement of his hand along my arm stopped, so I added, "I apologised, then got my stuff and left. No biggie". I shrug to emphasise my point.

He visibly relaxes, a look of - relief? - crossing his face. "I thought he'd have... Well I don't know. But it wouldn't have been good".