Will & Indie

13.

People will let you down

Time & time again,

But moving on is the only medicine that heals

Will didn't grab a lunch tray; he immediately sat at his usual spot in the cafeteria and pulled out his notebook. His head was spinning as he wrote and scribbled, wrote and scribbled, wrote and scribbled some more. He couldn't fathom presenting any of the things he wrote in front of the jocks and the preps and the witty; it made him feel too exposed. He didn't want to show the pieces of himself that no one knew existed. There was a reason they hadn't ever seen that side of him—to keep Will from getting slammed against a locker for being a "sissy."

James, Forrest and Edward filed into their usual seats, treading lightly around the artist at work. None of them were brave enough to be the first to speak to Will, and, considering his current state, it made sense.

"Ahem..." James took a large bite of his burger, chewing thoughtfully (and loudly). "So... are y'all coming to the game on Friday?"

"Nah, dad and I are sighting in our rifles on Friday." Forrest replied as he dipped a depressingly wobbly french fry in ketchup.

"What about you, hacker?" James pointed at Eddie from across the table. Eddie grimaced at the nickname usage.

"Not a chance," Eddie shook his head. "I'll be hacking into the mainframe that night, anyhow. I'm swamped." He rolled his eyes, but no one noticed.

"Hey, twinkle toes," James tapped Will on the shoulder, but Will didn't even budge. "Hello?"

Will looked up from his writing frenzy, turning to James. "I'm sorry, are you talking to me?"

James took a swig of his milk. "I mean... who else would I call that?"

Will pressed his lips together, trying to remain calm. "First of all, never interrupt a poet when he's in the middle of a stanza," Will clicked his pen a few times. "And secondly, your little nicknames have kinda gotten under my skin lately."

James laughed awkwardly, tugging at the edges of his letterman jacket. "No, dude, I'm just messin' around. These guys understand."

James didn't get any backup from Forrest or Edward, who were both conveniently looking in different directions.

"Look, James, I know you can be a good guy sometimes. We all have our bad moments, but... you sure do seem to have a lot of them." Will cleared his throat.

"Um... I don't get what you mean." James raised a brow.

"That's alright." Will took a deep breath in. He wanted so badly to take out all his anger on James at that moment, but he knew that would most likely result in some kind of convoluted argument that led to a nonsense fistfight—and Will knew that his strength lied in his pen, not his forearms. "I'm not gonna start an argument with you, because I still consider you a friend, even if you don't always treat me like one." Will shifted in his seat. "I just have to ask you one question."

James already looked disappointed in himself. "What's that?" He asked, barely glancing at Will as he spoke.

Will sighed. "Did you or did you not read the contents of my notebook?" He asked as he held up the leather-bound book.

James swallowed hard, but remained silent through it all. He began to stammer, but Will held up a hand to silence him.

"Save it. That's all I needed to know." Will nodded. He displayed a gentle smile to his counterparts. "Gentlemen, I shall take my leave. I don't think my services are required here any longer."