Bloodcurse

Stuck

I've never studied as hard as I have since I came to Coolidge Secondary. Some days, it feels like my entire existence is go to class, study, sleep and repeat. The curriculum is impossible, and I have times when I wonder why I'm even attempting to keep up with it.

Next to Max, however, it feels like I've barely put in any effort at all. He's had more panic attacks in the last twenty-four hours than some people have in their whole lives, and yet here he is, sitting at a library desk with a stack of books on either side of him and a notebook in between that he's filling with figures and words as if his life depended on it. I cringe at the thought that in a way, it really does.

There's no telling if he even notices me since he doesn't shift his attention from his work for even a fraction of a second as I sit down opposite him. Waiting until he maybe looks up or says something, I try to see what exactly he's writing down. It looks like gibberish, to be perfectly honest. I can't detect any structure or consensus, and I frown as I keep watching him scribble down seemingly random things as well as a few odd numbers in between.

Eventually, I can't not ask anymore. "What are you even studying for?"

"Everything," Max states simply, and I raise a brow when he doesn't elaborate further.

"What do you mean 'everything'?"

He's visibly annoyed by my interruption but does finally stop writing, tapping the pen against the paper in a hectic rhythm that is frankly quite uncomfortable. "Math, physics, chemistry, history, English and psychology."

My face instantly twists into a slightly disturbed grimace. "At the same time?"

"Yes," he sighs. "I have a system."

"Do you?"

He gives me a deadpan stare. "I am not going to explain it to you. Go away."

I lean forward and rest my elbows on the table. "No."

I think I can actually see Max's soul leave his body as he drops the pen and thins his lips. "I can't concentrate when you are constantly yapping."

"Then stop for five minutes and talk to me."

He huffs. "Why would I want to do that?"

"Oh, I don't know... 'cause you give a shit, even though you pretend not to?"

Max clenches his jaw. "You think you know everything, don't you?"

"No," I say slowly, fixing him with a meaningful look. "That's why I keep asking things."

"And how has that been working out for you?"

"Terribly," I reply, shrugging. "But I'm not a quitter."

"Do you realize the very definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again while expecting different results?"

I smile innocently. "Then why are you still arguing?"

He averts his gaze with a frown, and I think this is the first time I've ever had one over on him in all the times we've spoken to each other. "I don't..."

My smile widens as he struggles to come up with an answer, and I take this opportunity to snatch the top-most paper from his mountain of notes. Max quickly reaches out to grab it from me, but I spring up and step a few feet away, holding it up to the light as I start reading.

The 'system' Max uses looks like a mixture of hieroglyphs and stenography. In other words, it is absolutely unreadable to someone who's never seen it before. Squinting at the paper, I struggle to make out what I'm even seeing here when the page is suddenly yanked out of my hand, revealing Max's severely unamused face.