It's Complicated

Chapter 8: Travis Stanton

I’m sitting in my sixth period class, chemistry, in the small, awkward desk. My elbow is propped on the desk, my hand cupped around my chin. I am careful not to let my hand touch the sore bruise on my cheek. Mrs. Walton is going on about some random tangent that has something to do with the periodic table. I’m not really paying attention anyways. I’m too busy thinking about what happened with Kacey. I hadn’t forgotten her this morning, like I am sure she thought happened. I was running late this morning, and I thought she would have already gotten a ride with someone else. But obviously, I was wrong. And I understand I was out of line earlier. I was just aggravated and I wanted some answers. But, what is stumping me is when she said to let her know when I figured things out. What could she mean by that? My first thought was that she was just aggravated too and wanted to get out of there. But as I think about it, could she have meant to let her know when I figure out that she’s…

When I hear my name, my mind snaps back to the present. I glance around and see that the whole class is looking at me, along with Mrs. Walton.

“Well?” she snaps. She moves some of her short black hair behind her ear. She won’t tell us how old she is, but if I had to guess, I would say in her late fifties. She isn’t the nicest teacher, and she doesn’t look like she would be nice either. Her sharp nose juts out of the center of her face, and her piercing green eyes would scare anybody who she turns them on.

“Um, I’m sorry. What?” I manage to stutter. She rolls her eyes.

“I said, what element’s symbol is W and its atomic number is 74?” she questions me. I stop and think for a minute. 73 is Tantalum, 75 is Rhenium, 74 is…

“It’s Tungsten,” I say with confidence. She nods her head in approval.

“Good,” she says, as she turns her sights on her next victim. “William! What element has an atomic weight of 267?” Rutherfordium. I’m about to retreat back into my mind when I hear Nick say something to me. Sitting on my right side, he leans over.

“Hey, Travis. What’s going on with you today?” he asks me. I shake my head, not wanting to talk right now. “And where’s—” he begins. He snaps back straight when Mrs. Walton glances in our direction. She eyes both of us, especially Nick, and then goes back to interrogating another student. Nick finishes his sentence with, “Kacey?” I glance over at Kacey’s empty chair. After our argument, I guess she left school or something, because I haven’t seen her since the fight.

“Not sure,” I say simply.

“You’re not sure? She’s your girlfriend for Pete’s­—” he stops again as Mrs. Walton says his name.

“Nick, because you obviously like to talk, would you mind telling me how many protons are in Bismuth?” she asks him.

“Yes, I would mind,” he jokes. A few people break out into giggles and snorts. One glare from Mrs. Walton quiets everyone instantly. She turns her glare on him. We all know she will write him up in a heartbeat, considering she’s done it before.

“Eighty three,” he says slowly. Immediately, she turns her gaze on someone else. Nick turns to me and rolls his eyes. Teachers, he mouths to me. Yeah, I mouth back.

The classroom door opens as someone walks in and everyone turns to see who it is. It’s Kacey, her black back pack slung over her shoulder. Her eyes look a little red, but it’s hard to tell because she won’t meet my gaze. My eyes follow her all the way to her seat. She sets down her bag and sits down, not even glancing in my direction.

“Nice of you to join us, Ms. Eton,” Mrs. Walton says as Kacey stands back up to hand her a late pass. My eyes follow her still, but she still doesn’t look at me. I absently drum my fingertips on the desk. She sits back down at her desk and begins to pull out her pencil and binder, absentmindedly tucking some of her blond hair behind her ear.

As Kacey is getting her stuff out, Mrs. Walton says, “Ms. Eton, because you are late, please tell the class what kind of metal Iodine is.” A smile crosses the teacher’s lips. I know it’s a trick question. The question is, does Kacey?

Without missing a beat, Kacey says, “Trick question. Iodine isn’t a metal. It is a nonmetal, more specifically, a Halogen.” As she says this, she places her pencil in the tray, puts her binder on her desk, intertwines her fingers, places her hands on the desk, and sends a smile the teacher’s way that might as well have been a slap in the face. I think everyone in the class did a silent cheer in their heads. I know I did. I thought Mrs. Walton had learned better than to try to catch Kacey off guard.

Mrs. Walton silently snorts through her nose. As she begins to turn to another student, the bell rings. Instantly, everyone jumps up and sprints for the door, already conversing with each other. Kacey lets out a little laugh, probably because she had just gotten her stuff out. She throws it all back in her bag and gets up.

“Hey Nick,” I say, my eyes on Kacey. “I’ll catch you later.” I don’t wait to hear his response. I jump up to go meet her at the door, but she speeds up and gets ahead of me. I frown, but I guess I can’t blame her for still being mad at me.

I walk down the hallways alone, my eyes on Kacey just a few yards in front of me. She is walking alone too. This was what it was like in seventh grade when I finally got up the nerve to introduce myself to her. She had been new in sixth grade. The whole year, she had seemed lost, scared, and lonely. About half way through sixth grade, I’d developed a huge crush on her. But, me being the little wimp that I was, couldn’t get up the nerve to introduce myself. By seventh grade, I finally ran up to her as she walked a few paces ahead of me and introduced myself. She was really friendly, and I’m pretty sure she was already friends with Jordan. I know that we became good friends, and, in eighth grade, I finally asked her to go with me to the eighth grade dance. We’ve been dating ever since.

Kacey stops right in the middle of the hallway, so I keep walking until I am next to her. She catches my stride and walks next to me. She doesn’t look at me or move to touch my hand.

“After school, we need to go somewhere to talk,” she says, her voice flat.

“How’s my house?” I ask her. She contemplates this for a second.

“Alright,” she concedes. “I’ll be at your car at the usual time.”

“Sounds like a date, Ms. Kacey Eton,” I say, trying to lighten the mood a little. But instead of smiling, she winces.

“Please don’t call me that,” she says. At that, she turns down one of the hallways to go to her seventh period class. I stare after her, confused. Three things come to my mind as I keep walking to my class. Why didn't she want me to call her by her name? What could she want to talk about? And why didn’t she look at me during that whole conversation?