Contrary Hearts

Chapter 9: School Shooter Chic

Milo:

The sun's just starting to set, casting everything in that annoying golden glow people get all sentimental over. I'm slumped on a creaky old bench, hoodie pulled tight like it's a shield. My textbook is open on my lap, but the words aren't really sticking. Not that they ever do. My head pounds at the same time as my heart, nervous for what's going to come.

And then, like clockwork, she's there. Ava. Her blonde hair nearly glimmers under the golden light of the sun, her long eyelashes casting shadows over her tiny freckles. A large white poster board hangs under her arm, nearly as tall as her. She looks up at me, pursing her lips as she gets closer.

"You made it," she says, in that light, teasing tone she always uses. Even through the sarcasm I can sense a tinge of nervousness in her tone.

My eyes flick up, just briefly. I shrug nonchalantly, though I'm positive she can hear my heart beating through my t-shirt. "Yeah, well, we've got a project to finish."

Ava sits beside me, her sweater nearly swallowing her whole as she settles in. "It is a huge part of our grade."

I lean back, feeling the bench groan under me, my eyes drifting to a couple of kids kicking a soccer ball around. For a second, I'm not there, the sounds of the park easing my mind. "You're probably more worried about the grade than I am."

She rolls her eyes- classic Ava move -but it's less sharp this time, more out of habit. "Something tells me you care more than you let on, Milo."

I don't respond right away, distracted by the light catches the windows of some building far off. I should really take my ADHD meds more often... I tap my fingers on the textbook like it'll help me focus, keep me grounded. But something about today's different. The tension between us is still there, but it's quieter, like the park's swallowed it up.

Ava pulls out her notes, pretending she's all about business, but I can feel the way she keeps looking at me, like she's trying to figure something out. "You know, you don't always have to act like everything's the worst," she says, her voice cutting through the silence.

I turn my head just enough to meet her eyes, my hair flopping over my brows. There's a flicker of something on her face- curiosity maybe, making my lips twitch, but I manage to keep the smirk at bay. "And you don't always have to pretend everything's perfect."

She laughs, and it's a real, not that fake cheerleader laugh she does when she's 'trying to be polite.' "Fair enough."

For a moment, it's like the usual battle between us fades, replaced by this weird calm. The sounds of the park, the kids playing, birds chirping- it all feels distant, like we're in our own little bubble. And for once, being stuck working with her doesn't seem so terrible.

She clears her throat, a little softer now. "Let's just focus on the project, okay? We're stuck together, so we might as well make the best of it."

I watch her for a second longer than I probably should, something twisting in my gut that I don't fully understand. Then I nod. "Alright. But no boy talk, and not one cheerleader pep talks. I will kill myself in front of you."

She grins and nudges me, just barely, like it's not a big deal. "I make no promises."

I huff, almost a laugh, and for a split second, it's like the air around us lightens. The project's still there, but it feels like we've forgotten it for a minute, like maybe this isn't as bad as I thought it'd be. When we finally decide to start working, we move from the bench to a table, so we can lay out our supplies.

"If you're here, does that mean you're kicked off the team?" I ask Ava as we move, carrying the poster board under my arm.

She laughs, shaking her head. "No, thank god. But, they did suspend me for the next three games. Which, like, whatever I guess. But get this-" She punctuates her sentence with a sharp smack to my arm, and I rub it out dramatically, feigning injury. "-Riley is also suspended for being a cunt!"