i love you, i'm sorry

FRESHMAN YEAR, OCTOBER 2019

My vision blurred with exponential functions. The clock ticked monotonously on the wall, hands moving slower with every second that passed. Mr. Hendrick's voice mingled with the drone of the radiator, a low indiscriminate humming in my ears. It was too early for the radiator to be on, I thought, shading in the boxes on my graph paper in a checkerboard pattern.

Mr. Hendrick was sweating bullets. He kept wiping his bald head with his shirt sleeve and every time he did so the entire class got an eyeful of his drenched pits, cornflower blue turned navy. I was suddenly grateful I'd forgotten my jacket at home, glad I'd worn a thinner top, even if it had meant that the walk to school had been a little brisker than I would've liked.

Besides, my outfit was cuter without the jacket. Which I'd told my mother, in so many words, before I left the house. Okay, maybe I'd forgotten it on purpose. I knew the only reason she'd wanted me to wear it was because the loose black v-neck was short and tended to fall off my shoulder and/or show a strip of my torso if I moved the right way and wore the right jeans.

The bell rang, and the entire class groaned in relief. I reapplied my lip gloss and happily shoved my notebook and pens into my backpack. I hated algebra with every living bone in my body. I wondered if I could bribe Hannah or Gavin into doing my homework for me with the promise of my mother's tiramisu. The hall was packed with students emerging from class, and I shouldered my way through the crowds to reach my locker.

Hannah was waiting for me, braids piled on top of her head in an impressive topknot. The gold bangles lining her wrists jangled as she flagged me down.

"Have I told you I hate math?" I declared, slumping against the metal of the lockers.

Hannah laughed, offering me a stick of gum, "You may have mentioned it once or twice."

"Bless you," I said, popping the gum in my mouth. "How was wood shop?"

"My birdhouse was very well received."

"I knew it would be." I rotated the combination, making sure to hit the door of my locker twice before attempting to open it. It was old, and had a habit of sticking. I needed my history book, and I wanted my favorite pen. It was purple and sparkly and stupid and I used it for important exams, like the one I had last period in French. I could've sworn it was in my locker...but there was always the chance I'd left it at home.

Hannah drummed her fingers on my locker door, rings twinkling under the fluorescent lights, "Are you still going out with Brady tonight?"

"Mmhmm," I nodded absentmindedly. "He's taking me to the rink. Have you seen my—"

I shrieked, my feet suddenly leaving the floor as a pair of arms wrapped around my waist and lifted me into the air. They returned moments later, after I wiggled out of Gavin's grasp. I tugged my shirt down, dusting myself off.

"How many times have I told you not to do that?" I groaned, shoving his chest.

"Several," he grinned, looping his arm around my shoulder. "Hannah banana," he saluted.

Hannah laughed, "Good morning, Gavin."

"We still on for tonight, Jules?"

"Yes," I said, pushing his heavy elbow off of me. "Goodbye." He tugged at my hair and winked, before loping away to catch up with Grant, who'd been impatiently waiting down the hall.

I sighed, shaking my head. "He's scaring the boys away, Hannah," I lamented, smoothing my hair in the mirror. I'd straightened it this morning, and I needed it to stay as such for tonight. Gavin always always messed it up. And he'd been messing with more than just my hair lately.