On The Bright Side

Chapter Two- When The Day Met The Night

//she said that's okay as long as you can make a promise to break my little heart and leave me all alone//

Today won't be easy. I mean, it never really is, but running on an hour of sleep and gulping down a cup of coffee- bracing yourself against the scalding early morning caffeine hit- is a special and specific form of hell. The worst thing is that listening to music and taking Buzzfeed quizzes and waiting for Beck to message me took up so much of my night that homework never once crossed my mind, so first period physics will be even harder to bear.

"Hey, bitch, give me some coffee."

This is Dominique. She calls me and everyone else little names from her limited and lewd lexicon; bitch, skank, asshole, etc. and I've just resigned to it.

Wordlessly I pass her the styrofoam cup and pull out my uncompleted packet of bullshit problems. Maybe if I scribble in some numbers and equations here and there it'll look like I actually did something, and I won't get another "reprimand" from Mr. Summers. Like I care- but still.

I suppose school doesn't interest me too much.

Dominique just won't shut up about some party she's going to and she pretends to be all surprised that I wasn't invited. Bitch, please. Fortunately for me and my sanity, three consecutive years of being chained in alongside her on the green mile carpet of death row have given me the useful skill of being able to simultaneously turn down the volume of her voice and turn up the volume of the music playing in my head. So it's a rude awakening when she smacks my shoulder-

"Sawyer."

I blink. "Hmm?"

She raises her eyebrows curtly, and I can tell I've done something wrong. "Sorry. What?"

An exasperated sigh- "Okay. Whatever. I asked if you were going to Waterfront with anyone?"

I look at her. She should know better. She should know me better.

"Um... I don't really do dances."

"Okay, first of all, that's bullshit. Everyone loves dances!"

This is just a lie.

But I fake a small laugh. "Well, um- I don't. And nobody's gonna ask me so there's not even a point."

It's not like Dominique has anything to respond with, because she knows I'm right. Her eyes- those gray eyes, that guys and girls alike seem to find irresistible and mysterious for some reason- gather some rain clouds and I can tell she's thinking about Thomas Hector. Again. Meaning I'll have to go through the whole "I'm sure he likes you! He's probably just too nervous to talk to you or ask you to the dance!" shit. Again.

Not for the first time I wish Beck were here. Because she'd make me laugh, and she'd stay in with me on the night of the dance, and we'd watch Supernatural in our pajamas and make fun of the stupidity of the characters who die in the first five minutes. Not that I wouldn't necessarily mind dancing with her to some sickly sweet slow song as long as I got to be close to her. My mind is a million miles away, then, because I'm picturing it in that heartsick way where everything is so perfect but so inconceivable. We're dancing under those horrible fluorescent gym lights covered in crepe paper and it casts a purple halo on our heads. Beck's wearing a black dress and I'm wearing dark grey, and she says something clever into my ear about how we could be dressed for the funeral of these kids' high school lives. I laugh softly and wrap my arms around the small of her back. God, I wish I could, and subconsciously my arms circle my own waist as I keep picturing the scene. The gym floor is strewn with confetti as we sway back and forth to that Ed Sheeran song. I imagine how her perfume smells on her neck, smells in her dark hair, lingers on her wrists as she wraps her arms loosely around me. She's wearing dark lipstick- per usual- and it smears faintly on my skin as she leans down and rests her head in the crook of my shoulder. I can feel electricity between us and how she fits perfectly with me, not just in body, but in rhythm, how our steps fall into a rhapsodized shuffle. She smiles as I kiss the side of her neck softly and it feels like nothing else matters. Nothing else even exists.

Except.

Except it does, everything does, and the crepe paper lights and the confetti and Beck in her dark lipstick are all gone.

I sigh.

It'll be a long day.