wasting time » lh ; mc

ten

:: 10 ::

       It was all selfish. Everything Michael was doing was for his own benefit and even if Luke was enjoying it now, Michael knew he wouldn't if he ever found out that this isn't the kind of friendship he wants. Michael is a horrible person.

But, he's not feeling too guilty. At the moment, at least. Everything is just getting started and Andrew Hemmings is going to be at his hockey game and life is going pretty well.

The small part of him that is feeling guilty, however, is the part of him that's started to notice small things about Luke that he shouldn't and he really doesn't want to. Michael isn't supposed to feel like an actual friend, yet they've both confided in each other a handful of times. This wasn't the way things were supposed to go.

When Michael got to school, he had Calum—his actual friend—by his side and people scattered throughout the hallways throwing greetings and compliments at him. Some guys on the team asked if he was ready for the upcoming game, which of course he was. His mind and time may be taken over by Luke, but that doesn't mean hockey has ever ceased to be taking up most of Michael's life.

"Man, we're so going to crush Searidge tomorrow," Calum smirked. "Their goalie can't stop a puck even if his life depended on it."

"We win every time we play them, anyway," Michael shrugged, too tired to put effort into it. Until he remembered something: "Have I told you who I managed to get to the game?" Calum shook his head.

"Andrew Hemmings."

"Mike, I swear if you're fucking with me—"

"I'm not! I swear, Luke's bringing him along," he replied. "Just, like, don't tell anyone. Luke doesn't want the school to make a deal about the whole thing."

And, since when did Michael actually care about making Luke upset? If anything, Luke would get more popularity at school and Michael is helping him by letting it slip that the Andrew Hemmings will be here. Not that anyone pays attention to hockey, but the amount of people who would act like it just to talk to someone related to a famous guy is astounding.

Now that he thinks about it: that's not such a good thing. Michael hates fake people, so why would he make anyone else have to deal with them? More importantly, why is he acting like one? He's got a small glimpse of how Luke feels about certain things involving his dad. Even if what Michael is doing is considered the same thing, he didn't want to expose Luke to even more people who would use him.

"Yeah, of course," Calum assured. "We have to make sure we play extra great, then."

Michael grinned, stopping in front of his advisory class. "When do we not?"

       + + +

Today, Michael was going to talk to the principal. The only thing that's been able to take Luke off his mind is the rugby team, and even then the boy weaves his way into Michael's mind. It's getting a bit frustrating, since the reason doesn't seem to be guilt anymore; he's growing to enjoy the company of Luke and that's not how anything was planned. Michael's opinion of him was supposed to remain as neutral as possible.

It's proven to be much more difficult than originally thought. There's no time for crushes, or boyfriends, or girlfriends, or friends—whatever Michael's mind deemed Luke to be. So, somehow, he has to get close to the boy while still being cold; a plan that seemed unsure, but still a plan.

All thoughts of Luke aside, Michael was making his way through the main office and following the Principal into her room. He's got this under control; everything is going to go exactly how he wants it to.

"I have a really important question," Michael said, sitting down in the chair that Principal Flanagan had beckoned him to. "And after that, I need you to hear me out."

With a raised eyebrow and hesitant glance, the principal asked, "What do you need?"

"Well, can I ask you multiple questions? Because this—"

"Just go ahead, Michael," she sighed. It wasn't Michael's fault he was suddenly anxious to talk to the head of this entire school. He's part of a sports team, so that has to provoke favoritism, doesn't it? He can do this—yeah, there's no need to worry.

I'm Michael Clifford; I don't get nervous. I'm not a wimp.

He took a deep breath, and with confidence wondered, "There's no chance that this school is in need of funding, right? Like, desperate?"

"Well, no, we've got a steady system." Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion, before going to speak again, "If you're planning to—"

"I'm not getting money for the school," Michael scoffed.

"Why are you asking, then?"

"I've noticed some irrational cuts in the sports department this year," he informed.

Principal Flanagan nodded, still looking confused. "Of course."

"The rugby team is gone; why?"

"Sometimes schools do these things just because, Michael," she told him. "I want you to understand that."

"But, there are plenty of other teams that no one pays attention to that could've been cut," he sighed. This was starting to feel as if he were part of the board that got rid of the team—and it was tiring.

"You're not the first person to be upset about this decision, I've heard all of this already."

"Who came to you before me?" he asked, racking his brain for anyone who could've possibly had any interest in getting it back. Besides the team itself, which it may have been.

"Confidential," she said. "I'm not allowed to tell you who comes to talk to me, you know that."

"Will you at least tell me if there's any chance of getting the team back?"

"I have my own question for you, if you don't mind," Flanagan interrupted. When Michael nodded curiously, she wondered, "Why are you so interested in getting it back? You already practice so many."

"But I only play one."

"Look, Michael—" this time, the principal stopped herself. "If so many students were so upset with the team getting cut, they'd be making a bigger deal about it. We can't bring it back."

"Staff counts, too, right?" he asked, both anxious and excited. "I swear to you, I could get enough people to agree with me that you'd have to bring it back."

"It's not that easy."

"Please, Principal Flanagan," Michael pleaded.

"I'm not promising something I can't guarantee will happen," she said.

Suddenly, he smiled brightly and hopped out of his chair. "So that means you will? Yes, thank you!"

"No, Michael—"

The hockey player had already slung his backpack over his shoulder and rushed out of the office doors, yelling a quick, "You're the best, Flan!" before going to his class—which he was already late for—with a never-ending smile on his face.

She sighed with a shake of her head, saying, "So stubborn," when he had left.

       + + +

i lied to you all it's saturday :-)

a few things:
i have four E's, and have less than a week to bring them up. so i wrote this and it's short

second: shit is going down in the next few chapters and michael is only going to get even more confusing

third: fuck three doors down