Right Uppercut

Chapter 5

The following Monday at school was tense with Mitchell like it usually was after we left things on a bad note the Friday before. He hadn’t texted or called me since we fought about Ethan and me not going to parties with him, Nick, and Tyson. I always felt guilty, but I had no choice.

The only time in the day I saw the guys was during lunch, so it was my first time seeing them that day. I slid into the seat across from Mitchell wordlessly.

“…dude, she wants it, I’m telling you,” Tyson was saying. “She can’t resist my T-D bank.”

Nick covered his face with his hands, while Mitchell said, “You did not just say that.”

“Yes, I did,” Tyson replied proudly, pounding his chest.

I chuckled. I found Tyson quite humorous when he boasted about his nonexistent love life.

“Well, hello, there,” Nick turned to face me and rested his chin in his hand as he leaned in toward me.

I took a sip of my water and gave him a wave. “Hi.”

“Well,” he looked at me expectantly. “Where have you been?”

I gulped. “Around, ya know. Here, there.”

Tyson raised his eyebrows. “Could you be any vaguer?”

“Could you be any more conceited?” I shot back.

“Ohhh,” Nick howled.

I sighed in relief now that that was over. Nick and Tyson returned to some other conversation, which left me staring at Mitchell.

“Want an onion ring?” He offered, pointing down to his tray.

I snatched one off his plate and munched on it, my stomach glad to have something. I left my lunch at home and the school lunch looked particularly unappetizing today, but that didn’t stop my stomach from growling during History.

“So, how was your weekend?” I asked hesitantly, stealing another onion ring.

Mitchell shrugged. “It was alright. Kinda quiet.”

I nodded, knowing exactly what he was trying to say. We used to hang out every weekend, but then I met Ethan and things changed. It definitely created a barrier between us, but I didn’t know how to fix it without screwing everything else up.

“Same,” I replied.

“Coulda called.” He looked at me pointedly.

I kept my eyes focused on the grooves of the messages kids from past years dug into the wood table before me. My fingers traced “Pudge was here” as I shrugged in response. There were no words I could say; I didn’t have any excuses.

Mitchell looked away then back at me, shaking his head. “Look, I don’t want to fight anymore, about the parties, Ethan, anything. It doesn’t change my thoughts or feelings, but I hate this.”

I looked into his eyes. “I agree,” I said simply. “I’m sorry, Mitch.”

He smirked. “For what? It’s in the past.” I smiled back and opened my mouth to say something, but his eyebrows scrunched together and his finger was pointing at my face. “What’s that near your eye?”

I felt the blood drain from my face. “What?”

His finger waggled closer to my face. “Over there. There’s something dark on your face. What happened?”

My fingers instinctively reached up to my left eye, where I knew there was a bruise. I tried to cover it up with makeup this morning, but either I wiped some away by accident, or I didn’t do as well as I thought.