forest

.01

I sat at the lunch table not really wanting to be here, but I had to anyways. I picked at my sandwich, pulling the crusts from the edges. I picked at my cuticles, and then swirled my straw in my bottle of lemonade, just trying to keep my mind off the time. God, I hated school. Like why go to a place where you hate, just to learn stuff you aren't necessarily going to need to know later in life? I took out my sketchbook and started to sketch something, nothing really in particular, just kind of moving my pencil across the paper. One of my good friends Fletcher sat down next to me, his hair blonder than usual. He was the all American boy, blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and a slight tan for always being outside. Everybody liked him, he was the star of the football team and had girls fawning over him. Why was he sitting next to me and being my friend? God knows why. I questioned it a lot, but never really brought it up to him.

He had his hair slicked up, as always, but it was more droopy today. His eyes weren't their usual bright hue of blue, and his skin wasn't glowing like it usually was.

"Is everything alright mate?" I asked putting some of my sandwich in my mouth, making sure the peanut butter didn't stick to the roof of my mouth. He shrugged and stabbed his fork in his pizza.

"Fletch," I said, and he looked up at me. "Tell me what's up." He let go of his fork and it clattered on the table noisily. He buried his head in his hands.

"I'm going to get kicked off the team." he mumbled, I almost didn't hear what he said; it was so quiet. I was taken back. Why would a boy who's gotten straight A's since middle school, get kicked off the football team? He's been playing footy since he could walk, it was his air. The thought of him not being able to kick the black and white pentagonal ball made me sad.

"Why do you think that?" I asked and he shrugged his shoulders. I popped the last bit of sandwich in my mouth. "Then I don't see any problem or reason as why you would get kicked off." I tried not to make anything awkward and thought about changing the subject, but decided against it. We sat in silence up until it was time to go. I threw my paper bag filled with garbage in the black bins they have towards the front of the lunchroom, and strolled out of the doors with the rest of the students.

I feel bad for him, but I don't know how to help him. I sat in class, bored as always and stared out the window. That was the only good thing about this room, I could always stare out of the window, and sketch, or do whatever, as long as I had a clue as to what the rest of the class was doing.

As the day droned on and on, the final bell rang, signalling that the school day was over. I crammed all of my stuff into my bag and hurried over to Fletcher's locker. He was there. He opened his backpack and shoved a bright blue binder and some notebooks in. zipping his backpack up, he pulled it on and slammed his locker shut. I didn't say anything to him, and he didn't say anything in return. We stayed like that the rest of the way home. When he pulled up into my driveway, I muttered thanks, he drove off, and that was that.