Poor Little Orphan Boy

Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

            Sitting in school the next day, I wondered how everything between Maxwell and I changed so quickly. When he first came here, I couldn’t stand him. Then, I’m holding his hand. Next, I’m dreaming about him. Then, BAM! we’re almost kissing. I didn’t know how to handle this information. I wasn’t even out of the closet. I wasn’t the sweet, nice guy Maxwell thought I was. At least, I wasn’t before I met him. I was mean, I was cold; I was content the way I was. I never wanted anything, knew I didn’t need anything, and was beginning to like being alone. All the work I put into myself, gone. And for what? Some lousy almost kiss? Raging teen hormones and mixed up, fucked up emotions? If this is what romance is, I want nothing to do with it. Give me some vodka and cute boys; I’ll be good with that.

            No, now I won’t be. Sure, I could train myself not to think of having a life where somewhere actually cared about me—and where I didn’t care about anybody. I could go back to partying and drinking and getting high. But, as much as everyone hates to admit it, I will get old. I won’t have anyone to take care of me. I won’t have cute boys to distract me; it’ll be me and my memories, and when those days come, Maxwell will surely come up. I can’t believe how fast I’ve fallen for this boy.

            I sighed, raking a hand through my hair. I look up at the clock; only twenty minutes until I have to see Maxwell. Would he even sit with me? We didn’t really discuss it this morning. We didn’t discuss much of anything. The almost-kiss confused him as much as it confused me.

           

            “Time to get up!” Mrs. Chloe yelled. I groaned and rolled over, thoroughly ticked that I had to go to school. We had five days of school and only two days off; how unfair was that? Plus, most of those two days were filled with homework. Well, I guess I (surprisingly) got my done this weekend, thanks to Maxwell.

            Speaking of Maxwell…I opened my eyes and saw his bed empty. Hm. I wonder where he is. I didn’t hear him get up. I threw the covers off, swinging my legs over the sun of my bed. “Fuck!” I whisper-yelled. “Why is the floor always so damn cold?” I walked over to my close— ignoring the cold nearly giving my feet frostbite—to get some clothes. I grabbed a pair of ripped dark jeans, a black tee and my jacket. Quickly, I stripped out of my pajamas and threw the clothes on.

            As I was putting on my jacket, Maxwell walked in, his hair wet. I tried to greet him, but the words got stuck in my throat. “Wh-why are you s-st-taring at me?” he questioned. I blushed and looked away.

            “I wasn’t aware I was. Sorry.” I cleared my throat and ran a hand through my hair.  Eventually I decided to get ready rather than stare at him. I grabbed my backpack and tried to locate my textbooks. After scanning the room twice, I got down on my knees and looked under my bed. I didn’t find my textbooks, but I did find a moldy sandwich and Drake’s Social Studies project. I smirked, chuckling at the prank. Drake will be so pissed.

            “W-why are you l-laughing?” I straightened up as fast as lightning.

            “Just a prank I pulled.” Maxwell nodded. Again, I didn’t know what to say, or if I should say anything at all. Minutes of dead silence ticked by. “Well…I’m gonna go.” I spoke. Maxwell nodded his head, not even turning around to look at me. I sighed and dropped my backpack on my bed. No point in taking it to school if I had no books.

            “Agh,” I sighed, hanging my head in my hands. This was all just too confusing. I was mean before him! I was happy before him! Why does Maxwell turn me into a freakin’ marshmallow?

            “I want chapters 15-18 read by tomorrow. Right, Mr. Westchier?” I glared at the teacher.

            “I suppose it’s correct, since you are the teacher.” A couple of kids laughed, but most were used to my “snot-nosed” comments by now. I don’t even see how a comment can be snot-nosed, but apparently, they can and they are.

            “I am the teacher,” she clarified, “and it is correct.”

            “Well isn’t that dandy!”

            “Mr. Westchier—!” Before she could finish the bell rung, signaling the end of class. I sauntered out of the class, waving goodbye to the teacher. Of course, she just glared without even saying bye. So rude.  

~~

            I searched the cafeteria, looking for Maxwell’s black hair. For some reason, we were some of the only kids with black hair here. We were the only ones with natural black hair, too. “Dude, who are you looking for? That Maxwell kid and his faggo—”

            “Joshua, seriously, shut up. They can’t fucking help it if they like penis. Get over it,” The kids at my table stared at me, unsure of how to react to my minor outburst.

            “Geeze, Aiden, what are you—one of them?” Some kids laughed, trying to lighten the mood. I mumbled something incoherent, stabbing my pears. I felt a presence next to me, so I looked over. Maxwell was sitting down next to me. I smiled until my cheeks were pressed against my eyes.

            “Hey, Maxwell,” He glanced over at me.

            “Hey Aiden,”

            “Um, is Marco eating with us?” Maxwell shook his head.

            “He has to ma-make up a test,” I hummed a response. I was glad Marco was gone, but I wish Marco was gone when the circumstances were better. “H-how’d you d-do on your es-essay?” I turned to face him.

            “I got a 94 on it, thanks to you.”

            “Y-you wrote it, I ju-just edit-ted it,” Maxwell’s cheeks turned pink.

            “Hey, don’t sell yourself short kid. You edited a pile of shit,” I laughed. It took Maxwell three hours just to make it acceptable. Maxwell blushed red and shook his hair over his face. “Thanks, Maxwell.” For the first time today, Maxwell made eye contact with me.

            “You’re welcome, Aiden,” I smiled again.

            “Um, Maxwell, about last night…” He instantly looked down at his food. “I, uh,” I cleared my throat. “I hope I didn’t make you feel uncomfortable.” Maxwell began a reply but was cut short by a group of girls “singing” (screaming) Happy Birthday. Everyone looked over there.

            “Dumbass freshmen!” Joshua yelled. A that moment, I couldn’t agree more.

            “Um, I h-have to throw thi-is away.” Maxwell grabbed his full tray and scurried away.