Psychotic | Tate Langdon (ON HOLD)

4. Come As You (Really) Are

The day has been dragging on because all I want is to go home and satisfy my need to listen to Nirvana. In the lunch line, I grab my tray with an Italian sub and a bag of apple slices and sit at the emptiest table in the cafeteria. I skip the sandwich and devour my apples.

"Ticket, here." I jump in fear and nearly shriek, but settle down when I see Tate holding out a white ticket with an amused expression. It reads a jumble of letters, as if it's a raffle.

I take it out of his hand and stare at it blankly. "Thanks, you really didn't have to do that."

"But I did, so take it." A hint of sarcasm is evident in his tone. I don't know how to respond so I remain silent. His eyes stay glued on me with a crooked grin as a dimple dents into his cheek.

I shove an apple into my mouth. "Why are you smiling at me?" I sounded more annoyed than I intended.

Tate shrugs. "You're quiet."

"I'm not used to being around my peers," I answer. He opens his mouth to say something but then closes it. My cheeks flood with warmth and my entire face flushes. People ask me why I prefer not to be around people; I never have anything to talk about, and the things I do want to talk about, other people don't like. I wish valuable things such as grunge bands and styles were more appreciated and not just the trendy things that somehow catch onto our everyday lives.

"Sorry if I'm making you uncomfortable." He doesn't look apologetic. Tate hasn't wiped off that grin ever since I laid eyes on him and I don't know whether it's supposed to be attractive or unnerving.

Instead, I shake my head and throw my tray out in the trash bin next to me. "It's okay. I can go to a school dance for once."

"I'm going to see you later on, then?" he asks.

I nod. "Yeah." At that, he walks away and disappears to another table.

Five hours later

I don't even feel like changing out of my school attire, but I drag myself to my closet and choose plain black tank top and a white cardigan. I throw on a pair of shorts and slipped on the same pair of shoes as today. I glimpse at myself in the tall mirror, running a brush through my hair and spending some time on the knots before making my way out the door. My mother volunteered to drive me at school, since my father is at his new store.

My mother pulls up to the curb where a line of cars are already awaiting their kids to walk in before driving away. She puts the car on park and gives me a brief hug with an, "I love you. Have fun."

"Love you too," I mumble before slamming the door shut and walk into school. I can hear the music blaring through speakers inside. They're blasting Closer by Halsey ft. The Chainsmokers. It's the chorus, so the bass is nearly shaking the ground. I make a left and walk into the cafeteria where I presume it's taking place. Tate had told me to meet him in the hallway, which I know is going to be a maze to find.

I pace around and find another door. I swing it open and look around, however Tate is nowhere to be found. I'm tightly holding my phone with Spotify open as a tab, prepared for the Nirvana-listening session.

Suddenly, there's a pair of arms that embraces me from behind violently and uses their force to push me back onto the wall. They clap their hand over my mouth and I scream as loud as I can into it before I see who it is. The person begins giggling like a little kid and I recognize his croaky voice; it's Tate. I look up and he's wearing a cream-colored sweater with scratchy material- the sleeves reach up to his fingertips. Along with that goes a pair of navy blue jeans and his hair is just as disheveled as earlier. His dimple intensifies with the extent of his mischievous smile.

"I hate you!" I squeal playfully, rolling my eyes as all my anxiety slowly melts away. He releases his grip on my and bursts out laughing.

"Convincing, aren't I?" He says, crossing his arms.

I nod. "Very." Then, I punch in the passcode to my phone and click on Smells Like Teen Spirit, the song Tate had been humming earlier. The beginning guitar keys play and he jumps like a little kid. Everything about him is childish in some way; he's animated and his behavior is intelligent yet immature at the same time, which I never thought anybody could pull off. It wasn't in an irritating way, though. "Kurt Cobain is a musical genius."

"Right?" he agrees. After a few moments of silence and letting the music flow through our ears, the song changes to Come As You Are.

He's barely standing near me, but I feel a sudden drift hitting my neck. The sensation sends chills up my spine and I shiver.

"You okay?" he takes a step back, as if he already knows the answer to that question.

I shake off what just occurred because I don't want to dwell on something that will ruin my emotions- even though it was uncanny. "Yeah, somebody must have opened a door or something."

Tate looks unconvinced, but he changes the subject, "I have to use the bathroom." Then, he rushes down the hall and makes a right into the boy's restroom. I pause the music because, for some reason, it's not as intriguing to listen to without him.

I sense a presence behind me and I turn around, figuring it's Tate, but it's somebody else. It's girl my age I've seen roaming around the halls at school earlier- with platinum blond hair that cascades just an inch past her shoulders. Her chocolaty brown eyes are wide in perplexity, as if she just saw a ghost. It's a pet peeve of mine when people stare; it makes me feel extremely self-conscious.

Her lips part and it takes a second for her words to come out, "Were you talking to yourself?"