Every Forty Seconds

Chapter two

When I wake up the next morning, I am still laying on my bed, a book open under my face, a little pool of drool manifesting on the paper. I wipe my face with the back of my hand and sit up groggily. I glance at the mirror on the drawer, and there is the shape of a corner on my cheek. Ugh. That's when I hear my mom yelling from downstairs.

"Miles!" she says, her voice travelling up the stairs, "Honey, you're gonna be late, you need to leave now!" That's when I glance over at the clock. My bus comes in three minutes. Crap! I think, pulling a new t shirt over my head and replacing the track pants with grey, ripped jeans. Then I slip on my shoes, and tug a beanie onto my head to cover my bed hair. I run down the stairs, stumbling on the last one and past the kitchen.
"Love you!" mom yells, but I'm already out the door.

The day goes on sluggishly, each minute mimicking another snail-paced hour, when suddenly, after last period, Chris comes up to me. He stands in front of me, arms spread.

"There is a code," he starts in an announcer's voice. "A code between men that states that they should help each other in their times of need. Help each other get laid, assist each other in socially momentous occasions." I raise an eyebrow at him.

"Can I see this in writing?" I ask, already preparing all the ways I can use it against him. Oh the things I could get him to do for me... In my mind, my essay pile disappears and my math homework goes with it.

"Hush," Chris commands before continuing, "I have been invited to a party. And to honour this code between men, you shall come with me." He grins happily at me. But he's not fooling anyone.
"Yeah sure I'll go to your sister's imaginary tea party, Chris," I say patting him on the shoulder sarcastically, and walking off. But Chris runs in front of me, stopping me in my tracks once again.
"Woah, woah, woah, woah, woah," he says as he runs. "Woah." I let out an exasperated sigh.

"What?" I ask shortly.

"Roll back the attitude," he says, "this is a real life, non-imaginary party," looking at me, he adds, "beer. Not tea. We're men."
"British men drink tea," I point out. Anything to change the subject.
"You know what I mean." Chris waves a hand dismissively. But before I can walk away again, he grabs my hand and gets down on one knee. His grey eyes look up at me. He takes a deep breath and...
"Pleeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaasssseeeeeeeeeeeeee?" he drawls out slowly, "please, please, pretty pretty please?" After about three repeats of this, I sigh, snatching my arm back.
"Fine," I snap at him. Chris' face immediately lights up. The warm feeling that accompanies making someone happy swells in my chest,and I can't help but to smile back.
"Boys," Jenn mumbles distastefully. With Chris begging for all the attention, i'd forgotten she was there. I laugh at her, and she even cracks a half smile. I turn back to Chris, who is still looking goofy in his joy.

"When is it?" I ask him, and he snaps back out of his party-ridden daydreams.
"What?" he asks, and I ask again. "Oh," he replies, "tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?!" I yell.
"Well.. yeah" he says, running a hand through his hair. He does it a lot- it's his nervous tick. "I'll be at yours at six." Before I can argue, Vi skips up to the three of us. Her black hair is in a messy bun, her brown eyes looking at us, interested.

"What did I miss?" she asks.
"Chris and Miles are going to a party," Jenn answers, rolling her eyes again. Chris warns her that if she keeps rolling her eyes, they'll roll out of her head. In response, she does it again, but dramatically, slowly. We all walk back to the parking lot. Me and Chris say goodbye to the sisters, and then make our way over to Chris' piece-of-crap- car. We yank the doors open, slamming each one two or three times before they stick.
"You need a new car, dude," I say as he starts the engine. As always, I doubt it will stay. But this is better than the bus- anything is better than the hell hole of a bus. Chris just shakes his head, turning on the radio. Then we drive home, neither of us talking much.

When I get home, it is late. I know this because there is no smell of dinner, no TV on. So I head straight up to my room, slipping off my shoes and taking off my jacket. My bag is dropped by the front door. Around ten minutes later, just after I've taken off my hat, the front door slams and I know my dad is home. How do I know? Well, the stench of alcohol floods the house. As do his heavy footprints.
"Hi, love," my mom yells from god-knows-where.
"Beer, please," is his response. And I have no doubt in my mind he gets his beer. Instead of going downstairs, I stay here. You may think I'm staying out of fear, and you'd be partly right. But the truth is, it's safest here. Where I have the advantage and he barely even knows I'm alive. I walk over to my window, opening it as far as I can. After feeling around behind the curtains, I pull out a bottle of vodka and a pack of cigarettes. Then I lean out, gripping the vines with my hand free hand and pull myself up. Sitting here on this once-white windowsill, I take out a cigarette and light it, before taking a swig out of the bottle. And as I sit here, I think. Suicide is the tenth leading cause of death in America. 117 suicides per day, on average. I think about me being one of these 117 people. And how wrong it is that even though 117 people leave their loved ones behind per day, no one wants to help us. I've thought about it before. Contemplated. Even tried to try. The best way would be falling. Falling into a river. Why? Because in my final moments I would fly. Soar higher than I ever have before. In my final moments, I would be magical. I puff on the cigarette, blowing the smoke back out in ringlets. A skill I learnt many years ago. As I do, I look out to the rest of the town. It's beautiful. Everything looks better at night- the moon takes up the sky and the stars surround it. Constellations. Everything so organised yet, at the same time, a sort of exploding allur. The trees stand tall, their green leaves standing out proudly against the silhouette of a town. A town where everything is simply two dimensional, where nothing has depth.

But suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, and sitting, legs crossed on another window, is her. Lainey Cast. The streets are close, so I can see almost every detail of her face. She's gorgeous- brown hair and jewel-green eyes that are too big for her face. A mouth with perfectly pink lips. On any other person, her features would look weird. Out of place. But she pulls it off, and makes it perfect. I want to look away, but her eyes have captured me and suddenly, I can't. I can't look at anything that isn't her. Her house is diagonal to mine, and has been for four years. But in four years, in 1460 days, 35040 hours, I haven't said more than ten words to her. Never asked her out, never befriended her. I've only watched from afar as prettiness turned into true beauty. As she dated boys and left them. As she got hurt and then recovered. I know- it's pathetic. But it's the truth. If I talk to her, she'll think I'm an idiot. She'll laugh, then her friends will laugh, and I'll go from invisible to laughing stock.
I'd rather stay invisible.

Then her head turns to me, and I freeze. I don't know what to do. But a few seconds later, I realise that I've just been staring at her, so I pull my lips into a tight smile, awkwardly waving my hand in a sort of wave. I hear a faint echo of a laugh. I relax slightly. Her eyes are green, even from here. I blow some more rings into the air, and watch them disappear into the rest of the air. Her eyes, visible from even here, watch with interest. Then the interest turns into a sort of mysterious sparkle, and the stands up. I mirror her actions, standing with her. When she starts to climb from her window to her roof, I copy her. With my cigarette held firmly between my teeth, I grip the vines that climb up the side of the house, using the gaps as foot-holes When I reach the top, she is waiting for me, leaned against her chimney. We sit, and just watch each other for a while. Under this ocean of stars and beauty, we just simply exist. God,i think, jesus christ shes gorgeous. Then:"Miles!" my mom yells from my room. I sigh, climbing back down the vines and swinging myself back through my window."Honey," she says once she sees me, "get some sleep.""Sure, mom," I say, my voice a little slurred. Thankfully, she doesn't realise it. Or if she does, she doesn't comment on it. But when I look out the window again, Lainey is gone. My heart sinks slowly.