Why We Laugh (#Wattys2018)

25. I Laughed Because She Asked to Be My Partner

23.

I hate group projects.

When I heard group projects, I thought of Hunter.

So when the teacher said, "pick your partner" a whirlwind erupted. Kids leaped across table and jumped over chairs to be the first person to partner with either the super hot guy or the geek.

And believe me, I have quite a few admirers, so a few flanked toward me.

But so did the little brunette girl.

Eliza hesitantly stepped beside me, "Wanna be partners?"

I was surprised that it came off her lips so smoothly. It was as if she had practiced it before.

I glanced toward Cacee, who was standing and playing on her phone. I was hesitant because Cacee and I are always partner, however she didn't ask me first.

"Um..." I bit my lip, aware that Cacee would be mad.

But then I noticed Eliza's desperate grin.

I smiled, pleased that I would actually have a good partner.

"Of course," I responded.

Only a second later Cacee came up beside me, "So, we're partners right?" She said this with a bored tone, texting with her phone.

I felt bad because I almost always partnered with Cacee, but sadly Elize beat her to it.

"Actually, no, I'm partners with Eliza," I spoke slowly.

"Who?" Cacee mumbled, finally glancing up from her phone. Her eyes widened with envy, but then mellowed with amusement, "Oh, her."

Cacee laughed, glancing at Eliza with mock pity, then back at me, "Is she your new charity project?"

Eliza eyes widened with detest, but not anger. She was not one to get angry.

I laughed,too, it was quite a funny joke. And it may be true. I would much rather have fun with Cacee, but I didn't want to leave Eliza looking like a fool.

But I denied it, "Nah, she's my friend."

Eliza's nervous eyes widened with admiration and pride. She must not be used to having friends.

Cacee rolled her eyes, "Whatever, Mol."

With that Cacee strut over to a boy, who I later realized was Charlie, and asked him to be her partner.

"T-thanks for d-defending m-m-me," she stuttered, her confidence gone.

"Defending you? I don't understand" I told her, not understanding what she was referring to.

Her eyebrows knit in confusion, but she let it go.

The teacher explained that it was a book report on the book we read.

Time Lapse Lunch

We were eating apples in my kitchen when I asked, "Did you see the picture of Lily?"

Lily was the really poor girl who lives out of her mom's car in our neighborhood. She has this smile that is up her nose. She always wears a hood but someone was able to take a picture.

"Uh, no," she seemed uneasy.

So, I told her and showed her the picture.

I laughed at the girl's distraught face and misshapen smile.

Eliza didn't laugh, in fact she spoke flawlessly,"I think she has a beautiful smile."

I looked at Eliza, stunned. She said it was such confidence and purity that I actually think she found the smile beautiful. This made me feel incredibly guilty.

"Why are you so nice?" I blurted.

She didn't even hesitate before she responded, "Because I've done so many wrong things. I have a lot to make up for."

Those words linger with me, turning the air foul. I had no idea what to say because I could never think Eliza would do anything wrong.

"Anyways," I held my 'any' for a few seconds, "we have to do a book report."

She nodded, leaning into her backpack to grab the book Left To Tell by Immaculee Ilibagiza.

"What did you think of the book?" I asked her. Honestly, I skimmed it. I got the point enough to pass the test.

"It was..." she paused, lost thought.

"Sad? Hopeful? There was a lot of prayer in it," I listed off the themes I annotated for. "It was gruesome, but I think it showed faith in G-d can make you achieve great things. Whether or not that's true, I'm not sure.

She scrunched her lips (A/N I'm trying to describe the look of contemplation similar to when you swish liquid in your mouth-when your lips turned to one side ...but not a smirk)

"I guess prayer. I annotated for faith, along with dehumanization of the genocide," she said.

"Prayer," I said the word with curiosity, "do you believe in God?"

She looked at me, stunned. Her hair fell into her face, but she didn't dare move it.

She just stared at me. It was as if I asked the most personal question.

I swallowed, "You don't have to answer."

I realized I didn't even know if I believed in God. I think I did. I always recall praying when I was in a tough situation. Like one time my cousin and I ran away and decided we would live on a golf course. So, it was evening and we were relaxing on the course, 100 yards away from the clubhouse where our parents were. We rested, eyes closed, on the green cut grass under the orange sky.

Then there was a growl. A coyote was standing over my peaceful cousin. I screamed and we ran for dear life. I began pray to God, saying let us get back to the clubhouse safely and not get eaten. In return I said I will never run away again.

We sat in silence.

The silence stretched from a few seconds to whole minutes before she responded.

"No," her voice was blunt, the coldest I've ever heard it.

"No what?" I asked, to busy thinking of the vicious coyote.

"No. I don't believe in God," she declared.

I always thought a girl like her would. She was kind and happy, and wealthy if I might add. Heck, she hugged a veteran for no reason except kindness. Besides her stutter, she was perfect. She had full hair that always lay tamed, a great smile, and thin body.

"Why not?" I asked.

She hesitated, "Because I don't understand why bad things happen to good people."

I think everyone had contemplated that in their life. Why do perfectly good people get cancer and die? What did they do wrong? I believe they must have done something wrong, isn't that what they say in the bible. But at the same time, perfectly loving people have utterly terrible lives. It makes no sense. As I looked at Eliza, her eyes were dazed in sorrow filled contemplation.

"I don't know, Eliza," I said, softly.

She sighed, lightly brushing her book her, her mind miles from my bedroom.