Senseless

conquer

Wednesday was growing towards the most stressful day I'd even endured. I was only in second period, too. I looked at Nash, both of us glaring at one another angrily.

"Go home," I snapped.

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

Tired of the repetitive nature, I huffed and looked away. Amber had opted for a different partner that week and Nash and I had partnered up because neither one of us had another partner. "Why not?" I asked, throwing my hands up. Amber glanced over in confusion and I lowered my voice slightly. "I'm not practicing today," I said, crossing my arms.

"That's your decision," he said, nodding. "I, however, will be taking seventh and eighth period off to go to the gym and practice."

"With what sparring partner?" He smirked. "I can go, I suppose, if there's no getting you out of it," I shrugged, looking away.

"Practicing with you would probably not do me any good." I scoffed, glaring at him. "I'll have my old trainer, Clark."

"Clark," I said, frowning. "Old trainer?"

"He taught me to fight," he said, nodding. "So yes, he is better than me and will do me good to practice."

We lapsed into silence as we both "brainstormed" photography projects. We were supposedly doing pictures of art pieces, or old buildings that could be mistaken for art. Those weren't her exact words, but what kind of old, deteriorating building could be considered art?

"Nash," I began slowly, looking up, "what kind of fighting is this, exactly?" He shrugged. "I know it's not boxing, because people don't wear gloves and they kick each other. It's not wrestling. What is it?"

"It's like cage fighting," he explained. "Only it's worse because we can't do anything about it when someone's killed. All we can do is kick them out of the Underground."

"They can get away with it."

"But in both circumstances, it can be considered an accident. If you kick them in the head and it kills them, it isn't considered murder. If you blatantly snap someone's neck, that's murder and you're kicked out of the Underground for it."

"But you still get away with it," I said in frustration. He nodded, looking down.

"But if you're looking for a name for this fighting, it's basically just illegal cage fighting."

"Oh." He looked at his desk and I sighed. "Except without the cage, of course."

"Of course."

I felt my back straighten and grinned. "The Underground."

"That's what we tend to call it—"

"I mean for our photography project!" His eyes widened and I mentally praised myself for bringing a reaction out of him, finally. "Like, take pictures of that building!"

"No," he said firmly, his voice leaving no room for argument.

"Why not? It's not like we're taking photos of fight night. I'm sure there'll be plenty of abandoned building pictures. We could take pictures of that building."

He seemed unsure, an adorable crease forming in between his eyebrows. It was the only sign of emotion I could see, but I knew what it meant. "I don't think so."

"Why not?"

"It's just..." I could see he didn't have any valid reason other than apprehension, so I grinned. "Fine," he snapped, looking at his desk again. "Let's get black and white pictures. We can blow it to a bigger size so we only have to turn in one."