Infinite, sometimes

3

            The five minutes were dragging by painfully while Ryan looked slightly off to the side and watched as the person next to him wrote frantically on a notebook page. He directed his eyes to something else every time the boy slammed his pen down and folded his arms over the notebook to support his head. During these moments, he would run his eyes through the hair on the boy's head and hope to catch a glimpse of the concealed words that were scribbled on the pages that the boy was laying on. Ryan was desperate to put a name to this boy's face but he found it strangely hard to introduce himself properly. He was normally comfortable around people ever since he convinced himself that he needed to open up and not close himself off to everyone, and while he was usually outgoing enough to at least catch someone's name, he was now finding himself terrified of opening his mouth and saying something he would instantly regret.
            Ryan did not approve of the constant condescending tone that the principal's voice held while it echoed out of the intercom. He couldn't have cared less about sports tryouts or the debate team, but the mention of the school's annual back-to-school dance briefly caught his attention. He looked at the clock again: 8:07, and Ryan could have sworn he saw the minute hand move backwards. With the quick realization that his mind was starting to act against him, he followed the boy's previous example and rested his head on his arms. Instead of words on paper, Ryan was trying to hide his thoughts, even from himself. He concentrated on his breathing in an attempt to slow his heart and prevent it from exploding and leaving him with quite a mess to deal with. Ryan was starting to drift off from listening to the soft scratches of the pen against the boy's notebook. A soft thud on his head snapped him out of his trance so quickly that he didn't remember sitting up. Wide eyed, he made eye contact with Miss Davis. She gave him an amused grin accompanied by the copy of the student handbook that had been her weapon of choice in tapping him on the head.
            "Sorry Ryan. Can't share my coffee with ya no matter how much you need it."
            Ryan shuffled his folder and pen around on the table in a desperate attempt to look busy. "Oh, no I was just thinking, sorry 'bout that."
            "Thinking, eh? You mean you were using your brain to form ideas and thoughts? I didn't think anyone liked doin' that anymore!" She sarcastically raised her hand to her mouth and winked at  Ryan to assure him that he was in no trouble. "You could probably teach some people a thing or two about that lost art. Nobody seems to appreciate it anymore." She tapped the surface of the table before heading back to her desk where she would continue to avoid her chair, choosing instead to sit on top of her giant desktop calendar and gently kick her feet back and forth.
            Ryan was grateful for the fact that almost everyone was too preoccupied to notice their exchange, but it still didn't stop his face from burning. He could tell he already liked Miss Davis, even if for the simple fact that she didn't walk over and tape a detention slip to his head, a practice that his previous teachers seemed to live for each time students decided to lay their heads down. He twisted his pen around in his hands and glanced over to the boy, almost as if he was looking for some sort of support that he wasn't even sure he needed. Ryan's brow was raised in a small gesture of 'what should I do now?' and the boy just smiled and shrugged, leaving his shoulders lifted slightly longer than was to be expected. His eyes lit up again as he flashed Ryan another smile before shyly looking back toward the red sleeved arms on top of his notebook. His chair squeaked as the boy started to bounce his leg up and down, so the nervous repetition ended quickly, but not before Ryan felt the boy's leg brush against his own several times.
            The classroom erupted as the bell finally rang and Ryan shot up from his seat perhaps more quickly than he thought he should have. He compensated by stretching his arms toward the ceiling and subsequently exposing the bottom half of his stomach with hipbones peeking over the waist of his jeans. The boy was slowly emerging from his seat while Ryan walked to the other end of the table and turned to look at him. He set himself up for conversation before he had found any words, and now Ryan had to fish for something to say.
            "See... see ya later, I guess."
            The boy looked down to his notebook with a side grin on his face. "Yeah. Maybe lunch or something."
            Ryan nodded and dug his fingers into his folder as he exited the room. He looked down to be sure that he would not be victimized by the threshold of the door in the same manner as his still nameless friend. He was starting to feel like he did when he was six and an unfamiliar child would join him at play during recess. Friend. Ryan sure hoped so.
            He was able to navigate the hallways and arrive at his science class in one piece, something that made Ryan feel slightly proud. He may have felt like a freshman in this new building, but he did not look like the younger students who were roaming the halls with their necks craned to locate classrooms while their arms overflowed with school supply overkill. Ryan had made that mistake once. Once. Then, on the second day of his freshman year, he went to school with nothing but one notebook, two folders, a pen, and the satisfaction of knowing he was set on school supplies until graduation.
            Ryan opted for a seat in the front of the room this time around and he positioned himself right next to the door to make for a quick escape fifty minutes later. He knew he would probably be wishing for death after sitting through the definition of 'hypothesis' for the twentieth time since the sixth grade. He busied his mind for the most part by studying the pencil sharpener that was attached to the tray below the whiteboard. He never quite agreed with the transition from chalk to markers. The markers dried out and teachers either complained too much or just continued to use them, completely unaware of the fact that they were essentially listing vocabulary words with invisible ink. Mostly, though, Ryan hated sitting through class with a headache, clutching his stomach and trying to keep his mind off of the need to vomit. He hated those fumes and there was never a single seat in any room that provided an opportunity to breathe fresh air. To complicate things even more, some classrooms were still stuck in the nineties and only contained chalkboards. A few dustless years always resulted in Ryan's sinuses and throat drying up in the presence of chalked lectures, and maybe even a few sneezing fits along the way, if he was lucky. He couldn't win either way anymore and he was usually forced to sit through any given class in a fairly miserable state.
            He was glad to have survived the lecture and convinced the creepy old lady that he was taking notes while he really just scribbled and wrote a few random things that were destined for his computer. He was eager to get to the hallway to cleanse his lungs a bit, but he was unable to leave the room until he was issued what he was sure was the largest, thickest textbook this side of graduate school. Lugging the book with both arms, his fume-induced lightheadedness and mild stomachache faded as he made a dash toward his locker before too many people had the chance to exit other classrooms. He ditched the monstrous book and tried to nonchalantly survey the area for his potential friend. He only succeeded in being the lanky boy who was standing on his toes while pulling himself up with a hand on top of his locker door. He decided that he looked ridiculous, and he assumed a more acceptable stance. He had four more minutes to make it to his art class, the large colorful room located right by the cafeteria, and he knew he would have no problem making it there. The second he saw that now familiar head of dark hair, he realized he had no real excuse for standing next to his locker. The boy noticed him and he couldn't run; he was stuck. He pulled his jacket from the locker to give his stay a purpose. Ryan watched as a rather obese boy all but plowed into the slender boy who was still zipped inside his red hoodie. The distance was too far and the noise level too high for Ryan to hear anything between the two, but he could tell that this short-haired fat kid was yelling and punching the air as he pointed toward the main entrance of the school and God knows what else.
            This guy didn't seem to be any sort of athlete unless the school offered sumo wrestling. He was slightly taller than the boy and his hair was shorter and equally as dark. Ryan could see that the boy was halfway defending himself, returning shouts and glares and points and overall dirty looks. They continued on their separate ways with no further incident, the boy rubbing his shoulder and grimacing from the initial impact of the guy's body crashing into his. Ryan shut his locker to look like he was ready to leave and he set it up perfectly to casually greet the boy on his way out.
            "Hey you alright? Who was that dude?" Ryan draped his jacket over his arm that carried his folder.
            "Yeah I'm fine. It's nothing. He's not gonna hurt me." The boy's smiley and sarcastic disposition from earlier had disappeared and he now came across as shy and withdrawn as he tossed some things to the bottom of his locker, taking much less care than he did earlier in the morning. He threw them down instead of taking time to arrange the shelves, which almost made Ryan want to step in and help, but he felt like he needed to distance himself from the boy. He started to walk away but he was stopped by the boy shooting his arm outward in a quick motion.
            "Hold these for a sec, wouldja." His pale hand held the red frames that had been resting over his ears and on the bridge of his nose. Ryan took them without question, wondering what possessed this kid to hand him his glasses, but he watched as the boy pulled his sleeves over his hands and vigorously rubbed at his eyes. "Gaaah... I'm so tired this morning... all this bullshit..." He brought his hands down and repossessed his glasses, blinking rapidly, eyes red and glassy from intense rubbing. "Thanks. Gotta go."
            Ryan nodded. "See ya later."
            The boy tapped Ryan's forearm with the back of his hand as he walked away. "Later."
            Wide eyed and confused, Ryan shot his eyes from side to side as if someone or something would give him some kind of clue as to what had just happened. There was no such luck, and he decided to make his way to the art room as quickly and invisibly as possible. There was still some time left before all students had to be out of the halls and in class, and that resulted in a rather large congregation that wanted to savor every second they could outside the room. He ducked inside and his attention immediately turned to a head of silky red hair.
            "Ellen! Oh thank God!" Ryan ran to secure one of the three empty seats at her table, Ellen being the only other occupant. "I was starting to think I would have class with pretty much nobody."
            She stuck out her arm and pulled Ryan into a quick hug after he sat down. "How's it been?" Ryan had obviously torn her away from an attempted between class power nap.
            "Alright. Boring. And there's this kid but I won't get into that, he's strange. Markers made me sick in science and uh... yeah, that's about it, I'm ready for bed." He dramatically threw his head onto the table with a loud smack, a bit harder than he had aimed for, which caused Ellen to laugh when he had to rub his temple.
            "So this kid... a friend?"
            Ryan shrugged. He still hoped so. "He's strange. Nice kid, though."
            "Well... name?"
            "Didn't ask."
            The entire group outside the door stampeded into the room while the bell rang. "Ryan, did you even talk to this kid?"
            Ryan almost felt slightly offended. "Yes I talked to him. He's in my homeroom and he came in late and he sat next to me and wrote a bunch of stuff the whole time, couldn't tell what it was though, I mean, he hid the notebook really well and stuff."
            "Yeesh, don't bite me Ry... he writes a lot? I might know him. What's he look like?" Ellen inquisitively chewed on her lip and narrowed her eyes as she looked at Ryan.
            "Look El, I really don't wanna get into it now. He's strange."
            "You keep saying that and I keep thinking I know him. Did he have red glasses?"
            Ryan's heart stopped beating for a split second and a quick flash of heat swept over him and brought the unbearable urge to completely deny everything from that point onward. "No, don't think so. Please just let it go." He may have stopped his old bad habits a good while ago, but he couldn't let go of his need to pick at his nails and the skin around his fingers. He had a bad feeling that this class would be followed by several bandages and useless, sore fingers.
            Ellen sighed and pulled one of his hands off to the side, holding it in her own until he turned to look at her. "Whatever you say. I wish you would just tell me what is bothering you though. Did this kid do something to you? If anyone in this school gives you any crap I swear to God I will go fucking apeshit—"
            "No, Ellen, he didn't do anything. I said he's nice." Ryan's voice was slow and drawn out as he cut her off. "But I'm trying to figure something out on my own before I make anyone else try to solve it for me. I'm sorry for being such a dick."
            "You're not a dick. You're a Ryan. There's a difference. I'm proud of ya, you know." And she was. Ellen was incredibly pleased with the changes her friend had made over the summer, after his mother moved out. In the one situation that was sure to destroy him in the state that he used to be in, he completely turned around and pulled himself out of it. She admired his strength through everything, even if he still depended on her and Spencer quite a bit, but they all needed each other anyway and some things were just too far out of Ryan's control. Ellen loved how he was now able to work his way through a problem without a mention of it to anyone, only to hint at its previous existence, usually in the form of a joke. It was the Ryan she remembered from when they were little and it was the Ryan she lost when they got a bit older. She was glad to see this Ryan back after so many years of being locked away.
            The mildly masculine woman in the front of the room cleared her throat and began to introduce herself. "Thanks, El." Ryan whispered to his friend, squeezing her hand and placing it on her lap. He couldn't get that image of the boy's wounded arms out of his head. This kid deserved a name, but Ryan was too afraid to ask.