Everything To Do About Nothing

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

    I straightened out my hair because I know when we talk, she can't focus on anything but the unruly mess.  I must not have done a good enough job because I can see her eyeline hovering above my head, likely focusing on a halo of stray-aways.  I tug at it a little more and whether it helps or not, I achieve her attention.

    "Elliot, I have a huge favor to ask you," she gives me a sorry smile that I assume is for the uncontrollable stare.

    "Sure, what is it?" I ask.  Her smile only grows bigger, brighter.  I squint my eyes.  "What?" I repeat.

    "I have a student in my third period Shakespeare, and he's really struggling."  She brushes at her own hair with the corners of her lips pulling up with an unnatural force.  "He really needs a tutor."

    I nod my head, glancing out of the sides of my eyes.  "This early in the quarter?" I question.

    "He needs to keep his semester grade above a C to stay in hockey."

    "I thought the season didn't start until December?"

    "It doesn't, but he needs to manage an 'A' in this quarter if he wants to participate."

    I laugh aloud.  "That's a tall order."  I shake my head.  "What days?"

    Again, she shows a guilty face.  I can tell because she pulls her lips back into her mouth as her eyebrows meet neatly in the middle of her forehead.  "He's only available on weekends."

    I sigh inwardly.  Even though I don't tend to have a booked calendar, sacrificing weekend time isn't a dream for anyone.  Outwardly, I smile back at her reassuringly, "That shouldn't be a big deal."

    She attempts to beam back at me, but still her lips sit inverted inside her mouth, kind of a weird look, especially for her.  "What?" I ask.

    "It's Daniel," she says so quickly that I almost don't catch it, but that name doesn't pass me without notice.

    "What?" I ask again, for good measure.

    "Daniel Graham."  She slides back in her seat just slightly and winced, letting her lips alone this time.

    I pause.  I look around.  I lean in closer.  "No fucking way."  She just looks at me.  "No.  No.  You know I can't stand him."  She looks only longer, almost unblinking.  I grasp my head tight.  "No, no, no, no, no."

**********

    I glance at my watch and back to my bag, packed and ready to go.  The library has the novel silence of academic grounds during the weekend.  I had never taken my things out of my pack, assuming-- well, more like hoping-- that Daniel wouldn't show up.

    "Could he be any later?" I ask myself, exasperated.  He is only a minute late, but I have less than a minute's patience for him, so my irritation only seems reasonable.

    I tell myself to wait until five minutes, but even that is being generous.  At four minutes, I pick up my bag and push in my chair.  Of course this is exactly the minute the boy himself decides to stroll into the library like he didn't just waste 240 seconds of my life.  I tell myself to just walk past him, tell him he had his chance and he was late.  I tell myself without me, he'd have to kiss his extracurricular goodbye.  I stop myself, though, but not because I deep down have this golden heart or feel anything for this dude except extreme hatred.  I stop because I recognize that I've been more than four hours late to plans before and that waiting four minutes isn't as big of a deal or an excuse as I wish it were.