Catch Me If You Can (boyxboy)

Chapter 9

Owen’s pov.

I timidly follow Tate through the hallways, allowing him to take me to my first class. On the inside, I’m terrified. The truth is, Cyren got to me. He’s embedded in my brain. I just don’t understand.

One thing has me really confused, though. Yesterday, he told me that he’d had his eye on me for weeks. How is that even possible? He hasn’t lived here that long. Unless, of course, he has, and he just finally decided to make himself known.

Another thing is: Didn’t he say I have two weeks? Actually, he said I have two weeks before he comes to get me, and I don’t even want to know what that’s supposed to mean.

“Hey,” Tate calls softly, bringing me back to reality. “We’re here.” He opens the door for me and I head in, head ducked down, avoiding the glances of the students already present. Tate follows me in and sits next to me. After a few moments, Cyren walks in and sends a wicked grin my way. I shiver in fear and Tate growls at him.

“Good morning, everyone,” Ms. Benson greets cheerily as she walks through the doors. The class gives her a week hello in response. Ms. Benson rolls her eyes.

“That was pathetic, but it’s Monday, so you have a pass.” She giggles to herself as she shuffles the papers on her desk.

“Okay,” she starts, glancing down at her notes as she pushes her glasses back up her tan nose and combs her short, brown, curly hair behind her ear with a manicured hand, “Today we’re presenting the projects I assigned about the names. You’ve had a week to do it, and I told you to have it here today, so who wants to go first?” Hands shoot up in the air and I stare at the floor, only peeking up occasionally to meet Ms. Benson’s caramel colored eyes, silently begging her to not choose me. Apparently, she got the message.

“Ms. Porter, you can go first,” Ms. Benson announces, flashing a grin my way, showing off her straight white teeth. I try my best to return it.

A girl with platinum blond hair, Hannah, I believe, walks up to the front of the classroom and starts reading her essay.

“For this project, I interviewed Daniella…” I tune her out and think about more important things in live, like how I have a Cyren issue. Apparently, I zoned out for longer than I thought, because, next thing I know, my name’s being called. I sigh and take out my essay. I suppose it couldn’t be avoided.

I vaguely remember doing this second essay on Tate, but it’s a memory distant in my brain. I hope I did it correctly.

“Tate,” I begin lackadaisically. “Short, forgettable, average. Are these words you would use to describe him? Those of you who know him are well aware that these are not words that can even compare to him, so I’m going to ignore his opinion for now. I’m going to tell you what I think.

“Tate. Fun, original, caring. He’s like the rainbow after a disastrous storm, his bright colors giving you hope. He is the lone warrior who slays the dragon, fighting against all odds to protect those he loves. To him, his name is stupid. To me, his name is purple. Think about it. Purple is beautiful. His name is beautiful. Purple is dark. His name is dark. Purple is mysterious and open, happy and depressing, good and evil, life and death. Tate is just… purple.

“Tate is time. Always there, but never here. Our world revolves around him, but he doesn’t exist. He is a fictitious figment of our imagination, without whom, our world would crumble. Without him, there is no such thing as life. There is only existing. Existing in a world where everything is nothing and nothing is everything. You are ancient one day, a baby the next, a teenager the day after that. Nothing great, just breathing in, and out. In and out. In and out, until the instance when your breathing stops. But, of course, who can say that you died? You were never born, so you can’t die. Is it today? IS it tomorrow? Is it now, or is it later? Am I dead, or not? You don’t know. You simply exist. You just exist. Exist until you don’t exist anymore. Now, tell me. Is that something you can be described in short, forgettable, or average?”

I take a deep breath and glance over at Tate, who has a large smile plastered on his face. I blush when his eyes meet mine.

“Wow, Owen,” Ms. Benson breathes. “That was… deep. Could you explain something to me, though?” I nod my head and glance over at her timidly.

“How did you tie in Time with Tate? I’m just curious to know.” I think back to when I wrote this, which is difficult. It’s still kind of blurry. Suddenly, a thought comes to my brain, loud as a police siren.

“Because Tate is my time,” I answer simply. “As I was thinking back on my life, I realized that without him, I wouldn’t be alive, just like how I wouldn’t be alive without time. The stuff he’s done for me is so amazing, I can’t grasp it, so he’s like a fictitious character. The line: “Everything is nothing and nothing is everything” is simple. If we lived without time, nothing would exist, but everything would exist. The people who created things aren’t alive, but they aren’t dead, so who decides whether things are created or not?” Ms. Benson nods, understanding my logic. I knew I had a reason to like her.

“Wow,” she smiles at me, awe in her eyes. “I really like how you incorporated the color purple into your essay. You have such a different perspective than most people, Owen. Have you ever considered writing poetry before?” I nod and look at the ground. I wouldn’t dare share my poems with people. Ms. Benson seems to catch on to my reluctance and releases me to my seat. I can’t help but notice Cyren’s glares as they burn into my back, sending shivers down my spine. I take my seat next to Tate and he smiles down at me, secretly grabbing my hand under the table. I blush a little but say nothing.

“Next up, Mr. Newbie. Cyren, you’re up.” My blood chills as Cyren slowly makes his way up to the front of the class, not breaking eye contact with me. He smiles at Ms. Benson sweetly.

“For my essay, I interviewed Owen,” he announces. “Okay, I’ll begin.” He takes a deep breath and centers himself before looking me dead in the eye. I can’t look away.

“You think you can get to know a person just by looking at them. You assume you can judge a book by its cover, that you’re different and that you can learn everything about another person just by one interaction. Well, I’m here to tell you that you’re wrong. Now, look at Owen Wilson, and what do you see? A blue-haired rebel who loves being different? A quiet nerd who hates attention? A beautiful lover who needs protection? These and more are all the different perspectives about him floating around this classroom alone. So, in reality, none of you really know him. None of you can tell me who the real Owen Wilson is, can you? You thought you had him figured out, but you don’t, do you? No. Well, guess what. I do. I know everything about him, and, soon, you will too.” I glance nervously over at Tate and he squeezes my hand under the table. He has a look of uncertainty in his eyes.

“I bet some of you think he’s living the perfect life with a prefect family, perfect friends, and perfect grades. Well you’re wrong. I bet none of you knew he lives alone with his sister. I bet some of you thought he was a perfectly happy, healthy person with a bright future. Well you’re wrong. You definitely didn’t know he’s depressed and suicidal. Shocker, isn’t it?” He starts to move on with the rest of his sentence, but Ms. Benson stops him.

“Thank you, Mr. Tyde,” she mutters with a glare. “That’s quite enough of that.” But she’s too late. The damage is done. I can feel all the eyes on me and it’s making me uncomfortable. Screw that, I was uncomfortable before, now I’m terrified. Soon, everyone will know my secrets.

Overwhelmed by the sudden negative attention, I get up and run to the door, but I don’t get there in time to miss the next sentence Cyren yells from his seat: “Oh, and did I forget to mention that he’s dating Tate Hunter?”

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