Almond Boy

Almond Boy - 5

"Elliot!" 

Elliot's head shoots up, his dark hair falling into his eyes that had been brushed back by his hand. He had been so focused on sketching, the sound of Emma's voice startled him. 

Suddenly Emma began to cough and her cheeks felt really warm. 

I probably shouldn't yell like that, she thinks. 

"You alright?"

"I'm fine," Emma mutters, before walking by and sitting down next to Elliot. "How are you?"

Elliot looks at her from the corner of his eyes, meant to be a quick glance at first, but is struck by how worried she looked. 

"I'm good, Emma." Why are you looking at me like that? 

"That's good. I heard you had a doctor's appointment, is all."

"Oh. It was fine. It most certainly wasn't the first, and it won't be the last." Elliot shrugs and goes back to sketching. 

"Whatcha drawing?"

"Are you alright?" Elliot asks, confused by Emma's sudden need for chatting. She's usually pretty comfortable with the silence, letting it be broken comfortably by comments about some of the students or questions about what Ms. Shipman did in her free time does she order around her children like that? Are the other staff afraid of her? 

"I was bored yesterday, is all. Sorry, go back to your drawing," Emma laughs, leaning against the backrest of the bench at a weird angle. 

"What are you doing?" Elliot asks with a smile, his eyebrow quirking up at Emma's frumpy way of sitting. 

She sighs, "this is the most comfortable position for me, right now."

Elliot shuts his sketchbook again and sets it aside, unable to focus. 

"Emma, why are you on the bench?"

She has a side smirk, the right corner of her lips curling upwards. 

"I'm just a little sick, is all. Should be done soon, I hope."

Elliot grabs his bag of almonds and puts an almond in the upturned palm of her hand that is draped limply on the seat of the bench. He then takes two for himself and puts them into both sides of his mouth, feeling the crunch on each side. 

Emma smiles and brings it up to her lips, biting it in half before eating the whole thing. 

"Thanks."

"Yeah, no problem." 

Elliot leans back and stares at the kids running on the path that leads to either the nature trail or the track. They go to the track, and he can see Ms. Shipman yelling at the other students. 

"Ms. Shipman's kind of a bitch, isn't she?"

Elliot lets out a cough, startled, and then grins. 

"Yeah, I guess so," he says laughing, "what made you think that." 

Emma quirks her eyebrows and points her thumb in the general direction of her. "Don't you hear her? She's pointing out kids specifically and calling them lazy to try to get them running faster."

Elliot shakes his head, "nah, I can't hear her .That's mean, though."

Emma shrugs, "I mean, I guess it's better than one of those really fat gym teachers doing it, but still, Ms. Shipman needs to relax I think." 

Maybe she can take my Valium to relax, Elliot thinks, but he sighs and leans his head on the back of the bench. 

"Ever notice how uncomfortable this bench is?" Emma asks, looking at Elliot's position on the bench, he looks like a draped coat on it. He lets out a single laugh, his chest popping up with the one loud laugh. 

"I did for a long time, I used to lay on it."

"I remember that!"

Elliot's eyebrows furrow and he looks over at her. "You do?"

"Yeah, because I accidentally kicked a ball into your face in kickball!" Upon saying this Emma brings her hands to her mouth, "I accidentally kicked a ball in your face - I'm sorry about that, by the way."

"It's okay," Elliot says, chuckling a little, remembering it now. Emma had panicked right there and then, apologizing over and over and over and staring at him throughout the rest of class. He'd forgotten about that. 

She wasn't the first to have kicked, or thrown, or smashed a ball into him. It's hard to aim a ball if you don't play the sport professionally. 

"I do feel bad about that."

"Yeah, I know you do. You apologized, like, three hundred times."

Emma gives Elliot a flat look and brushes her hair back. "It was not three hundred."

"You panicked for the rest of class and kept looking at me," Elliot tells her, "most days aren't that different on the bench, Emma, so I kind of remember it when it does."

Emma crosses her arms and cocks one eyebrow up, turning her face down towards him, and says, "Well, how come you didn't remember till now?"

"Because that's not that out of the blue."

"Have you ever had a day that stands out explicitely among the rest?"

Elliot sighs and shrugs. "Not really. I guess the day you came and sat down. I'm still getting used to it."

Emma gives him a peculiar look and Elliot shrugs. 

"Take that however you'd like."

Emma at first feels like she should be offended, then wonders if it's a compliment. She realizes it's a nothing; it's a comment, a fact for a sick boy on a bench. 

Elliot looks at her from the corner of his eye and waits for her response until she finally shrugs. 

"That was a day that stood out for me, too," she says with a sigh. Elliot raises his eyebrows and grabs another almond and puts it on his index finger, flicking it at her. It falls into her lap. 

She takes it and munches on it, and Elliot grabs a few himself before grabbing his sketchbook and drawing again. 

They don't talk for the rest of gym, but they listen. To the sound of Elliot's pencil scratching against paper, creating a picture that is testing Emma's curiosity; to the sound of Ms. Shipman's scratchy voice as it screams at kids who are slacking off; to the sound of feet pounding against the pavement; and the chewing of almonds.