Vu

t w o

Author's Note: This is a rough, rough draft of the chapter. There are likely multiple grammatical errors. Parts of the plot of the chapter are subject to change. I haven't written anything in a long while, so I was eager to publish something. Feedback is  much appreciated!

Beck and I walk side-by-side, uncomfortable and searing in the silence that lingers between us.

People crowd the hallways that are littered with old homework assignments and candy wrappers. White fluorescent lights glare down, reflecting off the beige tiled floors and red dented lockers.

I observe my surroundings, analyzing the way teenagers my age behave. I have been around teenagers before--girl scouts, softball, lacrosse, martial arts--but not like this, in their natural habitat. It's strange, and has me wondering if I'm even human at all.

In the midst of people-watching, Beck speaks over my thoughts, "So... Do you know anybody else here besides AJ?"

I can feel his eyes trying to catch mine. Instead of submitting to his zeal, I stare down the hall in front of me as we continue toward our classroom, and answer, "I think a few fellow girl scouts come to this school."

"Girl scouts?" Beck chortles. "So you sold cookies in those little vests?"

I roll my eyes. Classic response. Unable to hold myself back, I snap, "That's not all we do."

"No, right, I know, yeah..." Beck nods as his voice falls off. He vocalizes, again, retracing the conversation, "Well, who else do you know? I probably know them, too."

I smile, laughing on the inside at his desperate attempt to maintain conversation. For some reason, I decide to amuse him by participating in meaningless banter. "Rebecca French and Suzie Smithfield."

When Beck renders no response, I glance over at him, where his eyes drop from mine. He is grinning suspiciously as he stares downward at the floor.

"So you know them?" I say in the form of a question, even though his expression is clear enough.

"Yeah, unfortunately," Beck answers curtly. "Hey, look, here's our classroom."

He strolls inside the classroom, where chooses a back corner seat. I straggle behind. I think Beck sees my digression as hesitation to accept his friendship, because he motions his head for me to sit in the seat next to him. I sit, only with the intention of revisiting our conversation from the hallway.

I press, "What's wrong with Suzie and Rebecca?"

Beck rolls his eyes and smiles deviously, "Nothing. I just can't believe you're friends with them, that's all."

I wasn't sure if I should feel insulted, or if I should be insulted for Suzie and Rebecca. "And why wouldn't you believe that?"

"I don't know... Suzie's a little weird, and Rebecca--" he cuts off briefly to purse his lips, appearing to be refraining himself from what he really wants to say, "Well, don't get me started with Rebecca..."

"Do you even know them?" I challenge with an eyebrow raised.

"I mean, Suzie, not so much... But Rebecca, ugh," he rolls his eyes for the third time. "Do you even know her?"

I'm prompt to respond, but not enough so as Mr. Beamer enters the room, his deep voice booming for students to keep quiet. He is tall with skinny legs and a large beer-belly. His hairline is receding, and the little hair he has left is colored salt and pepper. He looks almost like a loony cartoon character. As he begins to teach, I quickly realize that he acts like one, too. His voice fluctuates boisterously, he goes off on haphazard tangents, and he paces briskly about the classroom when he lectures without visual aid.

The bell rings an hour and a half later, and I feel as if it's been three. 

"Hurry!" Beck whispers with vigor when he sees me packing my binder into my book-bag. I glance over to him, where he already has his backpack flung onto his shoulder, "He always tries to chat with the last person to leave the room."

I notice everybody making a break for threshold.

"Come on!" he rushes, loudly and fidgety.

"If you knew this, why'd you pick to sit in the back of the classroom?!" I whisper-yell at him, as I shove my binder into the suddenly-too-small backpack. From frivolous adrenaline, I jostle the main pocket forcefully in hopes that the binder would somehow fit once again into my bag. It works, and I'm not slow to join Beck and the horde of remaining students scrambling for the door. Beck looks back and me suspiciously, and it's as if I can see an idea light-bulb flicker above his head. Beck reaches in front of him and flicks a guy's notebook out of his hands. The guy dives down to the floor to pick it up, and we're home free.

When Beck and I burst out of the classroom, laughing side by side, a pair of large guys shout to us from the other side of the hallway, "Hey, Beck!"

"Hey," Beck answers back friendly, but seemingly disinterested. This doesn't discourage them from crossing the hallway and approaching us, one settling on either side of us.

"Did you finally find yourself a girlfriend?" The bushy-eyebrowed one next to Beck taunts, laughter immersing his voice.

The second one with a buzz-cut leans in closer to me, chiming in and snickering, "You be careful, this one's thirsty."

Beck lightheartedly pushes the guys away, "Get out of here!" For some reason, they listen, and trail down the hall to pester a group of girls. Beck turns to me, "Sorry about them. They're Seniors on the wrestling team with me. They love to give me crap."

I force myself to brush it off by changing the topic to avoid any awkwardness, "You're on the school's wrestling team?"

Beck nods pridefully.

"So you roll around with guys in those little leotards?" I chortle in mockery.

"They're actually called singlets, but yes," Beck counteracts playfully as he hangs his head in shame. I laugh, and he's quick to change the subject. "The school requires you to have some sort of extracurricular, so you better start thinking about what you wanna do."  

I nod, but shift the conversation back to him, "So what made you choose wrestling?"

"Well, my dad wanted me to go for the school's baseball team--the talent kind of runs in the family--but I don't know. I never really enjoyed it. My friend, Logan--who I guess you actually met earlier--He's on the wrestling team. He's the one who got me into it."

"That's cool," I say. "Yeah, I'll probably just tryout for the softball team."

"So I take it you DO like baseball?" Beck laughs awkwardly.

I smirk, "Talent also runs in the family."

"Then you'll probably make the team--our girls' softball team kind of sucks."

I nod.

"So did you want me to walk you to your next class?" his bright, blue-green eyes gleam as he stares at me.

"Sure," I smile.