Under the Bridge

chapter five- "if only i wasn't too old to trick or treat"

"YOU'RE NOT MADE OF FUCKING JELLO, stop jiggling your damn leg." Liam's verbal attack is not at me today, instead, it's aimed at the girl sitting next to him in English class. There are dark circles around his eyes and his voice is stern, interrupting the whole class. In my completely non-medical opinion: he's hungover. 

The teacher whips around and stares him down. "Excuse me, Mr. Walker, would you mind toning down the language?" 

"I'll consider it." He retorts, covering up his outburst with a smirk and a chorus of laughter from the room. 

My thoughts begin to drift elsewhere, and I doze off into daydream land. I look over at James, who is busy scribbling down notes from the board, his plump lips are pursed and his eyes are focused on the page. I wonder how many girls are going to hit on him at the party tonight. I wonder if he's going to flirt back. The thought made me sink a little in my seat. 

This feeling sucks. 

It's Halloween! I should be bouncing off the walls for God's sake. Instead, I'm forced to tutor an ungrateful bad boy after school and deny my crush's offer to attend a party. It's like the world wants me to suffer. At least there's a package of starburst in my lunch. 

* * *

Standing at my locker, I lean against the hard metal and flicker through my Instagram feed. Luckily, my creative writing class is the last one of the day, and right next to where I am. 

Suddenly, a voice causes me to jump back."Hey, nice shoes." I look at James, then my new floral Vans, partially so he can't see that I'm blushing, and partially because I forgot that I was wearing them. 

I smile. "Thanks." I say, voice slightly less shy than usual. It makes the slight curve of my lips turn into a grin. I'm quite proud of myself. Better reward myself with some M&Ms when I get home. 

"Where's your class?" He asked, the dimples in his cheeks look deep, like caverns. I want poke them. Control yourself, Olivia. 

I focus on my response. "It's j-just right over there." I say, looking over at creative writing 101, the best class of the day. 

"Well I'll walk you to it." He says, proudly in a kind tone.

Is this a joke? Am I daydreaming? Have I died? Oh god, I tripped over my cat this morning, maybe I hit my head and it shattered open, and this is some sick form of purgatory.

 More like Purr-gatory. 

God I hate myself, and I hate the fact that my hands are so sweaty they feel like I just stuck them in a jar of mayo. Attractive, I know. I'm sorry for making you imagine that. 

If you haven't noticed, my brain always goes on the fritz like this when I'm stressed out. I can't stop thinking about the fact that I'm probably in a coma and this is some kind of a dream. 

Well, when in Rome, I guess you should accept a cute boy's offer and let him walk you fifty feet to your class. At the door, I smile, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear and attempting to look kind of flirty. I don't think it's working, because he's acting exactly the same. 

"So, uh, might I ask what you're doing instead of the party tonight?" He asks, biting his lip and leaning against the open door, just as I'm about to go in. 

I shrug. "Hope and I always have a movie marathon and pass out candy." I said, quietly. To keep my hands from fidgeting too much, I shove them into my pockets. He's probably judging me hardcore right now, I'm a loser who doesn't spend time getting drunk or with a large group of people. My hands are shaking, good thing he can't see them.