Numbers (Louis Tomlinson)

Chapter 6

Wow. What a jerk he is. He's done this millions of times and I'm literally about to crack with anger. I just don't get how Liam could be so mature and immature at the same time. The other day I insulted him, and no I don't remember what I said. So now I'm stuck having him not even talking to me. Well that's not exactly all that true. I asked him why he was mad at me, and he answered, "You should know."

Like for real though he's just one of those guys. He's super nice at first, he'll be your friend and it'll all be good, but as soon as you say the tiniest thing; SNAP and you're out of his list of friends. It must be the popular guy thing. It keeps his list small and controllable. Again though, I have no idea why I care, it's not like I haven't lost tons of friends in the past years with my constant changing personality and rude humor. I wouldn't even be my friend. So here I am, stuck in art class with Liam ignoring me. Seriously though, I shouldn't care.

With my small select of friends I guess it's kind of hard not to care when you lose a single friend because they're a large fraction of your small amount of friends. But here I am wondering if Liam was ever my friend. I try to keep telling myself that he was but somewhere in the back of my mind I feel like I know that I have no friends. No actual true friends, just people who hang around me because they literally feel bad for me. So I guess, when I was selected to be partners with Liam for this huge art project I just saw it as doing a project with a nobody. Even maybe a stranger.

"So what do you want to do? Do you want to do a bust of someone? An abstract sculpture of a random character?" I ask, kneading the clay beneath my hands. When the teacher told us to create a sculpture by option with only a few pounds of clay, I knew it'd be difficult. Liam's a creative guy. He'll come up with some stupid sculpture that will plummet my grade to the ground. But to my surprise, he answers in a completely blank way.

"I don't care." He mumbles, kneading the other half of the clay.

"You should, it's for a grade." I say, forming my clay into a ball before pounding it into a cube. Apparently that's how you get ride of air bubbles.

"Well I don't." He snaps. Sheesh.

"How about a bust? It's simple but it's hard so if we achieve it we can probably get a good grade."

"Whatever you want."

"Can you like stop?" I scoff, sharply turning my head to look up at him. Guilt is placed in his eyes. I still go on though, "I know you hate me but if you're just going to be ignorant about it than you can just let me do it alone and I gladly will."

"I don't hate you," He sighs, "I'm just upset."

"Well I don't care, you should treat me like you would to anyone else and give me some bloody ideas." I snarl, turning my head back towards the table.

"Sorry." He mutters. "But I do like the idea of a bust."

I ignore his apology and continue pounding the clay on the table. I turn to him, "Who should we do the bust of?"

"A legend, like Michael Jackson or Marilyn Monroe."

"Let's do Michael Jackson." I say simply. I'm not into either of the "legends" that Liam suggested but I would choose Jackson over Monroe.We both stay silent the rest of class, the tension still between us. He doesn't forgive me, he's still mad. I'm just happy he at least talked to me.

I spin my keys around my finger and spot my car in the distance. I unlock it which causes to beep, I stumble across the lot to get in it. It's an old car and not in very good shape, but it's durable most of the time and gets me places. I open the driver's door and sit down. I put the key in the slot and turn it and start the engine---never mind.  It didn't start the engine. It's like it just broke down. I try again. The sound of the engine buzzes an awful sound.

"Uh-oh." I mumble to myself. I open the door and go to hood of the car. I open it up to be shocked. One of the red wires was split straight in the middle. But it wasn't a cut, it was a burn. The carburetor must've gotten too hot and caused the wire to burn through. I sigh and close the hood. I search the lot for someone, anyone, to help to me out. But of course I was the only one left. I take my phone out of my pocket. Just my luck, dead. I don't seen how much it could've helped though, my parents would still be working. The least would do is call a tow truck so they could take it in and fix it. I wouldn't have a ride home. So I'm stuck here.

I walk across the lot back to school. Locked. I should've known, they always lock it. I walk back to my car and lean on it, like it will help in anyway. I take out the book we got  assigned for English and flip it open. In no less than five minutes a voice calls from the sidewalk by the school.

"What're you doing?"

Not that voice. I've heard it maybe only four times in the past week but it is the still so amazingly annoying.

"Why would you care?" I shout back.

"Just curious." That's all you ever are.

"Well my engine broke down so I'm stuck here." I answer back honestly. The familiar figure approaches me.

"Do you want a ride? I was just walking to my dorm where my car is, it's only about half a mile away." Louis looks me up and down. It's so weird talking to a university student, or talking to anyone in that matter. Although it does make sense now why he's here, our campuses collide.

"No." I shake my head, I refuse to get in a car with him.

"Suit yourself." He twitches his head to the side, stepping his foot backward to turn around. I grab his arm. Now that I think about it, whether I like it or not I do need that ride, I can't be stuck here until at minimum five o'clock. His eyes snatch at my hand, shrugging it way reluctantly. Huh.

"Wait, I actually do need a ride." I frown. I can't believe I'm doing this. A grin tugs at the side of his mouth, although he dares not to show it. I turn my head to the ground to show my cheeks that were quickly reddening. Some college students stood staring at us.

"Then let's hit it." He says, pointing to the sidewalk. This is literally a nightmare, never will I let him talk to me again after this. It seems I say that every time I see him, but this time I mean it. I won't need you ever again, Louis Tomlinson.