Locker #273. My haven, my property in this hellhole adults like to call the public school system. I swear, the air in this place makes me homicidal. My hand goes to the lock. Spin the dial. 48-12-22. I'm in.
I turn, books cradled in my arms, flicking my brown hair--brown is such a plain color, isn't it? At least, my shade is. The color of dead leaves, that's why parts of it are dyed blue-- over my shoulder with a flicker of annoyance manifesting in my eyebrows. 7:40 in the morning and I'm already cussing in my head. It's all so boring. No challenges. History, Geometry, Art, Science, English, Spanish, nothing to engage my brain. All too easy.
A hand taps my shoulder, and I sigh, jamming my elbow into the person. "Morning, Kameron," I mutter without enthusiasm, but a flicker of a smile on the edge of my lips. Kameron's smart, but still childish, and has an unhealthy habit of sneaking up on me. Last year that got him a pencil lodged in his forehead deep enough to stick.
Long story.
"Morning, Elizabeth," he grins, and I sigh. He's one of the few who call me by my given name. He starts talking about the ISS and I wander away, not wishing to be tardy. That's when I catch the ink message on my arm, as I reach for a doorknob.
'Tell Stel,' my own scribbled, leaning handwriting practically yells into my morning-addled mind. Oh, right. I was gonna die today.
I made it through the first four hours until lunch without falling asleep, wisecracking in Art and History, respectful in Conceptual Science and sullen in Geometry.. I'd forgotten to eat breakfast this morning, and the gnawing in my stomach was enough to keep me awake. Still, as usual, I was the first to the lunchroom, happily claiming my pizza and sitting down at my usual table with Izzie, Logan, and all the washed up, broken pieces of humanity who congregate there. I might be one of the least screwed up people here.
As I listened to Izzie rant about Hunter the Bitch, resident whore and backstabber, I kept my eye out for someone. When I finally found him, I stood, hands trembling, slowly making my way to him.
I tapped Stel's shoulder. I don't usually like physical contact of any kind, but he's different, an exception to most of my rules, including the majority of my sociopathic tendencies. Stel turns and looks at me with a half smile and brown eyes on mine. Oh, Magog. Send help.
I cleared my throat, wiping my palms off on my jeans and shuffling my feet awkwardly. I hate being a teenager, we're so socially inept.
"Hey, uh, Stel? Can I talk to you in the hall for a moment? It's kinda important and it won't take very long, I promise?" I managed to get it all out without stuttering, but even the last sentence sounded like a question.
He nods, thank goodness, and stands, his friends chuckling and elbowing each other, winking. "Sure," he shrugs, a slight Greek accent still there from before his family immigrated to America.
I lead him into the hallway, stopping once out of earshot of the cafeteria. I look up at Stel, who's only a bit taller than me, and find him smiling, waiting for me to begin talking.
"Um, er...Stel?" I decided to make a clean rush if it, just let it all go and ignore the fact that I'd been dreaming about this boy since freshman year. Not willingly, but I just couldn't keep my friend off my mind. We'd bonded over a book called Eragon, and had been good friends ever since. "I kinda really like you and I'm really sorry, but I felt like you needed to be told, and it's just a stupid crush and I promise I'll be over it soon so sorry for bothering you, but I didn't want to chicken out, I'm probably bothering you and I'm so sorry, please don't hate me."
I paused for breath, blushing and stammering, and saw a shocked look cross his face. Fuck. I'd just messed up a friendship with one of the only people I could tolerate and who could tolerate me.
"Liz..." he starts, and my body reacts before my brain does.
I run. Just because I know I'm not his type and logic states that I'll be rejected, that doesn't mean I'm ready to hear it.
I run down the halls, leaving him behind. or not, I hear sneakers squeaking behind me. Dammit. I run faster, but know that he's always beaten me in races.
Stel. Please just let me win this one, okay?
