CALM

005.

005. 

THE CALM BEFORE THE STORM. That's what George had called it. Elias called it anticipation. While Theodore and Simon sat at the round lunch table in silence as the two boys argued.

"As crazy as my father was, God rest his soul, he knew the type of people to hire to handle, well, this type of stuff. We are fine, George."

"Fine?" George whispered, the volume of his voice doing nothing to take out the anger in his tone. "You just found daddy's little black book filled with a horrendous amount of contacts varying from God knows what and think all these people are reputable sources? He knows my fucking mother, Elias!"

Elias shook his head, "My father's little book has come in a clutch numerous times." He leaned in and lowered his voice, "My Grandfather has used it numerous times and I've seen that man come in. He won't spill. I wouldn't just do that on a whim."

"We killed him on a whim," George pushed.

"Yes, we. Not me, but we. So don't act so righteous with me, Hearst." Elias fell back in his own seat and began to pick around the bland meal the school had served him. "Let's talk about something else. I can feel people looking at us."

They could all feel it. Their unwavering eyes burning into his back, creating a plethora of blisters on their backs. The silence when they entered the room and the eruption of hushed whispers after they had left it. They knew no one knew, but it felt like everyone knew.

"Let's talk about basketball, huh?" Elias introduced.

"No," said the rest at the same time.

"Fine." He looked around the cafeteria and something hooked his eye. A red-eye Imogen Portier patting her eye with crumpled tissue paper. As he looked at her, she looked at him. A weak smile flashed across her face before he knew she began walking over.

Imogen was a small African-American girl that had sat next to him all last year in chemistry. She was everything that Elias wasn't. Open, honest, humble. He admired that in her, but he wouldn't say that he found himself becoming the best of friends with her either. Neither did she. But in the hallways, they exchanged tight-lipped smiles.

"Eli," she gasped. She pointed her slender finger with a small golden band on it to the open seat next to him on the roundtable. "Mind if I sit?"

Was he surprised, yes, but he nodded his head while the rest of the boys looked at Elias with wide deer eyes.

She giggled; a small one. "Am I interrupting your boy talk?"

"Eh," shrugged Elias. "We were just talking about basketball. Nothing too life changing."

"Your season is almost coming to an end, isn't it?"

"Yah," spoke up Theodore from the corner. "But in all honesty I'm ready for it to be done."

"Done?" asked both Elias and Imogen.

"Yah, done," he repeated a bit more forcefully. "It feels a little life draining and I don't even think

we're going to win playoffs at this rate."

"That bad, huh?"

"I wouldn't say our season is that bad," Elias countered.

"Hasn't Oliver not shown up to practice in like the past week? He is our best point guard," mentioned George.

They all looked to George.

If Imogen innocent ears weren't there to hear, Elias probably would have grabbed George by the pristine white collar and threaten him that he had another number in his Daddy's Little Black Book that could make all of his new money disappear. But he sat in his sit, digging his finger bitten nails into his palms.

"I've heard that he's been feeling under the weather lately."

"Really?" countered George. "I saw him last weekend at my party. He seemed perfectly fine. In fact-"

"What George?" Elias hissed. "Illnesses fester. Who knows what could have happened between last Saturday and today."

"I can leave if you two..." began Imogen. She started to motion herself back towards her own table, but Elias grabbed her by the wrist. "No, stay. We need an outsider's perspective on this."

She laughed nervously, sitting back down. "I don't think I know much about...this."

"Of course you do. You were there George's party? Am I correct."

"Yeah," she said, the inflection in her own voice matching the question the others boys had about what point Elias was trying to make.

"And you saw Oliver? Oliver Wyngard that night?"

Imogen looked around the table for nonexistence help. "Yes."

"And would say that he was different from, I don't, me?"

"What do you mean, Eli." But the tone that her small voice had presented her question in made it sound more like a statement. The conversation was unknown to the Theodore, Simon, and George, but Elias and Imogen knew.

"Oh you know what I mean, Imogen."

She got up from the seat. Her voice filled with anger, "No, I do not know what you mean, Elias."

He got up from the table too, trailing quickly behind her. "Really? So you're not telling me that me and Oliver didn't double team on you last Saturday."

Then there was silence. It was the kin that George had mentioned earlier; the calm before the storm.

She slapped him, hard. The sound made its way through the cafeteria and a large red mark began to grow upon Elias' tan skin. Imogen stormed away.

Elias stood there with a long, thin, humorless smile; all too similar to sociopaths. He looked back to George, fury swirling within his dark eyes and then walked after Imogen, his footsteps thunderous, warning of the upcoming storm.

If no one was looking at them then, everybody was looking at them now.