Terminally Abstract

Chapter 3

The eye contact between my own and theirs doesn't last for long. My phone vibrated in my pocket and I reached for it. My screen had been overrun by a yellow background and the words,"Don't Panic!". I roll my eyes and look back up to that aquamarine pair. Glistening eyes catch my so done face, a huge smirk meeting my slanting mouth.

"Okay, ha ha. How original. Decode my phone." I say, moving my hands in sarcastic gestures.

"Can I get a please?" Arthur smoothly walked towards me and rested his arm on my shoulder. I hate when he does this. I wasn't someone he could just toy with whenever he wanted. I understood hacking was one of his strong points, but he could test it on his own gadgets, not on me.

"No. I already know this is on purpose, like every single time you've ever done this." I shrugged his hand off. "Go annoy your sisters why don't you?"

"So, I'll take that as a no? Okay fine. Hand it over." Arthur extended his hand, palm side up, and I placed my screen in the center. With a flick of his finger, my screen turns back into its regular shade.

"A timer? Are you that egoistic?" I slumped my shoulders. "I didn't even need to ask for help." I mumbled.

"Hey, you've got to give me some credit. It was perfectly timed." He grinned, but watched my face for a glimpse of what happened earlier today. I looked away. "Michael, are you okay?"

"Yeah I'm fine." I snapped.

"How's your mom?"

"My mother is fine."

"She shouldn't yell at you so much."

"It's fine! Don't I deserve it? I just. Just..whatever." My face started to burn and I marched to class.

Adjusting his projective wristwatch, Arthur warily followed me.

_____

My classes come and go by quickly, leaving me lost in a sea of information. Keeping afloat with my lifeboat made of an imagination.

I wouldn't say I'm naturally gifted to pass classes without actually paying attention. I just have a strong desire to get out of this crappy school. Hardly any windows. No pictures, only equations and formulas. My mind started to piece them all together, creating a figure or face. This is the only way I could survive in here. With this rare shard of creativity. I stared at my teacher's nape. Such a shame it has to be limited though.

"Michael, could you demonstrate in front of the class on how to do this problem?" my teacher cocked her head earnestly. Her eyes glossy with expectation.

Sitting so far in the back couldn't have prevented me from this.

I stood up. My hands began to shake, my knees were weak. I began the walk of shame with the class's eyes directed towards me. How could my chest tighten yet my heart beat so fast? I feel so stupid. It's just a simple problem. I was close to the board and I could feel my classmates' pressuring eyes trying to shove me closer. Could they see me shaking? Had I been saying everything out loud? They know don't they? No they don't. I didn't tell anyone.

I twitched my hand to write in legible numbers on the touchscreen board. The stylist pen quivering in my grip.

My breathing felt irregular. Damn it, just solve the problem! You're so slow! Even the teacher can tell you're scared! I messed that number up! Wrong! Wrong! Wron-

"Correct." My heart stopped. I let out a sigh of relief. I placed the pen down. I started walking to my seat, feeling a hint of accomplishment. "However, I expected a much faster solving."

A chuckle came from the room. I froze in my place. It seemed like I was truly, never good enough.