His Blue ✓

23| Muse

   Swish swish swish.

I shake up my chocolate milk before opening the carton and taking a gulp.

     That hits the spot.

     The caf is loud this morning. I look over and see a group of rowdy popular kids. They are, or course, the reason for the volume.

Bryce, Marissa, Leo... I strain my eyes. Anson walks in and my gaze follows him over to Marissa.

He starts speaking to her and I quickly glance away in hopes of not witnessing whatever private moment they're having.

In a few moments, Anson is sliding into my booth. Waves of excitement wash over me.

I take a sip of milk and look at him expectantly.

"Hi." He flashes a Colgate smile.

"Hey." I say quietly.

I blush at the awkward silence that passes between us. Inside, I desperately want to ask about Marissa and him, but I do not want to come off as nosy.

Pressing him could lead to disappointment.

     "What is it?" He raises a brow at me.

     "What is what?"

     "You looked concerned."

     I sigh. "Nope. Just lost in thought."

     Did I really look concerned to him? I thought I was being subtle...

     "So," I say cheerfully, "another day you've neglected your friends for me."

       "You're my friend, too."

       I blink. "Right, But I couldn't help but notice Marissa-"

     "Don't worry about Marissa." Anson rolls his eyes and leans away in his seat. His long, muscular arms stretch out across the back.

     "What's that supposed to mean?"

     "I told her how I felt."

     How he felt? Like.. he told her he didn't like her?

     "I told her what I told you in the closet Friday night... that I didn't care for her as more than a friend." He sighs and his fingers tap the hard seat absentmindedly.

    Feelings of excitement once again take over. I try to internally calm myself. This doesn't mean anything!

     "What did she say about that?"

     "She basically went ballistic. Started blaming you for everything, which I denied because my feelings for Marissa haven't been present for much longer than you have."

      Wow.

     Inside, I feel proud of Anson for finally being honest to Marissa.

     She needs someone to love her just as much as anyone does. Anson however... he didn't truly love her.

    "So.. your writing..."

     I groan at the mention. My writing has almost completely stopped. The last entry in my composition book is Anson's poem.

     "I can't write." I sigh. "I have no muse. No inspiration. When I do," I shudder, "it's always in the form of a roofied drink, or Kyle, or something horrific."

     Anson slowly blinks at me.

     "You probably think I'm an idiot." I sigh, and start to pack my things.