Like To Be You ✓

six

"This never happened." I gently push Tyler away and sniffle. His hands are still in my hair and pressing against the small of my back. It feels as though they'll leave an imprint on the skin.

And I wouldn't want it to go away.

I untangle my hands from behind his neck and take a step back. We're still close enough so that the toes of our shoes touch, but now when I breathe in, the smell of sweat and musty dampness is stronger than his scent. It helps me think more clearly.

My eyes are trained on the floor. It's dull and dotted with dirt and shoe marks. I don't have the courage to look at his face, which is just inches away from mine. We're the same height--- almost. He's only three quarters of an inch taller than me, but I don't like to acknowledge it.

I awkwardly wiggle away from him and pick up my bag. Pushing past the heavy doors, I catch sight of his face in the glass. He's breathing hard.

It's a good thing I'm not the only one flustered here.

x

"Why'd you skip class yesterday?" Mr Blackwell asks me when I'm halfway through entering the classroom. My left leg is suspended in air, outside the classroom.

"And you, too." His hawklike gaze travels to something--- someone behind me, and then that someone bumps into me.

"Shit, sorry." Tyler looks up from the screen of his phone.

Mr Blackwell makes a disapproving noise. "Tyler!"

"Sorry, sorry!" He raises his hands in surrender. I'm surprised now. Tyler missed class? Why would he, other than for soccer practice, which isn't taking place because Coach is on leave?

I'd driven home after my little breakdown in front of him, ashamed and angry at myself. Wallowing in self-pity and devouring an entire tub of ice-cream while watching Mean Girls had done me some good.

"I was sick." I repeat the excuse I'd given to Miss Gina, who'd looked at me with concern in her eyes. She hadn't even asked for the nurse's note, which was wonderful for me. Mr Blackwell, however, won't forget.

"Where is the nurse's note?"

"I don't have one." I sigh. "Look, just give me detention and get this over with, please."

Mr Blackwell regards me with his dark eyes. Then they shift a quarter of an inch above me. "What about you, Tyler?"

"He was sick." Tyler shrugs, and moves past me to take his seat.

I stare at him, dumbfounded. Mr Blackwell clears his throat. "Take your seat, Neil."

x

It's Wednesday, a day after my stupid, stupid meltdown in school and the third day that I return to an empty home. I unlock the door and step in, already feeling the emptiness set in my chest. I've never admitted it to anyone, but I've always preferred spending my time with my mother more than anyone else. I used to love being with my parents and watch them bicker or talk about things I never understood. I just wanted them there, with me. And after my father's death--- murder, I've grown only closer with my mother.

My mother--- she's a beautiful soul. Maira Graham née Adams is the woman with the silky brown hair and soft face. She's the pretty lady you can't stop staring at with pure admiration. She's the mother who'll hoot during her child's talent show and clap a little too loudly, and laugh in such a way that it invokes more laughter out of the other person.

She's the strongest person I know.

In the past few months, she's had to take frequent business trips, much to her disdain as well as mine. She doesn't like leaving me alone at home to fend for myself. The first three times she'd returned home from her trips, she'd found empty boxes of pizzas stacked below the counter and close to fifteen cups of instant ramen stashed in the trashcan.

I hadn't been allowed to eat either of those for thirty-eight days, and instead lived vicariously through watching others eat in food videos. Those were the dark days.

I throw my bag on the rug and promptly jump on the sofa, settling down. The t.v. remote is a few centimetres too far away as per my estimation, so I don't even bother reaching out.

Before I know it, I'm falling asleep with my neck cramping in an uncomfortable position.

I wake up to the ringing of the landline. For a few confused moments, I blink and taste the dry acridness in my mouth. Disgusted, I pick the phone up and grunt.

"Dude!" Zayne's loud voice makes my ear ring. "Where are you? I called you at least three times!"

"What?" I grumble and itch my chin. My eyes are closing again, and the idea of sleeping right here, standing with the phone to my ear sounds wonderful. I want to be anything but awake.

"It's slam night!"

"Oh." My visions clears and the heaviness in my eyes magically leaves.

"Shit." I'm already pulling on my shoes and texting my mom a good morning with my other hand. I can hear Zayne pushing past throngs of people, mumbling excuse mes and whatnot.

"Just a heads up---" He begins when I'm already hanging up. I shrug, deciding to talk to him directly at Gusto's Coffeehouse.

I run around the house in a frenzy, brushing my teeth, attempting to fix my hair, and changing into a less-crumpled shirt and jacket.

Deciding that I look presentable enough, I pick up my poetry book and keys, and leave, shutting the door behind me.

o-o-o