Cobalt

0:8

Cobalt

0:8

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(Playlist is in the external link.)

        Once we head out of the office, my mind begins to race. Mr. Finnely said he would call my social studies teacher to tell her I would miss it after I agreed to tutor Marshall, but he apparently didn't. So technically he's the reason for my detention. I take note to grill him for that.

        "Are you actually gonna show up?" Marshall asks as my phone buzzes once again. This time I slide it out of my pockets and check what the texts were. All of them coming from Ryder except this one text telling me that I've used all of my data for the month.

        I dismiss the text from my phone company immediately. If Frances asks me why she has to pay twice the amount of data, I'll just shrug innocently and say I didn't get any notice.

        "Probably not," I grin as I look up from my screen. Marshall grins back in return, but it fades away shortly after and he looks away. "You should go though," I offer, "Lance's mom is gonna kill you if she gets a call from the school."

        "Yeah," he shrugs, "well just let me know when you wanna get to doing that study session, okay?" I slide my phone back in my pocket and look at him to reply, but before I can say a word, he's blasting off to the cafeteria.

        I suppose I should copy him and engulf a greasy slice of pepperoni and cheese pizza as the rest of the teens are doing, but instead, I decide to head to Mr. Finn's class, like he told me to do.

        And so, as I peer into the class from the door frame, there he is, shoving some leafy greens down his throat. A soft chuckle escapes my lips as he uses a napkin to wipe away the salad dressing on his upper lip.

        I explain to him every inch of the conversation with Frances and Mrs. Belair, which every so often he replies by saying 'mhm' and 'go on'. I don't get much of a reaction out of him until I let him know that I'm not going to detention tonight.

        "You have to go Brooke," he warns, pressing down on his fork trying to grab a bacon piece from his exotic salad.

        "And what if I don't want to? Dallas and all of them are gonna be there," I protest. There's clearly no need for a counselor for me as I have the next best thing: my math teacher.

        "Tutor him after detention," he offers as he pops the blue lid back onto his salad bowl. Mr. Finnley grabs a red pen from his near-empty pencil cup and begins grading tests.

        I consider it for a second, but throw the thought into the trash. No way in hell am I going to detention with a bunch of kids out to ruin my reputation.

        The rest of the day is pretty uneventful, filled with two last boring periods; English and social studies and boring people, including love-struck Lance and snot-nose Sean. I do my fair share of work, nodding occasionally and taking notes when necessary.

        Then came my impulsive decision of  not going to detention. Should I have gone? Of course. But did I? Of course, not. And so instead, I head home and wait for Lance to get home. Lance and I are obsessed with this tv series called Superhuman. It plays on Thursday, only a few hours after his photography club.

        But our plans get cut short as I glance out the window to find Lance and that stupid Lily girl taking photos in my front yard.

        I almost want to strangle him for that.

        Actually, scratch that, I do wanna strangle him for that.

        Seems like today, I simply can't catch a break. I decide to binge re-watch the first season, ignore Frances and Brett when I'm getting called for dinner, and call it a night at three in the morning.