Better Than This

18

"Before you break into pairs," Mr. Mitchell begins, "I want to remind everyone about the talent competition next Friday. Please consider signing up. I don't want anyone to miss out because it's not cool or lame. Guys—is two hundred bucks lame?" When no one responds, he sighs. "Just... think about it. Alright, let's get with your partner. I'll be coming around to check in with each group and see if anyone needs help."

Desks shift, and my heart beats faster. This is it. Seeing each other for the first time after I left without a goodbye. After I found out he has a girlfriend. After a tiny part of me crumbled. I let out a breath. And inhale another. I can do this. We can be friends. Just friends. Deciding to take the pro-active, totally pal-appropriate approach, I switch the desk around.

Inwardly, I groan.

Alex looks good.

Too good.

Almost as good as Saturday night, minus the guitar (which he should always carry with him. All the time. Forever.) Back in his gray hoodie, he has his arms crossed and keeps his eyes on me, something of a smile set in his features. But he hasn't fully committed to it, like Sunday's lack of events is holding him back.

I sink into the seat and open my notebook, trying not to think of her hanging all over him. Or him holding the guitar. Or anything that happened from over the weekend. If I can forget all of that, maybe I can get us back on track to where we were Friday—a couple of strangers discussing an awkward school assignment.

I scan my notes, not sure where to start. We left off on the research part of it, and that's not something we can do much of here.

"Have a good Sunday?"

I look up. My heart beats faster. "It was great. Yours?"

"You get a lot of painting done?"

"Yeah."

He leans forward, scratching behind his ear. It takes him a moment to get his thoughts in order. "You weren't online so..."

"Yeah..." I don't want him to know that I avoided the computer because I needed some space. Some space from him. "I like to paint a lot on Sundays. It relaxes me. Recharges me." I hold eye contact with him as I say it. "Gives me time to think about things."

A lump rolls down his throat.

It's quiet for a moment, and I wish it wasn't so awkward, so ridiculously uncomfortable. I scan my notes again, wishing there was some distraction that could pull us both out of it. I bite my lip, focusing on my list of careers.

"So..." Alex taps his pen on the paper, staring at it instead of me. "Did...you have fun Saturday?"

I peek up, surprised that he wants to talk about it. And talk about which part? The whole thing? Or maybe he's looking for confirmation of something. I'm not sure what he's really asking, so I give a vague—but honest—answer.

"Mostly."

"Mostly?"

"Yeah. Some parts were better than others."

He taps his pen on his paper faster and then looks out the window. Some new thought passes behind his eyes because the corner of his mouth lifts. "At least you have food in your house now."

"This is true."

"Thanks to my excellent shopping skills."

I roll my eyes, but can't help the smile it causes.

"So, what did—"

"How's it coming you two?" Mr. Mitchell interjects, his mischievous eyes bouncing between us. I stiffen, caught doing something I shouldn't be—discussing non-assignment items—but Alex crosses his arms, annoyed at the interruption. It doesn't go unnoticed. "That well, Mr. Wolf?"