Grayson's Body

Envy

Chapter 9: Envy

Envy

en·​vy | \ˈen-vē \

Definition of envy

(Entry 1 of 2)

1: painful or resentful awareness of an advantage enjoyed by another joined with a desire to possess the same advantage

2: obsolete : Malice

3: an object of envious notice or feeling

When Grayson drove us to school on Monday, I couldn't help but notice the darkening circles under his eyes. It was like he hadn't slept all night, and that kind of concerned me. He hadn't said anything while I got in, throwing my backpack to the floorboard, and when I looked back up at him, I felt the frown already forming on my face. His hands were hard against the steering wheel. I could see the tendons under his rough knuckles as he turned the corner sharply on Maple Road. The spring air hit the side of face and I let it. He looked like he was in a kind of deep concentration. Maybe a bit agitated too, though. I couldn't explain it.

"Hey, you okay?" I said as I watched him after a couple of minutes. I grabbed the handle bar when he made another sharp turn, my hand tightening over the plastic.

He seemed to snap out of whatever he was in and glanced at me, swallowing, "Yeah, I'm just peachy."

I leaned my head back against the seat after a second, and said, "That's good."

When he pulled into the student parking I got out slowly. What I was met with was what I expected: people around the entrance talking, others getting out of their vehicles. It was different, though. It felt different, too.

The students walking down the sidewalks seemed to walk a bit slower, the air of everything seemed to be slower. No one wanted to move too fast, to cause too much of anything. It was a sadness, a potency to the air.

Fragile and tragic were two pretty good words to describe it. It felt fragile because everyone seemed breakable, seemed like the stain glass windows of a church. Even the trees in front of the school seemed to be moving softly against the breeze. It felt like they could be knocked over at a moment's notice. It was tragic because there were some there that had lost more than others.

People had died.

This was a big deal.

Grayson didn't say a word to me as we walked through the front glass doors of Kettle High School. He had his back pack slung over his shoulder, his teeth together hard. He still looked smug, though. That was normal, though.

But it felt off.

Again.

I noticed a lot of things.

Chip was there on Monday in the halls and the moment I saw her-red nosed, dreary eyes, yet spunky and smiling-I left Grayson's side to go over and hug her. She was leaning against one of the dull gray colored lockers talking to a guy with fiery red hair. There was a girl crying against the one on the opposite side, her thick hair blocking out part of her face, but she had two friends trying to calm her down.

"Hey," I said as I wrapped my arms around her. I felt her bury her face into my shoulder.

Which, by the way, is kind of hard since we're the same height.