Grayson's Body

Pronounced

Chapter 15: Pronounced

pronounced[pruh-nounst]
adjective

1. strongly marked

2. clearly indicated

3. unequivocal

I was watching Grayson Clark's movements as we walked down the crowded hallway. There was the scent of lemon in the air, kind of like disinfectant and cleaner, and body odor. I didn't like either.

I wondered how many other people were thinking that Grayson didn't look like his perfect self. Had anyone noticed the dark circles under his eyes, the paleness of his skin. I mean, if they had noticed he looked like he was about to pass out or that he wanted to snap somebody's head off. He looked like both. Was I the only one who had asked if he was okay? Was it my job to ask such questions? By the looks of some of the girls who we passed by, lips biting, trying to get his attention without being too obvious, it seemed as though they were oblivious to it. Maybe I just saw it more because I knew him. Maybe it was more pronounced for me since I knew him for, like, ten years.

That's what best friends were for. 

"What do you think it is?" I said quietly. I didn't want to piss him off more than he clearly already was. He looked down at me, and his face ever-so slightly softened. He let out a sigh and ran his hand through his hair. It looked dryer than usual, if that made sense.

"I'm just tired," he said as we got to my locker. I turned the lock quickly and popped it open. He leaned against the one next to mine, his shoulder against the metal. His head went slightly against it. He blinked slowly, staring at me.

"Maybe you need to get more sleep," I suggested as I pulled my next book out, setting my Biology textbook in its place. I looked at him as I closed the door. He glanced down the hallway.

He didn't say anything to that. As I turned the lock, his head suddenly snapped towards me again.

"Don't look at me like that," he snapped, and I flinched. He turned his head back around and continued walking, his strides slower than usual. I quickly caught up to him, my book in my hand.

"It's just wearing off or something," he said almost absentmindedly, and I thought that statement wasn't really for me but for him. I looked up at him: the dark circles under his eyes, the way he kept at least a two feet distance between us. God, he just dripped irritation, didn't he?

"What's wearing off?" I said quietly and his head snapped to me. I met his eyes as we walked and then he looked forward again, a slight sneer on his face.

"Nothing, Needy," he said, shaking his head.

That's when we ran into Colin Gray. I mean, we didn't run into him. It was obviously he had been waiting against his locker with the other dead people for when I came by.

He had plenty of angsty and emotional stuff to write about in the month and we had traded papers countless of times. I know this might sound kind of weird but reading about Colin's point of view on the whole situation in his prose pieces- the fire, the murder, the investigation- really had helped me cope, I guess. It was like I wasn't the only one feeling as though they were drowning.

Words can unify people if they are the right ones.

His eyes widened slightly when he saw Grayson and he hesitated for a second but went up to me anyway.

"Hello, Needy," he said with a smile, his lip ring a stark silver on his face. He had his hands on his backpack straps, his sneakers all scuffed up on the hard-white tile. He had some dark band shirt on with a red plaid shirt thrown around his waist, metal chains hanging against his thighs.