pencil shavings

twenty-one: peter

Sam's voice has already become background noise by the time I can pull out a crumpled piece of paper with my chicken-scratch hieroglyphics on both sides. I roll my eyes at the uncanny resemblance my blond partner shares with a kindergarten teacher.

"Come on! This is fun!" She spins around, planting her hands on her hips and giving us both a look of humorous exasperation that only she can master. My point exactly.

Matt hasn't looked up from his phone the whole time, and from the way his mouth quirks to the side, I can tell its Carly he's texting with that new phone. I bite back jealousy and my own not-so-humorous exasperation.

Sam turns back to the whiteboard, and in her tiny handwriting she writes a string of words that make me squint and raise my eyebrows.

"'Common symptoms of the human condition and/or half-baked existential crises?' Sam this isn't a graduate course in the philosophy."

She nods, a bit too proud of the slanting words, and slides onto the desk across from me.

"If we want this to be good, we have to go deep." - her eyes lock mine - "All these problems and harsh truths will make up a 'bad guy,' or something to bring conflict..."

She keeps talking, but all I can think about is the way the sun burns in her eyes like shafts of light in a sunset. I swallow hard.

Then she swirls in a blaze of gold hair, and is standing above Matt before I can breathe properly again.

Stupid. I curse her perfect little smile and watch her draw Matt out of his cocoon of popularity.

She looks down at him for a long moment, assessing, until he raises his eyebrows and drawls, "Can I help you?" without looking up.

"No," she says flatly. "But I'm helping you, so cooperate."

Matt gives her a sidelong glance, snorting. "Right, because I need your help." We all hear what he really meant to say though. What could a bookish dork do for a jock like him, with his pretty girlfriend and his pretty face?

If Sam was offended, she doesn't show it. Honestly I think she does think she can help him - but that's ridiculous. As far as I'm concerned, they're both as perfect as fairytale endings.

"God, I feel bad for you," she mutters with a half-breath. "Just come up with one, okay?" Her eyes hit his hard. "Please?"

Matt just rolls his eyebrows and looks away. But nonetheless - God, why did pricks like him get all the good looks?

"Fine," he shrugs. He meets her eyes with a lazy, wicked smile. "Common symptom of humanity: Arrogance and Stupidity."

I snort. "Spoken from the master himself."

I catch the hint of Sam's chuckle, but she stays locked eye-to-eye with Matt. "It's a start," she replies. At least it's Matt and Sam fighting, not me, this time.

She bounces to the board and scrawls a small paragraph, then shoots Matt a grin. We are such assholes, and yet she is still smiling.

"Alright, here we go. Read it," she commands, and to my surprise, read it he does.

"'The need to put on a false front of bravado, solely for the purpose of hiding the deeper helplessness, fear, or pain underneath.'"

She nods, then tosses him the marker. "Your turn."

Matt pulls himself to his feet, his eyes never leaving hers. It's like two alpha wolves, battling with the most passive-aggressive insults  possible. I should've bought popcorn.

He writes a small phrase in neat, capitalized hand. "Read it," he counters when he's done.

Sam's eyes dim for a moment as she begins to read. "'The need to control others when you can't-" she blinks - "when you can't control yourself.'"

The silence in the room expands like poisonous gas.

Then her smile is back and she nods, as if to say, it's a tie. Sometimes I wish she wouldn't smile though.

Matt tosses me the marker and I thank God and Shakespeare that I catch it. And then I start to panic.

My mind draws a blank, all I can think about are the dead flies of thoughts in my head, like how unfortunate it would be to have an ugly pro soccer team jersey, among other oh-so-deep ponderings of the human condition. That is, until I search the deeper crevices of my mind, and Dan is all I can see.

Shit.

How could I forget, just like that? Just forget that my brother is missing and I haven't found him and it's Dan - Dan. God. I should be looking for him, I should be with him, I should have been there when he left, I shouldn't have let him have that party, I should be there now, I  should find him, I should  leave; I should. But I'm not.

I swallow hard and adjust my glasses like the dork I am. I scribble on the board.

When the marker drops from my fingers and I stand aside, they aren't breathing.

I don't think I am either.

"As much fun as this is," I drawl, "I have other things to do, rather than watch you two squabble like a married couple."

I make it two steps before Sam's voice breaks through the ringing in my ears. It's like looking at her face from underwater - under ice covered water.

"Peter-"

"We're coming with you."

Matt, that time.

I want more than anything to shatter that glass, to let them in. God, what a cliche thought. But a stupid one too, since I'm no Augustus Waters. As if they wouldn't run at the sight of the hurt in me. 

Sam glances at Matt with a question in her eyes, but Matt never looks away from me. "We're gonna find him, okay?" Matt says, so quiet that I can hear laughter from the group down the hall. "And until then, we're not gonna leave you, because that's shitty, even for me. So get over yourself and let us help you, dumbass."

I watch that ice over my head crack, watch the sunlight splinter inside me, watch him the way I look at Dan. With hope. Sam, gingerly, reaches for my hand. And her smooth fingers on my palm tell me everything else. Like the way my mom would squeeze my hand every time I cried.

And look where caring about Dan and my mom got me. 

The ice hardens. Sam's eyes widen as if she can see it, but the hope that lingers in Matt's eyes kills me a little more. But when my mouth moves, it's that cold, shallow part of me that comes out.

"I told you both - I don't want your charity," I spit, when all I want to say is thank you.

"Peter," Sam pleads again, and I rip my hand away, when all I want to do is kiss her.

"No," I hiss, when my lungs cry out to say yes.

Matt's silence punches through me like a knife, but I just rebuild those cold walls. One damn brick at a time, and I let my fingers go numb.

"There's a line, right here, that was drawn a long time ago, and we were never meant to cross it. Step back. You'd just be another liability."

And as I jump out the window, my heart whimpers a silent apology, those walls bending to keep it from shattering. 

By the time the sunlight hits me, the ice is thick enough for skating.