The Day of The Escape

III. Simple Questions and Pathetic Answers.

Simple Questions and Pathetic Answers.

“We… we’re what now?” I froze, “No.”

“Oh come on… live a little.” Brett spoke fast, looking behind us for any signs of or Vice Principal whose name I don’t even know, “You’re only going to miss one period.”

I sighed, there was no turning back now, “I… uh… oh fine!”

Brett laced his fingers together and bent over; he looked up at me from his crouched down position, “Well- come on.”

I bit my lip and looked back at the door before I put my foot in his hand and grabbed a hold of the fence as I was lifted up insanely high within seconds, making me slightly dizzy in the process. I took a hold of the top of the fence before looking down quickly and pulling myself over the side. Brett smiled and climbed up the fence after me. My stomach was twisting and turning. I think I’m going to be sick. He paused for a moment as his hazel eyes, brown in the corners met mine and all the feeling for ‘scared of getting caught’ nausea turned into ‘Brett Lincoln’s eyes are gorgeous and I am staring into them right now’ nausea. His eyes pierced through me and I could feel his minty breath on my skin, making me more lost in him. He cleared his throat and pulled himself over the green fence in one swift motion, we climbed down the other side and I jumped off when we were three-fourths of the way down in the adrenaline rush. My mind was spinning and my heart was racing, for once in my life I was rebelling. It felt good, but it also made me sick to my stomach. I didn’t want to end up like the Devils I came from, never. I refuse to be like them, but one rebellious thing won’t tarnish my record terribly, right? Right. Everyone needs at least one seditious story to tell their future children or to look back on in their older years.

I dashed to the parking lot after Brett and followed him to his car also known as this shabby, old, beat-up monstrosity. The car’s blue I think, but the passenger side door was like a puce color. If you don’t know what puce looks like… well it’s said to be that if a flea (aka ‘puce’ in French) leaves droppings or is killed on linens or bedsheets, puce is the stained color that forever remains on them. Yeah… get that image through you head. Anyways, around every possible edge of his beat up Honda Insight Hybrid were lines of rust. The hood was bloached with patches of it and the car just looked plain sad. I reluctantly opened up the puce door, which shrieked out a sound that I would imagine would come from an elephant if someone were to run over said elephant’s trunk. Poor elephant. Ducking my head, I sat down on the ripped up, grease stained seat and closed the door after me. Brett was smiling wider than… God I don’t even have anything to compare it to... as he turned on the ignition, which took three tries to get it to do so, and reared out of the parking lot. My first day of school and I was skipping part of it with Junior year’s hottest hottie. Definitely not how I pictured it going. I inserted the metal buckle into its slot as Brett drove down the road a little ways. My heart was still pounding out of my chest and my adrenaline was pumping vigorously. I didn’t know where we were going, what we were going to do, or how we honestly thought we were going to get away with this, but it made my fingers tingle and my mind race.

“How you feeling?” Brett’s voice rang through the car after a few minutes of silence.

“Hm?” I looked over at his smiling side profile.

“Well your knee is bouncing, you can’t seem to keep your hands in one position, and you have a permanent smile on your face.” he laughed, “Just like me the first time I rebelled, well… almost.”

“Almost?” I asked.

“Yea-ah.” he laughed and took one hand off of the wheel as he turned left.