Secrets

Chapter 8 ✧

I didn't go to youth group the following day, I knew Megan would have asked about Easton and then I would have had to explain the whole saga and I just couldn't bare it. I wouldn't even know where to begin explaining when it's not even clear to me what happened, its all a daze now. In true style I pretended I was sick to my parents because that seems to be the only way I can get out of things. I know I said that I didn't want to lie to my parents anymore but a little white lie here and there won't hurt anybody. Telling my parents I'm sick definitely sounds better than telling them I'm trying to get over Easton Wright.

I walk through the library doors taking a seat at the back table waiting for Easton, I haven't seen him since Monday but I'm hopeful that he will come to tutoring. He has come so far since I've started tutoring him and I wouldn't think he would want to give up that easily. As I flick through the pages of my French book trying to pass the time I look to the clock hanging on the wall to see that I've been waiting here for 20 minutes. Seems like Easton isn't coming today.

As I stand up from the table collecting my things and putting them in my bag I replay the events of Monday in my head only coming to realise now the severity of the situation. I was a fool to think he would come after what happened when I'm sure he won't event want to talk to me anymore. The sad reality is that if he continues to not come to tutoring then there is no reason for him to talk to me. The thought of never talking to Easton again brings on the most terrible, indescribable feeling. I couldn't imagine him not being in my life as weird as it may sound even as just a friend.

As I walk up the building exit doorway I notice Easton in the outskirts of the school car park with one of his friends. I feel my hand slide off the railing and my body move to the edge of the door as I discreetly look out the door's window. Their conversation seems very tense with Easton's facial expression not changing from a stern scowl as his friend talks to him about something seemingly serious. In no time his friend, who I identify as the one who tried to shove that cigarette down my throat, jumps on his bike driving sporadically down the main road. I watch as Easton is left there leaning against his bike looking somewhat stressed and it makes me wonder what the conversation was about, but I've got bigger things on my mind. I feel myself push open the door without hesitation with intent to talk to Easton. I look around seeing no one besides a few teachers' cars in the car park and with that I take it as a sign that it's the perfect opportunity to talk to him.

As I make my presence known by standing in front of him his eyes dart up seeing me and looking back down. "What are you doing here?" he mutters while pulling out a cigarette from his leather jacket pocket.

"Why didn't you come today?" I ask ignoring his previous question, as I don't have a clear answer, all I know is that I have to talk to him. "I waited for you," I continue despite somewhat knowing the answer to my seemingly dim question.

"Because I'm done," he says in between taking a puff of his cigarette. "I can't keep chasing a person who doesn't want to be chased, I got the message loud and clear."

"But what about tutoring? Don't you care about doing well in French?"

"No I don't give a fuck about doing well in French," and his choice of words leave a stinging pain inside of me.

"I know that's not true..." I manage to spit out. "You were doing so well."

"The only reason I agreed to do this stupid tutoring shit is because, because I wanted to get close to you..." he trails off following him kicking the pebbles along the ground in a fit of rage.

"Easton-" I breathe out only to get cut off.

"But it doesn't matter anymore, you made up your mind," he says climbing back on his bike. But have I made up my mind? It's so bittersweet finally knowing what I want, him, but knowing that's what I can't have. "So don't bother anymore with the tutoring lessons, I'm good," he finally says before taking the cigarette from his mouth and putting it into the dirt, stomping on it with his shoe.