No Turning Back (Rewrite)

Chapter 4

The best part about English class is writing. Sure, research is tedious, and typing is time-consuming, but simply writing...it's a dream. On the paper, my mind can pour out all its stupid ideas and theories and emotions and they won't tangle like a ball of yarn. The words, though sometimes jumbled and erratic, find structure on a page and come together to form a beautiful picture. A portrait I'm able to paint by myself – without the mask. A portrait I'm able to love.

My teacher's announcement of our first writing assignment brought a genuine smile to my face. Although, it was going to be based on our stupid summer reading novel, I was still excited to have a chance to put my thoughts somewhere other than the back of my mind.

Immediately after our teacher finished her spiel, I started scribbling a detailed outline. For once, my thoughts didn't feel so heavy, and I enjoyed swimming through the waves of my consciousness. Until I reached the finish line.

I stared at my completed outline for a few moments, making sure I'd written down every single solitary thing I wanted to talk about. Unfortunately, I didn't have my laptop in my backpack. If I did, I would've gotten a head start on typing. Or I could've opened a blank document and started working on my other project.

The anchor of my brain returned at the possibility. Even if I wanted to work on it in school, I knew I couldn't. There were too many people around. What if someone just so happened to glance over and caught a glimpse of the words on the page?

I shook away the thought. No one was going to see my work because I would never do it here. That joy and freedom was reserved for the comfort and privacy of my room.

Sighing, I glanced at my partner. His pen tapped idly on his blank sheet of paper. A frown was plastered on his lips, and his brows were pushed together in concentration. The music blasting through his headphones weren't as loud as usual. I could barely hear the muffled beats.

"Are you okay," I asked.

Surprisingly, he heard me. The muscles between his brows relaxed as he glanced at me. "I'm fine," he muttered. His eyes traveled to my ink-stained paper. He stared at my neat cursive for a few seconds before returning to his empty page.

"I can help...if you want."

"Why? So, you can make fun of how dumb I am?"

"I never said you were dumb."

"You're right. You said I wasn't smart." He shrugged. "From where I'm standing, it's the same damn thing."

I frowned. "Look, I'm sorry for snapping at you. I shouldn't have done it. For what it's worth, I didn't mean it."

He scoffed. "Yes, you did."

"No, I –"

"Save it," he said. "I don't care what you think. Now, leave me alone."

"But –"

Fire erupted through his eyes like flames devouring dry grass. "Leave me the fuck alone," he growled.

The malice in his eyes sent shivers down my back. It'd appeared so suddenly and rapidly. I knew my comment might've hurt his feelings, but I didn't think I'd pissed him off that much. Mentally cowering, I returned to my notebook. Beside me, the hushed beats became audible again.

For the remaining ten minutes of class, I organized my planner and worked on homework. When the bell rang, I hesitantly glanced at Jayden's paper.

It was still empty.

I raised my gaze to his face. The anger had vanished, and the crease between his brows had returned. At the sound of the bell, he let out a defeated sigh. I watched as his expression reflected a lost, helpless child. I almost offered him a smile to reassure him it would all be okay, but then I realized I'd only be given a glare in return.