Tightrope

Call It Aesthetic Appreciation

Hartley was stalking me.

His presence was a new form of torture; untested, never recorded in any history books or thriller novels; the product of an ingenious mind. Only a vessel of true evil could have formed such a devious plan.

"So, I just have to except the fact that you're here now?" I asked on a woeful sigh. He was trailing after me, wearing a wide, satisfied grin. If he wasn't carrying my books—something I was incapable of in my current crippled state—I would have hit him with my crutches.

"Pretty much," he said, chirpily. Everything about this Jace—possessed, crazy, weird Jace—was bubbly and happy, with an extra spring in his step. Clearly, he was getting off on this weird mind game.

"Pretty much," he said.

"Bummer."

As we walked down the hall, I couldn't help but notice the curious stares our 'togetherness' was garnering. Jace and I had somehow fallen into the popular circles of the social hierarchy. It wasn't something I thought about often, but it was something I'd always acknowledged as a truth. My feud with Hartley was common knowledge amongst the student body. People found it fascinating—obviously because I was hilarious, and since Jace was the worst, people enjoyed watching him suffer against my wrath. So the new development in the Montez/Hartley war was certainly interesting to a large portion of the student body.

"If you really want me to leave, I will," Hartley said. He was considerate of my opinion now? What the hell was going on?

I glared at him. "Since you insisted on carrying my books, you're in this for the long haul now, Hartley."

I didn't know why, exactly, he had insisted on carrying my books. He showed up after my fourth period Psychology class and grabbed my books from my desk. When I'd stared at him, confused, he'd thrust my crutches into my arms. And then, as if this was all a normal occurrence between us, he groaned impatiently, "Hurry up, Elle, or lunch will be over by the time we get there."

It was possibly the strangest thing I'd seen in my short life.

I anticipated my return to school would be accompanied by some excitement; a small, selfish and frivolous part of me was hoping for a big "WELCOME BACK" reception; banner, streamers and all. But this, Hartley laughing and smiling at me—not like I was the butt of his own private joke, but as if we were friends—wasn't close to the excitement I was expecting. I couldn't even tell if I was excited about it.

Another part of me, equally as selfish, longed to prolong our feud. Sue me, but I kind of liked my little rivalry with pretty boy Jace Hartley.

Clearly, as he always did, Hartley had to come along and ruin it.

"You're quiet today," Jace noted.

"Forgive me, Hartley, but I'm processing," I replied. That, and it was slightly embarrassing that I was panting with the exertion of manoeuvring my crutches through the hallways. If I spoke, I would be more out of breath and I would look like an unfit loser. I mentally committed to doing at least one sit up tonight.

His eyebrows furrowed slightly. "Processing what?"

"You do realise you're being weird, right? This is weird. We don't do this. You're being nice to me."

"Well, I'm all about charity," he said. "So while you're still hobbling, prepare for a whole lot more weird. I'm going to carry your books from class to class for weeks. And maybe, if I'm feeling especially charitable, and you're feeling especially lucky, I'll give you a lift home. Carry you all the way from my car to your bedroom."

I think I gagged. I was unaware that Hartley had a drug problem.

Charitable? He was in this astonishingly good mood because he got off on charity? The only response I had to that was, "I cannot make this any clearer, Hartley. If you ever try to pick me up, I will kick you so hard in the nuts; you'll never be able to breed your demon spawn and set them upon the world."