Health Class❦a.i au

2; heart attack

ashton

health class notes

day 2

relationships don't always have to be based off emotions. Most of it IS based off it, but words mean something too.

~

Another day is flying past, American Literature was a breeze, History was another painful hit to the mind but I got through it. Algebra was the least amount of struggle, science was another breeze, and finally I had health to go through.

Ella is sitting with her arms crossed, a long blue sweatshirt covering her hands. Her notebook is opened in front of her, fingers unsure of what to write. I take a look at the board, where Mr. Shoe had written the assignment.

In 3-5 sentences, describe your relationship with others.

Uh oh, a meantal voice had written all over my head. This can't be good if she's taking this long to write something like this. Although, I can't blame her; I can barely describe my relationship with people. In 3-5 sentences none the less. It's hard, I'm shy and awkward, I don't know how to interact wiht others. It's saddening, but I spend most of my time in my room doing homework or reading, or even playing the drum kit I have in my basement.

I sat next to her, my now assigned seat. She brushes her arm away, closer to her notebook, covering what she had written on the other page. I'm now curious, but not curious enough to force her to move her arm and see what she had written.

"Hey," I say, my voice little and unsure.

"Oh, hi!" she jumps, snapping her notebook shut suddenly. I frown, opening mine, grabbing a pencil from one of my other binders.

"How's your assignment going?" I ask, trying to be noncholant. She grips her pencil, fingers picking at the pages sticking out from her notebook.

"It's hard." Her sentence is small, eyes glued to her notebook in front of her.

"Wanna talk about it?" I ask her, looking from the board to her, watching her expression change.

"I'm not sure," she replies. "I'm so awkward it's hard to explain, I mean no one talks to me, I'm fine wiht that but sometimes it's really lonely."

"I talk to you," I shoot her a small smile, which she returns.

"I know. I'm grateful for that, thank you," she reopens her notebook, and my eyes catch some writing that stands out to me- and not in a good way.

When will all of this be over? It's just not worth it. God, when will the 4th ever come?

There's a lump in my throat I haven't noticed before. I try to go on, like I hadn't seen it at all, but my hands want to rip the page out and demand what the hell she means by it. She couldn't possibly be wanting to commit, but I've only moved here for like 3 weeks now.

Something tells me I've got to change her mind, in another way than just telling her she can't go.

I just need to figure out what the hell I have to do.