Palindrome

Eighteen

Current obsessions include: caffeine, the song Unsaid Emily and Louis Partridge.

Chapter 18

"You're sick."

No shit sherlock.

"I'm fine," I sing sneezing again.

There we go again, my favorite freaking word. Sure enough, I woke up with my entire system clogged and in a cold sweat. Swallowing a Tylenol, I dragged myself out of bed. I won't be missing school for several reasons.

A) Junior year's a bitch. I've already missed one day.

B) My parents have been silent about my score with me.

C) Emphasis on me

I went over to their room the other day. Pressing my ear to the door, I caught a whiff of some of their phrases. SAT and Aarohi being the key ones.

Paxton presses a hand to my forehead; his brow is furrowed with concern. His green eyes are studying me with a great deal of heaviness. He doesn't seem even the slightest bit worried about getting sick himself.

He sighs loudly, looking at me from below his long, fringed eyelashes. The kind that girls would kill for that but that he doesn't care for her.

Okay, maybe I should pop in another Tylenol.

"You should go home," he says.

At that, I shrink into myself, "I can't."

His features soften a bit, "Aarohi you'll only make it worse."

"That's the entire point," I blurt out without thinking. Covering a hand to my mouth I look away before I can see the shift in his stance. After that, he's probably repulsed by me, I know I would be.

"Hey look at me," he says.

Shaking my head, I thump it lightly on the steering wheel. Around him, my mouth seems to run without zero filters. Seeing the kindness in his eyes is going to make this so much worse.

"We should go," I hear myself say, my voice grainy and rough from a sore throat. Fighting the sudden wave of lightheadedness I feel, I sit up straight ready to drive away.

Paxton stops me by placing a hand on mine, "Fine, but I'm driving."

"No, you're not," I retort.

"Yes I am," he says drawing back his hand. My gaze lingers on the spot where it was for a moment.

Clearing my throat, I fold my arms, "I don't trust you with my car."

"And I don't trust you to drive in your current situation," he argues.

"Touché," I say giving him a sidelong glance.

Paxton smiles lazily, "Not my point."

Leaning back in my seat I say, "I know."

"We have a rehearsal to get to don't we?" he muses.

My eyes shoot open, "I forgot about that."

Today we began full rehearsals with the entire fine arts department. Or at least everyone from each sector involved in the show. Technically this rehearsal was merely to get out bearings. I've already been through the entire protocol with Giselle as an officer. Paxton's done the same with Chase as the lead for the show. Still, it would be wrong if we didn't go.

Log kya kahenge am I right?

"We don't need to go," Paxton says.

"We should," I try weakly pressing my fingers to my temples. Everything feels foggy, more than usual. Like I'm this dim universe waiting for the light to turn on. Being sick does that to me. On the rare occasions that I am sick, I'm totally done for. My over-dramatic ass even drafts a will in my head in case I die.