Palindrome

Forty

Chapter 40

I can't take more of this.

Freaking American History.

Mr. Tories drowns on gesturing to the PowerPoint he has up passionately. Subtly turning my phone over, I check to see how much time we have left a whole five minutes before lunch. Sighing loudly, I run a hand through my hair, leaning a hand on my cheek.

"Rough night?"

"They're all rough, Nicolas," I say, looking at my friend who's ideally twirling a pencil in his hand. Nicolas Butler, transfer student, varsity football star, Model UN vice president, and British Prince Eric- just a few ways to describe Nick.

He snorts, "I was up till three finishing my application for this Yale program."

"You're doing that too?" I ask, surprised, remembering that Skye, Avinash, and Luna were applying for the same program.

Did I just know a bunch of smart people?

Must be nice.

Nick nods, ideally, "I got through the first two rounds."

"Imagine," I drawl out, which gets Nick to roll his eyes.

Nick moved around a year ago, about the same time I started dating Abraham, and that's how I met him. He's kind of a jerk when you first start talking to him, then he opens up, and he's the literal embodiment of a cinnamon roll. Anyways that kind of charm has both the girls and guys at our school vying after him with his swept light blue eyes and short black hair comparing him to Prince Eric and accent that's slowly receding.

Gingers are better.

The bell rings, and Nick lunges for his phone, scrolling through it impatiently. Gathering my things, I see the frown on his face deepen.

"Nick, what's wrong?"

His eyes flick up to me, "Has Abraham texted you in a while?"

"I don't think so," I reply, already unlocking my phone and checking to make sure I hadn't overlooked any of his texts. Sure enough, he hadn't said anything since yesterday.

Nick shakes his head, mumbling something under his breath before grabbing his binder and rushing out of the door. I nearly topple all my supplies trying to follow after him.

"Nick, what's wrong?" I ask breathlessly as he takes long strides through the crowd of students spilling out of their classes for lunch. He doesn't answer, instead tilting his head for me to follow him. I do until he stops near my locker where Abraham's is located. Paxton's already waiting for me staring down at something on his phone.

His eyes glance up at the same time as if he can sense me, lips curving into a smile before he takes in my worried expression. Pushing himself off the wall, he comes over to where Nick and I are plucking my supplies out of my hands, involuntarily, "What's wrong?"

I look towards Nick for an explanation.

"Abraham wasn't here for practice today morning," he says.

"He could just be sick," Paxton suggests.

Nick shakes his head. "He was fine yesterday."

He pauses, chewing on the inside of his cheek before shooting me a meaningful look, "He was supposed to tell his dad yesterday."

My lips shape an O in realization, and Paxton looks between us, confused. I'm glad he's holding all my stuff because I might have dropped it all to the floor. A flood of thoughts rushes through my brain as the way anxiety goes. My head suddenly feels faint and palms sweaty, where I stumble a bit, and Nick reaches out to steady me.