Antisocial at Its Finest

The Odds

Chapter Four

Harley's P.O.V.

"That's none of your business," I spit out bitterly as I try to ignore Melissa Sugar strutting down the school halls with me.

I didn't even ask her to walk with me. She's just doing it.

I barely glance at people in the sides of the halls. But I do notice someone. It's Grey. And she's talking at her locker with someone... who looks exactly like her. Oh, she must have a twin sister.

My attention is once again consumed by Melissa. She scoffs and flips her long, blonde hair. "I just wanted to know if you do drugs. God, you don't have to be so dramatic."

I bite my tongue to stop myself from an overuse of profanities. "And why would you want to know that?" I ask her, refusing to make eye contact.

"Because, like, my friends all think you do. So I came to find out, or whatever," she says like it's a reasonable argument.

"And why were you talking about me to your friends?" I ask, trying not to slap her right here.

"Because you're weird," she says simply, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "Well, tell your friends they can go to hell," I retort with a smirk on my face.

Just as I turn the corner, another person is on the other side, turning too.

I don't even have a second before I'm already in the floor, with my papers spread everywhere. "Oh god, sorry!" I hear someone yell. I looked up to see the person who ran into me.

His blue eyes sparkle, and he has shortish chestnut-brown hair. He's about average height, and he's dressed in a blue T-shirt the same shade of blue as his eyes, denim jeans, and black converses. His voice sounds soft as he apologizes again and helps me up. "Oh, I'm so sorry! I didn't see you there."

I smile and say, "Oh, it's fine. I didn't see you either.

He smiles a flashy grin and reaches behind his head with his hand. His face seems a shade redder. I look down at the floor. My papers! They're all over the floor! I quickly get down on my knees to pick them up.

He bends down to help me. "You don't have to help," I say bashfully. He hands me a small stack of unorganized papers. "Aww, no. It's the least I could do," he says, his voice like honey.

"Ugh, nice people," I hear the girl scoff from behind me. She walks away. I frown at her as she struts down the hall.

I look back at the boy. He's staring at me. I decide to ask, "So, stranger, you have a name or something?" He chuckles and answers. "It's, um... It's Marvel. Marvel Spearman."

I smile at him and reply, "Harley. Harley Rivers." I hold out my hand for him to shake. He does. His hands are soft, but his grip is firm. Strong moral characters can be seen through a good handshake. The odds of meeting a trustworthy person with a good handshake is quite rare these days.

I pick up the last of my papers and carry the mismatched pile with me. I turn around the last second to say goodbye to Marvel. "Bye," I say.

He smiles and returns, "Goodbye, Harley."

I turn back around and sigh dreamily. He's nice. My facial expression remains at least remotely happy for the rest of fourth period.

*~*~*

Lunch is excruciatingly boring.

It's so loud that it's quiet. All the endless voices somewhere turn into just a light buzzing.

I eat my lunch, which consists of a banana and some sort of chicken casserole, along with a bottle of water. I eat the banana and drink about half of my water so I can finish it throughout the rest of the day.

But lunch is only about halfway over, so I'm forced to sit here, alone at a table in the corner for about fifteen more minutes. So I just stare blankly at the table, water bottle in hand.

I don't notice until he's actually sitting down that Marvel is deciding to sit next to me. He's carrying a tray, too. "Why are you sitting next to me?" I ask as he plants his bottom on the seat.

He looks down at his tray, obviously hiding a smile. "Because you seemed lonely."

I nod my head. "Yes, but don't you think there's a reason why no one sits by me?"

"Because they can't handle the awesomeness that is you?" he suggests with a sly smile. I blush and respond with an airy laugh, "Oh, no. No one sits by me because I don't need them to. Get the hint?"

He furrows his brows and asks, "The hint that you need a lunch buddy?"

I laugh again. "No, no. I'm perfectly capable of being alone at all points of the day."

He shakes his head. "Aww, no," he says, "Nobody should be alone. Especially during lunch."

I smile at his boyishness. "I will literally fight you on this," I say lightly, "No one sits by me. No one does because no one cares. And they're right not to. I'm not special, so there's no need to sit by me."

"But I think you're special," he says while looking down at his tray, as if he was trying to avoid eye contact with me.

I give in and jokingly punch his shoulder. "Well, Mr. Big Shot, I would gladly allow you to sit by me."