Smile On His Lips and Cuts On His Hips (Jalex)

Forty Two - And The Ending

I squinted at the Scantron, clueless about the correct answer to the exam's final question. I'd skipped it earlier in case I became a Spanish genius while going through the rest of the test and immediately chose the proper conjugation upon revisiting it, but as I rubbed my hands over my jittering jeans, straightening out sore knuckles, I still didn't know which circle to fill in. My frustrated mind was too close to snapping for me to stretch it any more and riddle out a solution.

The pencil twisted through my fingers. Unwilling to continue fixing my mistakes, the eraser was close to falling off of its bitten end. My contacts stung in my heavy eyes and the anxious air pressed down on my shoulders.

Finally, I shrugged to myself, figuring that I was probably fucked either way, and I scanned my answer sheet, determining C to be my least-used response and scribbling graphite accordingly. Stiff legs carried me to the front of the room, I deposited my test, and then I was stepping in between more desks, slumping into my seat, dropping my forehead into my hands and blowing a breath out through my teeth, trying to expel my nerves with the carbon dioxide.

Spanish was my last Final, but the weight of the unknown grades overpowered the relief of the ending. The clock ticked towards the final seconds of the school year, though the room's atmosphere was low; it was students bent over tests, staring blankly at walls, impatiently counting down minutes. I was one of the lethargic kids, paralyzed by the joint stress.

Eventually, there were two minutes left, and pencils were shoved into cases, chairs scraped across the scratched floor, and voices raised as the answers to our exam were exchanged. I observed the dim commotion. Our teacher was complacent in her corner, waving her students towards the door instead of attempting subdual.

A breeze swept by my arms as I pushed outside with the crowd then broke away and strode quickly towards my car. All the lockers were empty in preparation for the new combinations that would come with my senior year. Backpacks bumped against everyone's shoulders, our muscles aching from supporting to-be-returned textbooks.

Alex was leaned against the side of my car, talking to Zack. Flyzik and Grieco were half-sitting on the hood and having some conserved conversation. My boyfriend grinned at me and his bright eyes jolted towards the school when the final bell sounded, excited shouts joining the shrill ring in the distance.

"Year's finally fucking over," Zack exhaled, tugging a hand through his curly hair. "Thank God."

"And we made it through mostly intact. What a miracle," Alex joked, mouth curling up towards flat eyes.

Zack nodded, having endured the same courses and campus, and Alex passed me the cup that'd left a wet circle on my car's top. He wrapped his arm around my waist and explained, "We went for coffee during the last final; I got you tea. It has, like, passion fruit."

I ignored Zack's eye roll - he drank his coffee black and laughed at my disgust with its bitterness - and sipped the fruity drink. I thanked Alex with a kiss, and the iced liquid cooled my throat as I asked, "None of you had a final?"

"Grieco did, but he must've gotten out early," Alex said. He peered at his friend, squinting skeptically and amending, "Or something. Who really knows?"

"His teacher, hopefully," I responded facilely. Rian appeared a second later, kissing Zack and smiling at the muscular arm that fell over his shoulders.

With Rian's addition to the group, the collection around my car separated and the pairs split towards their own vehicles. Alex slid into the driver's seat after I passed him my keys; I didn't mind driving, but I preferred being a passenger, watching the world through the window's blur and not having to be concerned with proper awareness of my surroundings.