The Art of Faking Straight

Chapter Eighteen

         On Monday I find myself giddier than I usually am, and I don't complain too much when Kyle throws a fit on the way to school. That may be because I'm becoming accustomed to his tantrums or it may be because I'm unusually happy this morning. It's as if it's finally happened a shift within myself to make everything change for the better. I didn't realize before that I was waiting for anything of the sort, but it's happened somehow. I don't know when or why, but I can tell I was missing before. 

         Every time I pass Connor in the hallways I get some odd feeling, or maybe it's a need, a desire. It's as if I have to be in close proximity of him. It's as if my feet have their own minds and must be closer to him than usual. I anticipate every time I know I'll get to see him and find both of us going out of our way to simply brush shoulders by one another in the hallways. I don't know if anyone else notices, but I almost don't care. Almost.

         I told Connor Saturday afternoon over the phone about Jack acting weird. Connor couldn't figure it out either, especially why he wouldn't stop asking me who I slept with, but we eventually came to the conclusion it was simply because Jack was a guy who liked to know things about his buddies and that was simply it. I couldn't shake the weird feeling I had that something was about to go horrendously wrong, but Connor kept telling me it would be alright. That he knew it was fine, no matter what Jack thought up. I mean he had no real reason to suspect us, and apparently had some maniac idea that I would hook up with his girlfriend for some odd reason. How would that even be possible? They were together most of Friday night from what I remember, and I'm pretty sure he'd notice if we were all three in the same room doing similar things to one another.

                  And that's just pretty damn weird.

         The first half of school passes by without any interesting things happening. I mean sure I bump into Connor more times than a mathematician can count. Sure, I feel as if I'm literally flying and maybe, just maybe, I try to stay away from Jack all morning, I get homework that I probably will procrastinate on doing, I answer a few questions, get annoyed by a few dozen teachers, but that's nothing worth mentioning really or maybe it is. Who knows.

         When lunch comes around, I decide against my usual seat inside with all the interesting guys and girls and decide to see if Scarlet is outside again. Luckily, she is, and I find myself sitting alongside her and talking. There's something peaceful about it, something right. I can't really put my finger on it, but I know it's there.

         “Good weekend?” she asks as she pulls out her sandwich – from some lunchbox that probably belongs to her mother – and begins to eat. 

         “Yeah,” I answer honestly, then lean back against the tree. She's sitting directly in front of me, eating peacefully, but you can tell she's content with being here, outside, alone. Or maybe she's not alone, maybe I don't really know her story.

         There's a lot of maybes in the world if you really think about it.

         “What about you?”

         “It was fun,” she comments happily, and that's how the rest of our conversation goes. I can't say I mind it honestly, we both seem to be lost in our own minds, but the small talk is comfortable, easy even. I can honestly say I find it refreshing, and something I'll probably look forward to tomorrow too.

         Then finally, after a few more hours of misery, school is out.

         Connor and I decided against riding home together or any other couple stuff like that since we're not really a couple in the eye of the public, but we did plan to hang out when I talked to him Saturday. He's going to have to come to mine though, as I told him already, because Dad's more than pissed at me – again – for not coming home on Friday and won't let me actually go anywhere other than school.