Chapter Eight

987 43 3
                                    

Sunday was sluggish. Alisa and Bryan spent all day packing up and I ended up babysitting Joshua all day. He does not like me. He screamed and cried like he did all week, except times ten. He only likes Alisa, it’s proven. Once he’s safety in Alisa’s arms he stops crying. I hate that. It makes me feel like I’m doing something wrong. Bryan said I wasn’t, but who knows, Joshua doesn’t like him much either. I also tried coming up with mural ideas but my attempts were futile.

I’m trying to accept the fact that I have no chance with the Mural Wall, but it’s not working. I need to paint something that the most of the school will like and that will make a statement and a lasting impression on the freshman for the upcoming year. Thing is, I just can’t come up with anything memorable.

So, it’s Monday and Alisa and Bryan ought to be gone by now. I sit in Chemistry, tapping my pencil on the desk noisily and dreading next period. My foot bounces anxiously and I glance up at the clock. Next period is literature and there begins my day with Justin. Unfortunately. I swear, I’ve ruined myself by joining the Heartbreakers. Luckily, no one knows yet, and I don’t really have any friends to tell, not that I would want to anyway.

It’s not that I don’t have friends because I can’t get them, but because I don’t want them. Sure, I’ve got a few acquaintances, a few people to wave to in the hallway every once in a while, but that’s as far as it goes. I don’t trust teenagers. Things can go south real quick in high school. You’re better off keeping your mouth shut and keeping things to yourself then spilling your deepest darkest secrets to your “best friends” who’s going to stab you in the back and tell the entire school the next day. Yeah, no thanks, I like things the way they are. I like being alone and I like being the girl no one really knows. It’s got its perks at times.

“Reese, can you answer the question, please?”

My eyes come back into focus. How long have I been out of it? My head jerks up and I look at him like a deer in headlights. Drat, caught again for daydreaming. Why is it always me?

“Um, sorry,” I laugh nervously. I can feel everyone’s eyes on me, “can you repeat the question?”

He sighs and opens his mouth to repeat the question but the bell rings, drowning him out. I pick up my backpack hastily and walk out. He’s trying to tell us to study or something, but I tune him out and prepare myself for the craziness of high school passing time. Dodged a bullet there, my friend. I’m actually quite thrilled to be out of that class, wouldn’t want to embarrass myself further.

It seems like every passing hour I’m fighting the current and traveling the opposite direction of other students. It’s not too bad except for when there are couples that refuse to unlock hands so you end up hugging the wall to scoot past them. I hate couples.

I finally arrive to my classroom and trudge through the door. As always, let the torture begin. I slowly drag my feet over to my desk and plunk my backpack on top of it loudly. Miss Myers is behind her desk grading papers, I assume they are the chapter tests we took at the end of class on Thursday. She really is a slow grader.

I sink down in my seat and suddenly feel embarrassed to be in the presence of the other students after what happened on Friday. I’m probably the laughing stock of the class. I hate myself sometimes.

The bell rings and I slide my bag off of my desk and watch as Justin walks down the aisle, just in time. He smiles at me and sits down while fiddling with his guitar pick necklace. I pull out Anne of Green Gables and wait as Miss Myers hands back tests, which I aced and I’m pretty sure Justin failed. My nosiness gets the better of me and my eyes flicker over to his paper which sits openly on his desk with a giant “A” on it. I do a double take when I see it. Wait, what? Since when? My eyebrows furrow together in confusion. He doesn’t even read the darn chapters, how the heck did he ace it? Note to self, Justin is a strange human being. Far too complicated for his own good.

Love to Hate YouWhere stories live. Discover now