Behind These Walls

THIS IS IN THE WATTY AWARDS 2012. PLEASE TAKE A SECOND TO VOTE HERE ---->

                The next two weeks passed by in a crazy blur. Because it was nearing the end of the first semester, the days following consisted of last minute papers, projects, tests, and make ups. Every moment was spent either studying or eating or sleeping, and I found myself having less and less free time, and my visits to Starbucks became very infrequent. The only times I ever really went was before school to have an extra caffeine boost, so I almost never saw Hudson. He and I didn't have a chance to talk as much―I'm guessing he was busy, too―and even our texting conversations never lasted more than ten or twenty messages.

                It was strange, because it made me feel kind of...lonely. Already, I noticed that I depended on Hudson for a lot of things. One of them, mostly, was an escape from boredom. It wasn't that I liked to study before, but I found it even more tedious now. Part of me considered just giving into the "Senior Slump" mode and ditch class. However, I had to remind myself that I didn't even know what college I was going to yet. I was anxiously awaiting acceptance letters from the ones I'd applied to―my top choices were Boston University and Stanford―and the suspense was suffocating me. I rushed home everyday only to be disappointed that there were no letters for me.

                Melodie and Emilia told me to calm down and relax a little; that my shoulders were a little too tensed for a high school senior. I shrugged it off because they didn't understand. Melodie was set for UMass Amherst in the fall, thanks to the early acceptance letter she recently got, while Emilia was going to take a year off and get a job before going to college. Their future was already secured and set in its place, while I was still waiting. I knew that I'd have to wait for a few more months, but it was complete and utter torture.

                Finally, it was the last day before winter break. It had grown noticeably colder and, while there was not yet any huge blizzard, I could no longer walk outside without a jacket. It was F-Block, the last block of the day and, for me, that meant I had to last through English class. Was it just me, or was the second hand on the clock moving slower and slower each time it clicked?

                Only ten more minutes, I told myself. Only ten.

                Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

                The stupid clock taunted me as Mr. Birmingham droned on and on. Something about him irked me, with a monotonous voice, balding head, and oversized glasses that had lenses which definitely did not improve his eyesight, because he was always squinting. Not to mention he still didn't like me at all, ever since that whole Grant incident a few weeks ago.

               Thank goodness, though, because being friends with Grant had a few of its advantages, one of them being that Mr. Birmingham saw that the two of us were getting along and decided not to bother me. And yes, believe it or not, Calista Bouratzi and Grant Jacobson were actually friends.

                Speak of the devil; I made eye contact with Grant, as he sat across from me. I rolled my eyes to whatever it was that Mr. Birmingham was saying―probably something about the essays we'd just handed in―and Grant leaned back in his chair, smirking at me. Having fun? He mouthed.

                I shook my head. Hell no.

                Then he proceeded to mouthing a very long sentence that I didn't understand at all. I raised my eyebrows, sending him a confused look. What?