Community Service

Community Service | Part Seven

Community Service | Part Seven

            I sit there for ten minutes, ten minutes of fidgeting, staring at Principal Davis' closed door, and trying not to puke at the smell of the secretary's lunch-some mixture of cat food and steamed broccoli. It's really difficult, that last task, but I manage to do it without holding my nose or booking it out of the office.

            When Ross finally comes out, an indiscernible look on his face, I quickly grab all of my stuff and jump up to meet him.

            "What the he-" I start, wanting to give him a piece of my mind, but he grabs my arms and steers me out of the principal's office, the secretary giving us a look as she spoons another mouthful of the green cat concoction. She was either a god awful cook or had no taste buds.

            Once the door is closed behind us, we stand in the nearly empty hallway-the kid getting a drink from the water fountain was taking an awfully long time- and I wrench my arm from his grip.

            “What the hell was that?” I repeat angrily, waving to the principal’s office and Ross begins to walk away to our next class, history.

            “What the hell was what?” He tries to mimic me, and for a moment I am distracted, hoping that I really didn’t sound like that in real life.

           “I’m talking about defending me and pretending that it wasn’t my fault when actuality, it was my fault.” I huff, having to do a weird jog shuffle down the carpeted hallway as Ross doesn’t cease his quickened pace.

            “Like I said earlier,” Ross mutters flippantly, shooting me a quick glance and raising an eyebrow at the way I was walk-jog-shuffling, “I’m sorry for getting you into all this trouble and now I’m trying to lighten the blow.”

            This idea that he was actually trying to help me made me pause for a second, and Ross looks back as I stop in the middle of the hallway, deep in thought.  “Wait, you’re trying to be nice?”

            He shrugs. “You don’t know me very well, Jenn, but I try to be a prince in shining armor.”

           There is silence. I stare at him. He looks back at me. I can’t help it.

           Bending over, I have to grasp my thigh to stay standing, my laughter bouncing off the brick walls. “Do you know how stupid you sounded right there? Are you talking about fairytales with me?”

            “Hey,” He actually soundly faintly offended that I’m making fun of his prince analogy, “I sacrificed two weeks of football practice and the games leading up to Homecoming.”

That stops me and my laughter. “Wait, you got into more trouble for pretending to set fire to the kitchen?”

He shrugs, beckoning for me to hurry up so we don’t miss too much of history class, aka let’s spend an hour watching Nicholas Cage act intelligent. “It’s no biggie. Football really isn’t my thing. I just do it for my dad; he's kind of an over-top, devoted fan.”

I follow his lead, although he’s still a couple feet ahead of me. I feel slightly awkward right now, not exactly sure how to respond to his sacrificing football for me, and I run a hand through my hair. “Well, uh, thank you for lying?”

He flashes me a grin, eyes sparkling. “There we go! For a while, I thought you had never been taught how to be courteous.  You’re welcome.”

I roll my eyes at his teasing and we grow quiet. As we approach history class, a question suddenly pops into my mind.