Then It Hits Me

Chapter 15: The Bar of Almost Death

"So," Miller sways back and forth awkwardly.

He stopped by my house as usual this morning, but about ten times more awkward. Instead of the big greeting to my parents, he has his hands tucked into his pockets and seemed too nervous to even greet me. I swear, he almost forgot my name.

Now, we are standing in front of his car, wasting our time. Does he have a presentation of something because he's shaking like a baby.

"So," I repeat, tucking my own hands into my pockets.

Then I remember the chocolate bar. Swinging my backpack onto one shoulder and pulling the front pouch open, I reach in past my keys and pack of gum for the bar. It's cold and stiff as a board, but the fact that Miller actually gave it to me puts all the warm feelings in my stomach.

When I hand him the chocolate, he stares at me expectantly and a bit fidgetly. What am I supposed to say?

I clear my throat before telling him, "I really can't because, well, you know."

His face drops. Like ten stories, drops. He went from nervous to sad. I'm pretty sure rejecting his chocolate bar didn't hurt him that much. I've told him that I'm lactose intolerant so many times he can't possibly not understand.

"I'm sorry," he finally says. Am I just imagining or does he sound like he's on the verge of tears?

"No, I'm sorry. It was such a kind jesture, but I can only have dark," I explain, just in case he doesn't pick it up.

His eyebrows begin scrunching like he's lost, but that doesn't last for long at all because he seems to understand. Good. Wait, then why is he looking even more dissapointed than before?

"Just get in the car," his tone is so much colder, "Please."

It's only 8:00 in the morning and I am already as confused as hell. Not normal.

- - -

I don't even know how to carry my own books anymore. For the past month, Miller has been doing it, but he's nowhere in sight right now.

This isn't even sarcasm, my things are falling through the little holes they've managed to find in my way of holding them. If Miller ever shows up, I'm not letting him carry my books again because by the end of senior year, I'll be like a useless twig.

Just as I am leaning down to grab a pen that has fallen onto the floor, a mass of black hair sweeps it off of the floor and hands it to me. Jaxon.

He has his signature dark leather jacket, black pants that look like they are about to sag off and the unlit cigarette in his smirking mouth. My first instinct is to run away, but I have to remind myself that this is the guy that Miller trusts the most, so why shouldn't I?

Well Caitlin, you shouldn't Jaxon because his goal once he gets out of high school is to get tattoos all over his body and once he fills it all up, he's going to become a tattoo artist so that he can help make other kids' whose dreams are similar to his come true. Yay.

"Do you ever light that?" I point to his mouth after exchanging a thanks and greeting.

Shrugging, he replies in his sluggish voice, "No, but that really isn't my choice. It's not legal until I'm 18. Stupid laws."

Still struggling with my books, I smile, "The law also states that you're now supposed to consume alchohol until you're 21 and look how well that's turned out. How many times have you been drunk?"

"Like once a day," he talks as if it's so obvious, "Miller tells me you've never been drunk. Not once in your fucking life."

Wow, he could have said that in much more of a PG way.