Storm {A Light Novel}

. 5

R

I hate Elijah West. I hate him for wasting my time and energy. I hate him for making me interested-- no-- worried, when I shouldn't be.

Is he okay? Was he badly hurt? Was he seriously injured? Who attacked him in the gym? Was he mad? Why didn't he tell me sooner? Is he mad? At me?

Does that matter?

I pan over his name on our opening presentation slide, and commit an act of battery against my trackpad, as if beating it would equate to inflicting damage on his name.

Using the current opportunity, I skim over the slides, checking up on his progress on the project. He has transformed the bullets into essay responses just like he said, but there are a few spelling mistakes requiring a skilled editor(like myself)'s help.

The night runs long as do my day classes, but I come to Humanities prepared with a whole speech for him. However, he gets an apology out first.

"Good, that's right. How can we be friends if you're just grumpy and scolding all the time?" I cross my arms and prop my shoe on the edge of my chair as I lean back.

I'm surprised at my own relief when he breaks a small smile before facing front again.

By the end of class I notice the same disposition he had when we first met had fallen over him, the whole sadboi shenanigans returning. Hand locked in his hair as he slouches over his desk, and doodling, probably tuning out the world.

"Hey," I test, to see if he is in fact tuning out the world.

"Hi."

"Are you doing okay?"

"Yeah," he says through a sigh.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

"How are things at home?"

"Yeah..."

"Oh, really..." I nod my head in false approval. "Do you have chickens?"

"Yeah," he says again, clearly not hearing me. Time to have a little fun.

"Oh, is one of their name's Roxie? Or Bob Ross?"

"Yeah."

My grin widens. "Do you give them goodnight kisses?"

"Yeah."

"Would you eat them for dinner?"

"Yeah."

"Do you wanna come over?"

"Yeah."

Like the generous samaritan I am, I allot him some time to account for himself, and sure enough, he picks his head up and stares at me, a classic deer in headlights. I smirk and steal his pencil out of his hand while he processes.

Finally, he gets out, "What did you say?"

"What do you think I said?" I question playfully, as if testing his knowledge through a rerun of Ryleigh's Jeopardy.

"What did you say?" he repeats.

I sigh. "I said, do you want to come cover?"

"Why?"

I scoff a laugh, looking all around the room before returning my eyes to him. "Geez, you'd think I just asked you to come clean my house or something. Are you aware that in the twenty-first century people hang out at friends' houses?"

A crease formed between his brows. "And you're my friend," he says, skeptical, as though I should have expected the question.

"Yes?" Wasn't that obvious enough?

He engaged in another round of a staring contest with his desk before opening his mouth. "Are you sure?"

I respond with a lighthearted "yeah," and grab my bag. "Why don't you come over today? It's Friday anyways, you probably have nothing else to do. Come on, I can drive."

I maneuver behind him, successfully squeezing between the back of his plastic chair and the desk behind him, but catch my foot on the metal chair leg.

I shut my eyes, preparing for cold hard tile to crack my skull open. But he catches me. I kind of wish I could say by the hand, but it wasn't that romantic. He holds a death grip on my elbow that makes me want to ask the floor to hit me instead.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Stellar. Can you let go? Thanks." I straighten myself up and force a smile at him before I turn around, rolling my eyes at the fact that I let myself make an embarrassing (not to mention dangerous) move like that. I mean, not that he's anyone...

But still.