The Opposition

Chapter 5: Sadie

I shake my head, glad that Angie and Ana are engaged in a heated debate about last night's movie, so they can't see my walls crack ever so slightly. What was I checking my phone for again? Right; the time. Just as I thought, it's 7:25 am. We have to get back to the dorm to change, but as I listen to Ana and Angie go at each other, I can't help but smile. I love debate. Correction: I love being right. I love proving I'm right. Winning is a high. A dangerous one.

"Jeremiah's death was not predictable!" Angie nearly shouts, slamming her hands on the table.

"It so was," Ana yells back. "That whole 'I love you' speech? Come on! That screamed 'his time's up.'"

"No, it made it seem like he was going to propose." I got to hand it to Angie, even as she's arguing with Ana, she has the sense to begin stacking all of our plates and begins cleaning the table.

"The dude wasn't going to propose! They were sitting in that ratty apartment. He would've proposed on the boat. You know, where they met when he saved her from falling off the edge and drowning."

"Oh, yeah, because proposing where you nearly died is so romantic," Angie huffs, pausing the conversation and going to put our dishes away.

"This movie sounds like trash," I comment.

"Oh, it is. But fucking good trash," Ana laughs, walking towards the dining hall doors, where Angie is waiting for us. I like that about the three of us; we work as a unit, always aware of where the others need to be and what we need to do. It's easy to hang around Ana and Angie because they're breaths of fresh air; the only two people that allow me to shed the panic that sits at the bottom of my stomach, searching for an escape.

"You look tragic," I point out, looking at Carter. We sit in our math classroom, ten minutes early, with twelve desks arranged in a horseshoe in the middle of the cluttered classroom. I wasn't lying; his eyes are bloodshot with bags under them. He sports a pair of black slacks and a white button up rolled up at the sleeves. His brown hair is messy, but that's not unusual for him. He looks disoriented, and, dare I say, it's kind of ho–

"Ferme ta bouche," he mutters, and my eyes widen in surprise. Not at him randomly using Fresh during our conversation, but at the harshness of his phrase. Instead of hitting me with "tais-toi," like usual, he went for the whole "shut your mouth."

"A little early for French, isn't it?" And it certainly is. Carter and I have been in the same French class for three years, so it doesn't surprise me that he uses it in his regular speech. Actually, it kind of does. He acts as if I don't understand what he's saying, but I most certainly do.

"Va-t'en," he mutters. He must have had a really long night because I've never seen him bring out the French insults before French class.

"Non. C'est mon cours," I reply back to him. I drop the French. "So, you have fun last night?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," he says, rubbing the back of his fist against his eyelid.

"Don't give me that shit. I know you snuck out to Daniel's. You're face practically screams party high."

"Who told you?" He asks, pressing his forehead against the cool desk.

"Lena."

"Redhead?"

"Yeah. Apparently, she and Landon had an eventful night," I smirk.

He lifts his head off of the desk, groaning. "I don't care. The whole thing was Landon's idea."

"And you were fine risking it all because Landon's an idiot," I point out. "You going from school boy to bad boy, Conners?"

"Not a chance," he smirks. "But who says I can't be both?"

"I do," I say.

"Why not?" I see his eyes twinkle, "Afraid you'll like it?"

"Or hate you more?" I look at him.

"I know you have a thing for bad boys," he whispers. "You wouldn't have dated Randy if you didn't."

I make a face of disgust. "I didn't date Randy. I don't do dating."

"One thing we agree on," Carter says.

I'm about to reply when the class begins to fill up. Lena takes the seat beside me, and, little by little, the rest of the students full up the dozen seats. Mr. Neilson walks in shortly after, his tie loose around his neck. He fiddles with his computer before he projects a multiple choice question onto the board. "Solve it," he says, walking over to the large desk in the corner of the room.

I reread the equation three times before I pop a notebook out of my bag and begin working it out. It's a little early, so the numbers swirl around my head for a while before they finally settle and I find the answer.

Mr. Neilson gets up from his desk three minutes later, carrying a lime green binder in the crook of his arm. He takes a seat at the desk at the top of the horseshoe, lacing his fingers together and putting them on the desk top. "So," he starts. "Who has the answer?"

Carter and I stand up at the same time, our shoulders almost bumping as our eager arms fly up. "Miss. Jones," Mr. Neilson gestures toward me.

"The answer is 'A,'" I say, keeping my voice light and kind.

Carter snorts from beside me. "No, it's 'C.'"

Bingo. I was hoping he'd say that. "The question clearly asks you to round to the nearest tenth. If I'm not mistaken, which I don't believe I am, answer 'C' has two decimal places."

I smirk as his mouth twitches into a frown. We're still standing.

"Very well, Miss. Jones," Mr. Neilson says, projecting another question.

"I can't stand you," Carter mumbles in my ear.

I turn my head toward him, pressing my lips against his ear. "Then sit the fuck down, Conners," I whisper. "I'm winning."

But something squeezes my chest, and I feel my throat begin to burn. You're winning.

...

A/N

So, I guess Carter and Sadie both don't do relationships 👀

Thanks for reading!