The other boy shrugged. "Jeez, man. It was just a question."
Archer shot him a look before turning back around, only to get another piece of paper thrown at his back. He swivelled back around, his hand finding the front of Steve's desk. "I'm about to shove this into your nose. Stop throwing fucking paper at me."
Steve smirked, beginning to tear another piece of paper out of his book. Archer quickly snatched it away from him. "Okay, okay," he laughed. "Did you like her?"
Archer scoffed. "What are you talking about?"
"She looked like your type," he shrugged. "And I saw you staring at her."
Archer rolled his eyes. "For like . . . two seconds. That doesn't mean anything."
Steve only shook his head before pointing his finger at Archer's face. "You like her."
Archer shoved his hand back down, fighting his own grin. "Shut up, dude. You failed maths."
"Hey! What's that supposed to mean?" Steve whisper-shouted as he fell back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest as his knee started to bounce beneath the table.
"It means that you don't know anything," Archer muttered, an irritated expression falling upon his face before he turned back around to face the front of the class. Absent-mindedly, his sight was drawn back to the classroom door, where the girl with the pin-straight hair had once been nervously standing. He shook his head and forced himself to stare at the numbers on the board.
*☆.:*:.☆*
THE WALLS WERE closing in on the girl who was shoving her way through the sea of teenagers in the hallway. Everyone was shouting, as if there was a competition on who could converse the loudest. Amelie hated it. It felt too familiar to be so quiet in a room so loud. The feeling that weighed down her shoulders, that pricked at her skin everytime she was left inside her head. The words they would say: the doctors in The Lab, the children in the orphanage, the voices in her mind. That she was weird and estranged and stupid. That she deserved the isolation that came with being misunderstood, since she was the person holding it all back. It was tough, when the losses were unbearable and the positives were nonexistent.
When the people in the hallways flocked towards the cafeteria, Amelie finally reached her locker. She wanted to scribble at the first number or pick it off of its plate. Instead, she resorted to tiredly stuffing her books back inside and closing the door. Moving to close the door, because as her hand moved, her heart sparked, and she knew that feeling. A few boys shouted down the corridor. Their footsteps were heavy and loud. Three seconds later, she ducked.
A football went flying through the air and hit the metal locker beside her head harshly. She watched it fall back to the floor and bounce along the tiles unscathed.
"Holy shit, I'm so sorry," a boy said as he jogged towards her. She looked up at him, her eyes flickering with recognition as she met a familiar face staring back at her. A smile quickly spread across his lips. "Oh, hello."
Amelie reached down to pick up the ball and held it out to him. "Hi," she muttered kindly before turning around and shutting her locker door.
The blond beside her tucked the ball beneath his right arm and leant against the locker beside her own. "Are you new around here or something?" He asked, the skin between his brows creasing. "I don't think I've ever seen you before."
Amelie raised her brows as she glanced at him again. She was almost confused. Her social skills and experiences were limited, and she had never been in a situation as similar to that before. As much as she didn't hate talking to the boy, she was almost certain he would walk away. So why was he still there?
"I moved here last weekend," she said shortly. It was nothing, it was boring, it was empty. Would he leave now? Instead, he furrowed his brows as a confused laugh slipped past his lips. Amelie stared at him with straightened lips.
"Why would you move here?" He scoffed as he spared a quick glance around the hall. His friends, Steve and Reed, had taken off down one of the halls as soon as the dark-haired boy had spotted the girl who'd walked into their classroom earlier that morning. "This town is a shithole."
Amelie pursed her lips. Secrets wrapped themselves around her tongue, intertwining with the truth. She didn't know this boy, she didn't even know his name, yet those secrets she'd held so close were begging to be released. She didn't understand why he had such an effect on her. Why it was him that made her want to spill her deepest and darkest desires. Even if he did, she didn't let herself succumb to the feeling. Not then, in the deserted hallway of the school. Not then, with a boy she didn't know the name of. Not then, with her heart in her throat and her thoughts slipping out of reach.
She settled with a shrug that was harder to manoeuvre than usual. He studied her, and she hated it. She could feel him picking her apart.
"You don't talk much, do you?" He asked. She thought it might be patronising, like everyone else made it seem. But it wasn't. His tone was gentle and kind, and it was a thought that made sense. His eyes, those eyes, how they were looking at her, made the girl really have to swallow down her pride to keep her secrets as secrets for a little longer.
She forced herself to not avert her gaze. "Nothing to say," she mumbled.
The blond narrowed his eyes. "Is that your way of telling me I'm not interesting to talk to?"
She raised her brows, a smile finally tugging at her lips. He watched it grow. "Maybe," she said. He could hear the smile through her voice.
Archer hummed before turning against the locker, instead pressing his back against the metal as he stared up at the roof. That time it was Amelie who watched him. "What do you find interesting then?"
She almost said you. He was interesting. No matter how much she hated to admit it, she found herself to actually enjoy talking to the blond-haired boy. Still, she pressed her lips together until she formed another answer. An answer that didn't weigh as much.
"The town," she said sarcastically. Archer sent her a look, smirking before playfully rolling his eyes.
He chuckled. "What was your name?" He asked, his head tilting to rest against the cold locker.
"Amelie," she said.
"Well, Amelie. Do you know your way around this interesting school yet?"
She laughed, and his pupils subtly widened. He liked that sound.
"No," she smiled with a shake of her head.
The boy clapped his hands together. "Right." He stepped in front of her, dimples digging into his cheeks. "Welcome to this very interesting hallway. Would you like to visit the interesting cafeteria first or the very, very interesting basketball court?"
Archer found himself waiting to hear her laugh. This girl, who'd wrongly stepped into his classroom during the first session of the morning, had torn open his chest and etched her name into his blood. His smile only brightened when her eyes crinkled in enlightenment. His dimples only appeared when she laughed herself. He only stopped to stare as he led her throughout the school when it was her he was looking at. All of this for a girl who didn't even know his name.
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