wanderlust ▷ lucaya

three; partners in (not) crime

I recently started watching The X-Files and asdfghjkl it's so flipping fantastic.

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T H R E E

[ m a y a ]

THE MAJORITY OF THE CLASS PERIOD DRAGGED ON IN A STRING OF AWKWARDNESS.

There was only thirty minutes left of the class period, and ever since are argument had ended, I'd felt Lucas's gaze locked on the back of my head for what felt like ages. I just wanted the class could be over so I could head to the front office before third period and beg for a transfer from Mr. Matthews's second period history class. Anything was better than sitting right in front of Lucas.

I tried to distract myself from Lucas's presence, flipping open my sketchbook and doodling whatever came to mind. I didn't think Matthews would care whether or not I payed attention—he was used to me tuning out half the time, after all. I just had to distract myself from Lucas, and I figured drawing was the best way to do so. Drawing was my escape.

"Hart." I was snapped out of my daze by the sound of Cory Matthews's voice.

My lips curled into a frown. Then, "I- um, what?"

"I'm about to assign a project," he explained. "You need to listen."

"Sorry, Mr. Matthews," I apologized, picking at the cover of my textbook and sending him a sheepish smile.

"Yeah," he muttered, "okay."

With that, he turned back to face the chalkboard, saying, "We're going to conduct an experiment. One that pertains not only to social studies, but to ourselves."

I groaned. Oh brother.

"Now, this was near impossible to get permission to do from the principal, but I finally convinced him," Matthews continued. "So since it was such a difficult process, no chickening out." He said that to the entire class, but he was really just glaring at me, directing it mainly towards myself.

"I'm scared, Peaches," Riley whispered, her brown eyes wide and fixated on her father.

I frowned, saying, "Me too, Riles."

"Let's cut right to the chase, shall we?" Matthews said. "Everyone in this class is going to be paired up. You and your partner are going to get a map, and for two weeks—starting Saturday—you're going to be on a road trip with your partner, following where the map tells you to go."

The class broke out into whispers and chatter, but not me—I was too busy rolling my eyes and mentally screaming at Cory for doing this. He didn't seem to realize that everyone hated me, and no one would want to spend two weeks alone with me in places that weren't our homes.

People started throwing different questions at Mr. Matthews, some of them barely audible.

"Can we pick our partners?"

"What about money?"

"What happens if my parents say I can't go?"

"How big of a grade is this?"

"When's lunch?"

Matthews sighed, beginning to answer all of the questions that the students had asked. "Okay, listen! Can you pick your partners? No, you can't pick your partners. What about money? The school will be giving you enough money so you can pay for gas, food, hotels, etcetera. What if your parents say you can't go? Well, I've called all your parents"—he turned to me—"I haven't yet called Katy, but I'll get on that"—and he looked back to the class again—"and they have all agreed to this. How big of a grade is this? It's worth seventy percent of your final grade for this semester. And Yogi, please refrain from asking me about the lunch times during class."