Paper Hearts [Brallon-ish]

The day after

"But the Spanish teacher," Pete muttered through a sly smile "has got it coming to 'em."

By the way he said it, I would've thought he'd murdered the Spanish teacher while we slept. Knowing Pete, he probably did.

Note to self; do not ever, under any circumstances, get on Pete's bad side - unless you want to die, but I'm pretty sure if anyone simply asked he'd do it for half of a bowl of cereal and a couple of those heat detecting pencils that changed colors.

We passed by Brendon's room on the way towards the stairs. Pete took a few minutes to slam his shoulder against the door like he was about to break it down until Patrick yelled at him to stop. And Ryan almost picked the lock again to go get Brendon, until we all had to stop him from breaking in. Because that's a legitimate crime, even if it is just a dorm room, and if we were caught I didn't exactly feel like having that piled on top of all the felonies we'd committed this year alone. I'd probably die before the police finished reading the list of things we shouldn't have done but did anyways for the sheer reason that we could.

"But his door is like, never locked." Ryan grumbled in protest and followed us down the hall and through the empty yard.

"Well, he's probably there already." Patrick said in response 3 minutes later when we crossed over the soppy mess of a lawn.

The gym was packed with 194 students, the only empty seat being the one right next to me, the seat we'd agreed to save for Brendon when he got here.

I'd never been in the gym before, since I'd opted out of taking PE this year. Silky looking banners of the school colors, gross murky ocean blue and boring dull cloud gray, hung over the stage where Spencer stood at a small podium, surrounded by a couple other people I'd never seen before. A guy in a suit on the ending seat was clutching a box of tissues to his chest, and a girl on the other side wearing a pair of blue skinny jeans and a nicely pressed dress shirt stared blankly off into space like she'd been confronted by a ghost.

Then the microphone screeched and Spencer said exhaustedly,"is everybody here?"

"Brendon's not here!" Pete yelled from next to me, worry seeping through his tone like ink through paper.

Spencer nodded once dismissively in acknowledgment and repeated himself. "Is everybody else here?"

And then I stood up, cupped my hands around my mouth so he would acknowledge me, and called out "Brendon's not here yet!"

"Yes! I know, Dallon!" He snapped, and I could've sworn I saw silent tears running down his cheeks. But I brushed it off and dropped my hands to my side in defeat, because I knew he was almost here, and I called back "can we please wait for him? Please?"

"For the sake of every remotely short person seated behind you, please sit down, Dallon."

And I did, not because of the shorter people behind me, but because maybe Brendon was behind the banners or he was going to rush in through the front door at any second, still pulling on his tank top and tying the laces to his worn out shoes that looked like they'd run too far in too little time, laughing at our worried expressions. He'd be here just in time, like always.

Ryan and Patrick both stood up in my place and said what Pete and I had been saying, and I guess Spencer had had enough because he yelled at us once more to sit down. And we listened.

From the distance, he made direct eye contact with all of us and for sure he was crying, noiselessly of course, the sound not projected nor picked up by the microphone in front of him.

He gripped the edges of the podium stand, like he was willing himself to say something, anything, and he finally did after a full suspenseful minute that seemed to last for an eternity. My heart was pounding in my chest so loud I almost didn't hear a word he said.