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Chapter 8-Flirts and Friends

As Jonah wandered into his second lesson that Tuesday, his maths class having settled quite quickly, his gaze landed immediately on the table he'd been placed at when he first entered the class, leading his eyes to the occupied seat in the front corner of the room, opposite his place at the table. There he saw the back of a mess of ash brown, curly hair, catching a glimpse of the person's face as he leaned to one side, his hand disappearing briefly into his bag, allowing Jonah to see that it was definitely Connor sitting in his usual seat. Jonah approached him, sitting opposite him in his own assigned seat. The moment Connor looked up from his fingernails to look at him, a smile spread across his face, mirroring the beam Jonah was delivering to him.
"Good to see you're better," Jonah began, noting that the colour had returned to his friend's face and the light had returned to his eyes; he looked just as youthful as he had done the previous week before he got sick.

"Good to not be stuck in my house," Connor seemed to have chuckled back, "where I have a dad who still gives me homework, by the way."
Jonah laughed with Connor as they spoke, although the shorter male's voice was still slightly rough. Although noticeable, it didn't seem to bother Connor, which meant to Jonah that it wasn't worth pointing out. With another look at his face, watching as Connor's expression softened and became neutral, Jonah took note of the slightly pink tint that dusted his friend's cheeks; a tint that didn't show any signs of fading. He assumed that Connor must still be slightly flustered following the illness that seemed to leave him slightly feverish at the very least, however, like the slight difference in his voice, Connor didn't seem bothered by it at all. This was Jonah's justification for not pointing out these changes.
As their second lesson progressed as planned, something did play at the shorter boy's mind. He thought about the weekend, the previous day and the Friday that had passed them by. Of all the thoughts he had, there were two things he focussed on the most; Jonah Lane and Christine Scott.

The boy had never seen himself as overly popular, although accepted so that he may have the chance to be if he decided that he wanted to become closer to the much more 'popular' students. He was 'welcome' among them, and yet his chosen friends were the boy who his father had entrusted to him and a young woman with a bad habit of smoking when she felt out of her depth. He heard his own voice saying this in his head, repeating the words over and over, as though he was trying to re-evaluate his choices in friends. Although, as the young man seemed to reconsider, all thoughts against his 'close' friends subsided very quickly, his gaze travelling upwards to lock onto Jonah, who was staring on ahead at the whiteboard, reading the 'learning intention' that their teacher had written in her messy handwriting.
Jonah was a great friend, Connor thought, leading him to think much more about his fleeting relationship with the redhead girl. Connor's expression seemed to darken as he thought about the comment he had made regarding their friendship a few days previously, telling Jonah that their lack of closeness was causing a strange feeling of loneliness. Then, three days later, Christine Scott had texted him, showing concern for him. It had come as a pleasant surprise as he checked his phone, having been sat awake in bed that morning, his laptop on his bedside table, playing a YouTube video to entertain him while he stayed home alone. The screen had displayed the name 'Chris', who he'd barely expected to be the one to talk to him that day. Her message had read, 'How're you feeling? I hope you're getting better.'

A sweet gesture from a person he didn't consider overly 'sweet'. Connor realised while thinking of the sentiment that it wasn't common for Christine Scott to send him a message other than inviting him to meet her outside during lunch or morning break while she had a cigarette. Her message brought a smile to his face, even though it somewhat confused him and he didn't waste time in responding with a friendly but simple, 'I'm doing fine, thanks.'
He hadn't heard from her for the remainder of the day and, the next morning, she didn't invite him outside, so he remained inside his physics classroom to allow himself extra time to revise fissions and chain reactions.
Connor rested his chin on his palm and his elbow on the desk, his expression still dark as he took a breath, thinking about the girl who he questioned calling his 'good friend'.
At last, the question came, the lower voice of the dark-haired boy interrupting the thought process that Connor had trapped himself in.