How to Trust Someone

Chapter 3 - Garrett

"I'll try not to!" he says. Once Liz takes her obvious seat at the front of the class, Grant turns back around in his seat to face me. He adjusts his oversized glasses and clasps his hands together.

"Ahh, this is a little awkward now," he says to me. He holds out a hand. "As you heard, I'm Grant."

I tentatively take his hand and shake it. It feels so formal to shake hands with another high schooler, like we should be fist bumping or high-fiving or something, well, less formal.

"It was awkward before," I say. "I'm Garrett."

"Yo, we both have names that start with G! How G are we?" Grant says, holding his fist out. I stare at him blankly. He sees my expression and lowers his hand.

"You know, I try to be funny but it never works. It kind of sucks because I heard girls like guys with a sense of humor," he says thoughtfully. He doesn't comment on my lack of enthusiasm for his joke, even though it was a little funny, how he thought it actually would be.

"You've definitely got a sense of humor," I tell Grant. "It's just really weird. Like, weird as hell actually."

Grant laughs, since he thinks I'm joking. I mean, I'm actually only half-joking, but I'll let it slide.

"Man I know, I need to work on it. I used to want to be a comedian but my parents literally told me it's a 'shit job'," he says, throwing up some air quotes. I chuckle.

"Well you're Asian," I say, noticing for the first time. "It's not a surprise."

"Friggin' Asian stereotypes are always true," Grant mumbles. "We have such a bad rep for it."

I open my mouth to reply, but that's when the teacher walks in. She's this fragile-looking woman, who looks to be in her mid-twenties. She's wearing this flowy, tie-dye kind of skirt that drags on the floor behind her. There's a leather strap with a little feather wrapped around her head.

"Hey Grant? What class are we in?" I ask. Grant sighs.

"Best class ever, good choice of elective," he says longingly. I glance over at him, and he's staring at the teacher. Ah, I see.

"Seriously though," I say. Grant tears his eyes away from the teacher to look at me. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

"It's music appreciation," he tells me. I don't even have to ask what we do in the class, because he's already answering.

"We basically just listen to music and play it. But since it's the first day of school, we're just gonna go around and figure out what type of music everyone likes. Knowing Ms. Fenley," he pauses to send her a smile, even though she's not even looking, "it'll probably turn into some sort of icebreaker activity. I've had her since freshman year."

I nod and turn my attention to Ms. Fenley. She hasn't started talking yet, but she looks like she's doing some sort of sun salutation. When she's finished, she raises her arms above her head and inhales, then brings them down and exhales. If I didn't know any better, I'd think this is yoga class, if that's even offered anywhere.

"Good morning, beautiful students," she says. Her voice is high-pitched and nasally, definitely not what I'd expect. But the way she uses it is kind of soothing, since she doesn't even use it all. It's like she rations out her voice when she speaks.

"I've known all of you for at least a year," Ms. Fenley continues with a smile. She taps a desk, and I notice it's in front of a certain auburn-haired girl. I roll my eyes, expecting a speech on how she's known Liz for years, that she's an exceptionally bright student, very musically talented, and blah, blah, blah...