No Good In Goodbye

Eight - Dead Man Walking

- P A S T -

If I were to look up synonym for high school, the top response would be Hell. It wasn't so much the learning that was like the fiery pits everyone was worried about ending up in, but more so the early mornings and the work load. For me, above all else, the Hell-like aspect of school was the social side.

Sure I had my best friend, but when she ditched me for someone else - cough cough Jason Teller - being social became a nightmare. My own, personal, living Hell.

By the end of recess I had become sullen. It wasn't as though I didn't like Anna to have new friends, because I did. Often I would spend my recesses alone because she was with them. What really bothered me was who she was spending it with. As I said, I had a bad feeling about this.

I stumbled my way to photography, tripping on a step that was out of line. At least it was overcast and not yet raining, so it was the perfect time to take photos.

By the time I got to class nearly everyone had already cleared off. For photography even the popular kids got to class early because it was such a well-liked subject. There were only four people in the room; a pair whose names had slipped my mind, my teacher and Isaiah.

"About time," Isaiah grinned at me as I placed my books on the desk beside his. He walked to the front of the cramped classroom and got us a camera, inserting my SD card he had taken last lesson. We went out of the room with the only sound being the crunch of gravel under our feet. I didn't ask where we were headed and he didn't tell me. We just kept walking.

"Okay so I've selected three of those pictures from the other day to use so I just want three more," Isaiah informed me as I stumbled over a fallen branch on the path to the oval. "How many more do you need?"

I put my hands in the back pockets of my jeans. "Um, five?"

"Is that a question or a statement?" He asked, raising his eyebrow.

I rolled my eyes. "Statement."

"Okay now that we've got that sorted," he started with a grin tugging at the corners of his lips, as if he was trying to stop it from emerging. I only understood the expression when his face turned to one of amusement. "Smile," he said.

After ten minutes, several stumbles and three satisfactory photos of me - by Isaiah's standard, not mine - he handed over the camera.

"Lie down," I commanded him, pointing to the bright green grass of the oval. I decided over the weekend to stick with the theme of green.

He raised his eyebrow but said nothing, probably refraining from making an innuendo of my words. Our generation had such dirty minds.

When he was stretched out on the grass I hesitated, before setting my feet on either side of his torso so that I could get a perfectly straight shot. I lined up the shot and was about to press the shutter release when two hands grabbed a hold of my ankles and pulled them out from under me. I fell on Isaiah with a thud.

He was laughing like a maniac, unable to catch his breath. After only seconds there were tears forming in the corners of his eyes. I couldn't help it.

Click.

Then I stood up, trying to lessen the awkwardness in this situation until I realised there was none. Isaiah had tripped me, I landed on top of him, he laughed, zero awkwardness. It was strange.

Once I was off I fell to the grass beside him, crossing my legs and holding the camera like I'd hold a newborn. Luckily there was not a scratch on the it and the photograph I'd taken was pretty good. It captured Isaiah's personality perfectly.