Playing With Fire

Chapter Thirty-Six

                There has always been this subconscious schedule for socializing.  It seems like the parking lot is the place where everyone goes—kind of like a bonfire party, excluding the beach and flames. A few Chevrolet trunks are topped down, providing seats and space to sit in. Of course, the phones are always out, selfies and whatnot. My absence from school suddenly feels like centuries of time as I realize these subtle things that never occurred to me.

           The guttural rumble of Travis’s car engine brings me back to reality. I dart my gaze to the rearview mirror, watching Layla gather her belongings for a brief second, before swiping a few strands of hair out of my face and following suite.

            I exit the door and gently close it. Layla is one step ahead of me, slinging her backpack over one shoulder. She jerks her head in the direction of the school entrance.

            “I’m going to head in.” She states, “I’m missing first through third for this meeting.”

            While she says the last part, I watch as boredom laces into her monotone. I grin and wave a hand at her.

            “Have fun.”

            She mutters a complaint and then swiftly turns to walk off in that direction. I continue to look in her direction, smiling as she waves to random people, before drawing my attention towards Travis’s direction.

            He pushes the door open, extending his foot to guide the door farther out, and pops out moments later. The door slams shut, making the entire car rattle and the windows rumble in anticipation. Completely oblivious or utterly ignorant to the fact that he nearly shattered the glass of the delicate Impala, I gape at him as he walks around the car and towards me.

           “Are you nuts?” I ask incredulously, “That door is going to fall off before you know it.”

            “What?” Travis looks at me in surprise, then back down at the beauty, “This baby?”

             I nod my head pointedly.

            Absentmindedly, he locks the door, the resound, low pitched horn sounding off. Travis shoves the keys in his pocket and motions for us to walk towards the school doors as everyone else has begun to do.

            “It’s got the strength of a hellhound,” He boasts while smirking with pride, “The beast is invincible.”

             Despite myself, I crack a grin, “Not if you go slam dunking the door.”

          “Don’t worry,” Travis exasperates, as if having this conversation with me is making his head hurt, “The Impala likes the rough edges.”

          I roll my eyes and reach a hand out towards the entrance door to stop it from closing in on us as we walk in.

           “Let’s say I accepted the fact that you classify emotions for inanimate objects,” I tease, grinning when he shoots me a glower, “How would you know what the Impala likes.”

           “That’s easy.” He shrugs, “The Impala takes on after me.”

            “Right…” I muse, completely torn between laughing at his remark or worrying that he’s serious.

          While weaving our way through the crowd of students, we round the corner that leads to the English Department.

           Eventually, our car conversation dissolves as students continuously bump into us as we walk. Slowly, we approach my first class, probably the most torturous class aside from Trigonometry. Just a few feet away from the door with people sliding past us to walk in, I run my fingers through my hair and look up at him.